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Damien doesn’t share his smile. He stalks over to the coffee table and picks up a bottle of champagne, popping the cork on it. He pours a glass for each of us, and Pavone himself takes the glasses and distributes them.
One to each of us, except my father, who looks a little confused at being left out of the entire ceremony.
I wince. He’s going to be even more insufferable after this, if that’s even possible. I take a sip from my champagne glass. It’s good, but that’s to be expected. Pavone spares no expense on anything, and he’s been pouring money into this wedding like he’s the bride-to-be and he just can’t wait to get married for the first time instead of the fourth.
“Who’s he?” my father asks, pointing at Angelo. “I said I had to vet any men you brought into my home.”
Angelo’s jaw twitches imperceptibly, and I know it must kill him that my father doesn’t even recognize him. I’d feel more satisfaction about that if I wasn’t terrified about the scene unfolding before me.
If I didn’t know it was probably hurting Angelo.
“Giorgis,” Pavone says, with less patience, “I haven’t said the toast yet.”
“And I don’t have any champagne,” my father counters. He’s starting to sweat though, a life of being a made man giving him the instincts to sense danger.
My mother, drunk, doesn’t share that instinct. She giggles and holds up her glass. “It’s very good, Emilio. Better than anything Giorgis ever buys for me.”
Pavone crosses the room to stand at my side and puts an arm around my shoulders. He clinks his glass against mine. “Your mother has good taste, babe. Now, if there are no further interruptions, I can make my toast.”
As soon as Pavone touched me, Angelo’s gaze homed in on us. On me, except I don’t want to assume anything about Angelo’s intentions. There’s disgust in his gaze, and I remember how he’d treated me in the early days, when he was calling me a slut and a whore. How he’d almost murdered me when he’d thought I was in bed with Al Ricci.
At least Angelo can’t murder me under Pavone’s nose, I think, half hysterically.
Pavone squeezes my shoulder and lifts his glass. “It’s been a long time coming, I think, this union. I wanted to thank you, Giorgis, for being such a trooper throughout all this. I know I can get a bit… obsessive, when I’ve put my mind to it, but you held up pretty well while we looked for the daughter you lost from under your nose. Pretty pathetic, really, how Corvi was able to kidnap her. And then she had to rescue herself!”
Pavone starts laughing at that. We’re all silent, except my mother, who giggles just because she’s the kind of person who will laugh alongside anybody.
“To make a long story short, I was thinking, I could make this place my second home,” Pavone goes on. “I’ve grown to like it here. Good business to be had, and the only real competition is Corvi. The city needs a much stronger leader than him.”
“I’m already here,” my father protests. “Half of the black market is in my territory.”
“Right, right,” Pavone says, swishing his champagne glass. “Lucia, babe, you might want to close your eyes.”
The words seem to come out of nowhere, and I glance at him, blinking. Why would I want to close my eyes? It makes no sense.
But then I see motion out of the corner of my eye, and it’s like time stands still as Angelo pulls out a gun—and aims it at my father.
My father, who is still so distracted by Pavone’s words that he doesn’t seem to notice at first. When he does, he startles, keeping his eyes trained on Angelo. “Pavone!” Daddy barks. “Call off your dog. This is my home. You’re here under my invitation, through my hospitality.”
“I am,” Pavone says calmly, kissing the top of my head. “Angelo Guerra, on the other hand, hasn’t been offered or accepted your hospitality.”
My father’s eyes widen at the name, but before he can say anything, a shot rings out.
Everything’s in slow motion as the bullet hits my father’s head, as blood sprays out everywhere while his lips try to form words, and he falls to his knees before slumping down onto the floor.
Dead.
My mother screams, dropping her champagne glass. There’s no love lost between my parents, but despite all her time married to the mob, I doubt she’s seen bloodshed like this up close and personal.
Vanessa screams too, louder, and tries to run away. Damien catches her by the door and wraps his hand around her throat, forcing her to be quiet.
And I stand there, frozen, unable to do anything. I’m hyper aware of Pavone’s hand on my shoulder, kneading it. Maybe it’s supposed to be reassuring, but I can only feel the implicit threat of it.
Pavone drains his champagne glass and tosses it at my father’s corpse. “Fuck, that felt good. You satisfied now, Guerra?”
Angelo looks down at the bloody mess, no hint of a smile. I would have thought he’d be delighted to have finally murdered my father. But he isn’t displaying his usual bloodlust. I almost miss the playful way he would dismember corpses.
“Yeah,” Angelo answers. “You’re better at keeping your end of deals than Corvi.”
