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Our guests arrive in ones and twos. We’ve invited a few of my most trusted men and their families. Omar brings his wife and young boy, who isn’t much older than Bryce.
The two play as Sasha engages Delphine in the den.
Fabio even brings his mother, Marsia, and her friend Florina. Both women who grew up in the lifestyle alongside Stefania. Florina, in particular, was a trusted employee of Lucius’s for many years ’til she had enough of his ways and turned on him (at least secretly, when she helped me).
I greet them with a respectful nod and try to steer them toward the den where they can lounge and chat as we await dinner, but both women turn me down—they head nosily into the kitchen like the stereotypical old-school Italian women they are.
Even some of Delphine’s work associates show up. Carlos comes with his wife and twin girls. Cirie shows up bearing a bottle of fine wine.
Soon our large home fills with life as the hour on the clock passes.
I keep an eye on it in wait for our special guest of honor. He doesn’t realize he’s the special guest I’m most eager to have arrive. If he has the guts to arrive at all. He’s claimed he wants to be let back in Delphine’s life and he’d like to get to know his grandson. Let’s see if he puts his money where his mouth is.
My security radios me when he pulls up in his town car. I don’t mention it to Delphine, choosing to handle the situation on my own. It’s what Ernest will least expect given the occasion.
The few times we’ve been forced to inhabit the same setting for social events, we’ve done so from afar.
He kept to his side and I kept to mine, always with the invisible wall of tension between us.
I’d taunt him in subtle ways. He’d do the same to me. But, for the most part, we never interacted. Even Delphine knew better than to get us to try—if anything, she was relieved that everyone had always survived the night.
Ernest spots me waiting for him in the doorway to my large mansion. He’s approaching, doing his usual arrogant stroll, where he flexes his authority and power. It’s in the way he smoothes a hand down his tie and then surveys his surroundings like he’s unimpressed, his expression otherwise stoic and unreadable.
But as he sees me waiting for him, uncertainty flickers in and out of his face. He carries on like the arrogant asshole he is at his core, but it’s with a split second of hesitation.
I plaster a wide grin on my face and then hold my hand out. “Ernest,” I say politely, in my fakest fucking voice. “So nice of you to join us.”
His jaw clenches. He refuses my handshake. “Have you been replaced by an AI bot, Mancino? What’s with the forced pleasantries? I’m here to see my daughter and grandson only.”
“Mywifeand myson,” I say, reveling in how his jaw clenches further. Sticking the hand he refused to shake in my pants pocket, I step aside to allow him in. “Phi will be over to see you in a second. In the meantime, Ernest, why don’t you have a drink at the bar? I’ll show you—this house can be a maze.”
“I’d rather just get straight to—”
“Formality calls for a drink,” I interrupt with such smooth politeness even he can’t turn me down.
We walk side by side down the wide entrance hall of the mansion Delphine and I call home. It thrums with life despite its size; we’ve filled it to the brim with so many guests, you can’t escape the easy dinner party vibe.
“We’ll have some mint juleps. You like those, right, Ernest?” I say at the minibar.
I’ve got Linq, my head bartender at Nirvana, working the drinks for the evening. He winks at me, his hands a blur as he gathers the shaker, bottles of alcohol, mint, and shaved ice.
“Two mint juleps coming right up.”
I turn to Ernest, still grinning. “You’ve had Linq’s drinks before. The times you’ve turned up unannounced to the club.”
Ernest’s expression pulls tighter. “Of course. How thoughtful of you to order me a mint julep.”
“The occasion calls for it. Have you met my good friend and right hand, Stitches? Stitches, get over here.”
Stitches just happens to be lingering in the background—something that seems unplanned but couldn’t be more orchestrated—and he looks over with his eyes lighting up behind his wire-framed glasses. Jamming a thumb to his chest, he mouths, “Me?” in fake shock.
I beckon him over with a motion of my head. “Yeah, you! Get over here and meet the greatest district attorney and mayor Northam’s ever known.”
“Mancino, really, I’m not here to meet your band of gang—”
“The former mayor of Northam!” Stitches cries out excitedly. He earns a couple looks from other guests as he beelines over. “Actually, we have met! That afternoon not too long ago in the hospital parking lot. You remember, don’t you, mayor?”
Ernest stares at Stitches like he’s scum. Almost with more loathing than he stares at me. “Yes. I remember. Stitches, is it? What an interesting name.”
