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I clear my throat and give him an apologetic look and bow to him. He barely registers me, greeting Mama with a kiss and completely ignoring Pietro.
“Many happy returns,fratello,” Pietro says stiffly, lifting his glass.
“Cent’anni,” Mama says.
I can’t think of anything to say, so I keep my eyes down and Rocco doesn’t bother to engage me in conversation, providing a few moments of awkward silence.
“Let’s dance,” Pietro says as a jazz band starts playing.
“But—” I try to protest, but he whizzes me toward the dancefloor, his arms wrapping around me and dropping to my waist as the music slows.
He is whispering something into my ear, but the music is deafening, so I can barely hear over the low seductive sounds of the saxophone. Pietro dips me, and I see Rocco standing in the same spot I left him, his face set in displeasure, fury radiating off him like cold steam. Our eyes lock, and I can practically feel rage erupting from him.
Luckily, I am interrupted by Pietro’s younger niece who wants to cut in, which I gladly accept. When I walk off the dancefloor, Rocco is nowhere to be seen, and Mama is talking about floral arrangements with one of the other wives. I feel like my face has been overcome with heat, so I make my way into the restroom and lean across the cold sink. I am right, my face and neck are thoroughly rosy.
When I walk back out, they are singing happy birthday to Rocco. Angela stands beside him as he blows his candles out, but she barely makes any contact with him.
“Cent’anni.” the room echoes as a hundred different glasses clink in approval.
“What’s your name?” A low voice says from beside me.
“Sophia,” I reply, not wanting to be rude.
“Ahh, the famous Sophia Falcone. I’ve heard stories about you.”
“Oh,” I say as my heart plummets.
“I had a brother around your age. Do you know what happened to him?”
“What?” I ask, meeting his ominous stare.
“Your brother took him from me, so now I’m going to return the favor.”
“My brother?” I say confused.
Before I can react, a gun is pointed at my chest, as a collective hush falls over the room, followed by the sound of metal as a hundred other guns are pulled.
“Drop the weapon Fabio,” Rocco’s voice booms across the room. “Stop embarrassing yourself, cousin.”
“An eye for an eye, Rocco. If you won’t do something about it, I will.” he says angrily.
“We had an agreement,” Rocco replies, his voice filled with venom.
“I changed my mind,” the man replies, his eyes widening madly.
“Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.”
—Michael Corleone
HIS FINGER HOVERS OVER THE TRIGGER, BUT BEFORE I CAN EVEN SCREAM, A GUNSHOT ECHOES.
The man beside me drops to the floor, his eyes wide with shock. Rocco makes a motion and the music restarts.
Conversations resume and everybody goes back to the party, two men come and collect the dead guy’s body, and within seconds a cleaning team has appeared with supplies and a mop. I glance around at Mama, and she shrugs and returns to her conversation about flowers.
Somebody being murdered is just another day in theLa Cosa Nostra. There is a thin line between life and death; I had just lived to die another day. Making a beeline towards the fire exit, my knees feel slightly weak, and I don’t want to make a spectacle of myself by fainting.
I am so grateful for the chilly evening air that hits me as I pull the heavy door open and sit on one of the stairs below the door. I close my eyes, trying to control my breathing. The gunshot reverberates in my head, and I jump as I hear another loud bang but it’s only the door behind me slamming.
