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“And ciao. Buongiorno. Grazie. Prego.” Her pronunciation was spot on. It was simple, but it was better than nothing. “And uh, Vaffanculo?”
They all just stared at her, the silence managing to grow even more awkward.
After what felt like an hour, Corrado’s expression softened and a smile tugged at his lips. He let out a laugh—a genuine fucking laugh. “That was a curse.”
“Oh.” She turned bright red. “Carmine uses it a lot.”
“Doesn’t surprise me a bit.”
There was quiet chatter as everyone relaxed, the Boss’s demeanor influencing the others. The tension receded from the room and Haven loosened up, her posture no longer stiff. Celia returned, she and Corrado both relaxing as they whispered to each other. Carmine watched them, their natural chemistry obvious. Despite everything, the fighting and violence and outright bullshit their lives could sometimes be, they were happy together. They loved each other and it was the love that got them through everything else. As long as they had that, nothing would tear them apart.
Carmine glanced at Haven, reaching under the table and taking her hand. He squeezed it and she smiled softly, gazing back at him. He saw that same type of love in her eyes, the kind of love that was damn near unbreakable.
There was food and drinks, conversation and laughter. Time passed swiftly and Carmine found he actually enjoyed himself. A smile continuously graced Haven’s lips as she talked to people, not seeming at all nervous to be around his kind.
His kind. He hated saying it, but it was true. La Cosa Nostra was his family. And like a real dysfunctional family, he fucking hated them most of the time.
He looked around the restaurant, seeing all types of people having dinner. There were couples and families, friends and business associates. All seemed content and relaxed, completely oblivious to the danger in the room with them. It was strange to Carmine how people didn’t even flinch from their presence, like they were desensitized to violence and pain. They seemed ignorant to the fact that lifelong criminals surrounded them, their children and wives breathing the same air as cold, calculating murderers.
Well, most seemed oblivious. His gaze fell upon a man in the corner by himself, his attention focused on the tables surrounding them. His eyes locked with Carmine’s after a moment, and even across the room he could see the coldness. The man certainly wasn’t what he would call a friendly face.
Carmine stared him down for a while before the man stood, tossing some money on the table and walking out.
The night continued on, as did the food and drinks. The crowd thinned, thoughts of that man going right out along with the others.
“Can I get you guys anything else?” a waitress asked eventually, stepping over to their table. It was nearing ten in the evening. Corrado and Celia were a few feet away, talking to the soon-to-be bride and groom.
Haven shook her head, stabbing at the tiramisu on her plate with a fork. “No, thank you.”
The waitress glanced at Carmine and he nodded, picking up his glass and holding it out to her. She walked away without a word, returning with another vodka and Coke. He thanked her, taking a drink as she moved on to the next table.
Haven set her fork down and looked at Carmine, her eyes wandering past him. “Do you know how they met?” she asked, motioning toward the couple.
“It was arranged,” he replied.
“An arranged marriage? They do that?”
He shrugged and nodded at the same time, a half-assed answer since he wasn’t sure how to explain it. “They’ve known each other since they were kids. They were just . . . put together, I guess. I don’t know if that makes sense, but it’s how most of them do it. They just pair off with other people in the life. It’s easier that way.”
She looked downright perplexed for a moment before understanding crept into her features. “Like Michael and Katrina.”
He nodded. “And their parents before them. Pretty much everyone in here did it. They don’t like outsiders coming in, so they stay in the inner circle. My father broke protocol.”
“So did you,” she said.
“I don’t know, tesoro. You’re one of us.”
“But you didn’t know that, and I definitely wasn’t in your inner circle.”
“True.”
“Would you have, though?” she asked. “Would you have come back here and eventually found someone like everyone else?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s no one else for me,” he replied. “These people care about bloodlines and rank and power and shit, but none of that matters to me. I’d never pursue a woman because of who her father is. Chances are I’d just hate her. In case you haven’t noticed, most of the women in the life are spoiled, uptight bitches who feel like people owe them. And I refuse to accept the fact that I owe anyone a thing . . . except you, maybe. So, no thanks.”
