Page 53 of Dante

“Signora,” he says.

Before I can react, he plucks the sketchpad from my hands and carries it to Silvio.

The room goes quiet.

Silvio’s face turns dark. He holds up the drawing of his exaggerated nose and dome-like head.

“Gina!” Silvio says, looking daggers at me.

My heart pounds. I glance at Dante, but he remains still.

Then, after a moment I see his right hand move towards the gun I know is in his waistband.

“What is the meaning of this?” Silvio barks.

“I’m so sorry, Uncle. I didn’t mean any disrespect,” I stammer.

“Why would you make me look like this?”

Something in me snaps.

I push my chair back and stand up.

“This is my profession. I’ve been sketching caricatures since I was seven years old.”

He scoffs. “Profession? Insulting respected men with a cartoon drawing?”

“With due respect, the drawing was not meant as an insult. It is a specific form of art called a caricature. Its purpose is to find and communicate the elements of a person that makes them unique.”

“So you admit you see me as a monster, then?” Silvio asks.

“That’s not the intention of this drawing,” I insist. “I meant it as a sign of respect. Everyone at this table admires you. And as your new niece, I wanted to show my admiration through my art. I made this sketch as a memory for you to keep.”

Silvio looks from me to the sketch, then back again.

“I like it,” he finally says. “And though my features are deeply exaggerated, I can see it represents the ‘real me.’

The crowd breaks into relieved applause. I exhale so hard I nearly collapse. Dante wants me to defend myself against threats from outside. Perhaps first, I have to navigate the dangers of my new family.

CHAPTER 19

DANTE

“Lucky break,” says Lorenzo lighting my pipe in what was once our father’s smoking room. “With Gina escaping Silvio’s wrath, that is.”

“She’s lucky that way,” I say. I just hope Gina’s good luck holds out.

“Remember when we were kids, the men would all gather here after one of mom’s famous dinners?” Lorenzo says. “They’d smoke their Cuban cigars and talk their talk.”

“I sure do,” I say, exhaling. “Have you found the reason the Petrovs followed Gina home the other day?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Spoke to every source. Nothing.”

“They’re planning something,” I say quietly. “We need to be prepared. Damn them for bringing Gina into it. These Russians are worse than dogs. Is nothing sacred?”

“How are you preparing Gina for the war that might come?”

“I’m giving her gun training.”