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“I was just reminding young DeMarco that he should be mindful of what he says and who he talks to,” Carlo said. “If he isn’t careful, someone might get the wrong impression.”
“I didn’t—”
He was about to say he hadn’t done anything wrong when Corrado cut him off. “Carmine’s sarcastic mouth is notorious. I think at this point people would get the wrong impression if he didn’t have a snide remark here or there.”
Carmine looked at Corrado with shock, not expecting his defense.
Carlo laughed bitterly. “Just because it’s expected doesn’t mean it’s acceptable. He needs to learn respect. He was talking to that slave and—”
“Respect?” Corrado snapped. “And I suppose you think you could teach it to him after speaking like that in his presence? You’re well aware of his mother’s background, and you want to speak about respect? Maybe you need to learn some yourself.”
“I’ve earned my place here—I’ve put my time in,” Carlo said, anger clouding his face. “I’ve proven myself and he hasn’t. He needs to mind his superiors.”
“So do you,” Corrado said pointedly. “Or have you forgotten I’m your superior? You know protocol, or have you forgotten that as well? Carmine’s my soldier—if you have an issue with him, you air your grievance with me.”
Carlo narrowed his eyes. Corrado had struck a nerve. “All I’m saying is maybe he shouldn’t mouth off so much.”
“I heard you the first time, but I don’t see why you’d want to create a scene over it,” Corrado said. “It’s not that serious. So he’s mouthy? It’s not like he murdered your family, Carlo.”
Carmine froze when those bitter words came from his uncle’s lips. Carlo looked like a deer caught in headlights as Corrado stared at him with an eyebrow cocked, waiting a response that never came.
“Gentlemen,” Salvatore said, pausing between them, his expression stone cold serious. “Perhaps we should have a sit-down later to clear the air, but for now we celebrate. Go enjoy yourselves, have a drink, get to know one of the beautiful ladies here.”
Corrado nodded obediently. “Yes, sir.”
Carlo echoed his words and walked off when Salvatore excused himself, the situation diffused for the time being.
“I don’t know what you said, but he was right,” Corrado said once they were alone. “You do need to learn to watch your mouth.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve worn a suit, too,” he said. “You look like a slob.”
Carmine glanced down at himself. He had on a long-sleeved button-up shirt and slacks—he had just nixed the tie. It wasn’t as if he had strolled in wearing faded jeans and a hoodie.
He wished he had, though. That way if he was forced to be miserable, at least he would be comfortable.
He spent the next two hours making small talk with other made men and associates, getting to know the families of the ones brazen enough to bring them around such a heartless crowd. Carmine pretended to care, smiling and entertaining curious questions about his father’s whereabouts (No, I haven’t heard from him. I’m sure he’s just lying low.); playing the part of Principe, grandson of Antonio (Yes, my grandfather was a God among men, I hope to be just like him someday.). But in his mind he was counting down the time until he could leave (Two more fucking hours. You’re already halfway there.).
For a group that prided themselves on silence and honor, they gossiped more than a group of catty high school bitches. It wasn’t Carmine’s first mandatory gathering, but it was certainly the most uncomfortable one. His father was on the lam and everyone was well aware that the expiration date on Vincent DeMarco’s life had already passed.
Carmine drank heavily as the time slipped away, painfully aware as Corrado watched him from across the room. He had warned him before never to drink at these things, but he couldn’t help it. The alcohol seeping into his bloodstream was the only thing keeping him from jumping out of his own skin.
The crowd thinned eventually, associates and soldiers clearing out while the ones at the top of the chain of command gathered in the den. Carmine took the shift in atmosphere as his cue that the night was finally over. At a little after nine, he strolled over to Corrado, his body relaxing naturally as relief set in. “I’m leaving.”
“Good,” Corrado said. “Go home. Sober up.”
Carmine turned and mock saluted his uncle behind his back as Corrado went into the den. Carmine started for the door, but Salvatore’s shrill voice stopped him halfway there. “Where do you think you’re going, Principe?”
He glanced at him apprehensively. “Home, sir.”
“Nonsense.” Salvatore motioned in the direction of the den. “Join us.”
Carmine sighed, not wanting to be there any longer. “I’d really rather just—”
“It wasn’t a request,” Sal said, cutting him off as he walked away.
Carmine cursed under his breath, catching a look of alarm on Corrado’s face the moment he stepped in the den. “I thought you were leaving.”
