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Sal looked at the sound of his name, his face lighting up. “Principe!”
“It’s nice to see you.”
“You, too, dear boy.” Sal grinned widely as his hand swept across the table. “Join us. Have a drink.”
Instead of squeezing in with the mass of bodies, Carmine grabbed a free chair and pulled it to the other side of their table. “You know I’m not old enough to—”
He didn’t even finish before Sal’s mocking laughter cut him off. “Nonsense!” He motioned for the waitress. “Get my godson whatever he wants. Put it on my tab.”
The waitress paused beside him, smiling politely. “What can I get you?”
“Uh, vodka,” he said. “Straight up.”
“Bring him the whole bottle,” Sal chimed in. “Something from the top shelf, sweetheart. Nothing but the best for young DeMarco.”
Carmine forced a smile, but he got no satisfaction from Sal’s words. The waitress returned after a moment with a bottle of Grey Goose and a thick glass, setting it in front of Carmine before walking away. He wordlessly poured himself a shot, feeling Sal’s eyes on him as he swallowed it to ease his frayed nerves.
The burn was familiar. Warm. Numbing. He savored the sensation.
Sal’s focus shifted back to the others, the conversation at the table flowing freely between the men. It made little sense to Carmine so he sat back quietly, sipping on the liquor as he tried to disappear into the background. His mind wandered, his eyes drifting toward the two girls. They giggled, hanging on to Sal’s every word as if the bullshit he sprayed was made of pure gold. Carmine wondered what they saw in him, why they stuck around. Money? Presents? Did they get off on his power? Was it just for kicks? It sure as fuck couldn’t have been attraction.
“So, Principe, are you settling in?” Sal asked, capturing Carmine’s attention again. He tore his eyes from the girls and looked to his godfather, who stared at him with his eyebrows raised.
“Yeah.” He poured another drink. “I’m moving into my parents’ old house.”
“And you have all of your things?”
“They arrived today.”
“And the girl?” Sal asked. “Has she arrived?”
Carmine tensed, his glass to his lips. He set it down after a moment without taking a drink, afraid the liquor wouldn’t make it past the lump in his throat. “Uh, no. She’s not.”
Sal’s expression fell as concern clouded his face. Pulling his arm from around the brunette, he leaned closer to the table, his high-pitched voice uncharacteristically low. “What do you mean she’s not?”
“She’s not coming,” Carmine clarified.
“Never?”
“No. She’s, uh . . . not with me now.”
Tension swept over the table. Sal remained strangely still, just staring at Carmine. Anger brewed in his dark eyes. The others sensed the shift in atmosphere and grew quiet, watching the two of them cautiously.
“You broke up?”
Carmine nodded.
“After what everyone risked for that girl, you’re not even together anymore?”
Again, he nodded.
“She’s off on her own? Free to do as she wishes?”
Another nod.
“And you’re not.”
Not a question that time, but Carmine nodded anyway.
