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Carmine took a deep breath to steady himself, inhaling the scent of greasy cheese and spicy pepperoni. His stomach rumbled, churning ruthlessly. He couldn’t tell if it was actual hunger or purely his frazzled nerves.
He stepped into the busy pizzeria and spotted Corrado sitting alone at a table along the side. Carmine’s gaze remained focused on the shiny, checkered linoleum as he approached his uncle, ignoring the intense look he received from the register.
“Corrado,” Carmine greeted him. “I mean, uh, sir.”
Corrado didn’t bother looking up. He simply kicked the chair out across from him as he pulled a piece of pizza from the small box on the table. It smelled strongly like onions and peppers and sausage.
Carmine’s stomach churned harder. Definitely nerves.
He took a seat, trying to avoid smelling the food by breathing through his mouth. Neither spoke as Corrado ate, casually slouched in the chair as if he had not a care in the world. After he finished, he closed the empty box and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”
“I . . . well, I mean, we . . .”
“We?”
“Haven and I,” he clarified. “We wanted to know if—”
“Why isn’t she here?” Corrado asked, cutting him off. “If she has a problem, she’s more than capable of coming to me herself.”
“She had a school thing tonight.” Carmine sighed. “It’s not a problem anyway. It’s more like a favor.”
“You call me up and say it’s important—so important I take time out of my dinner for you—and it’s because you want something?”
“Yes.”
“This better be good.”
Carmine took a deep breath, cringing as he inhaled the scent of the food, and forced the words from his lips before he lost the nerve. “You know we’re getting married tomorrow . . .”
“Of course I know,” he replied. “I received my invitation and made plans to come. I am still invited, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Okay, then. There’s no problem. I already made sure to clear your schedule for the weekend, so you shouldn’t have any problems consummating the marriage.”
Carmine cringed at his wording. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? I’m getting impatient.”
“We want to know if you’ll give Haven away.”
Corrado stared across the table at him, unmoving, barely blinking, as if he hadn’t heard Carmine speak at all. He had, though, and after a minute or so he slowly shook his head, as if trying to process the words. “Give her away.”
“Yeah, you know, walk her down the aisle when we get married.”
“I know what you mean, Carmine.”
“Her dad, well . . . you know. And I’d ask my dad, but well . . . you know.”
Corrado had killed them. Carmine didn’t say it out loud, but they both thought it.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Carmine’s eyes widened. He had expected a staunch denial. “No shit?”
“Language.”
