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He doesn’t have the whole story. If the two of them talked last night, that means she didn’t tell him everything. “She was doing it to protect me,” I interject, stubbornly defending her. “She believes that if she marries me, Giovanni will kill me.”
Dante mutters a curse, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Gesù Cristo,” he murmurs, pacing across the living room. “You’re discussing marriage with the Lucatello girl?”
I shrug my shoulders, watching my brother intently as he paces back and forth. “I love her, Dante. If you’re not going to support me?—“
He cuts me off again. “I’m going to help you. I already told you last night I was going to help you. We discussed this in great detail. I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting yourself into with that girl.”
I don’t enter into things that I haven’t fully vetted. Just because I haven’t embraced the family traditions doesn’t mean I didn’t learn at our father’s knee like the rest of my brothers. “Did she seem mad last night when she picked us up?”
Dante dismissively waves off the question. “No, just concerned. If I had allowed her, she would have helped me carry your sorry ass inside, prepared a late-night snack, and stayed with you until you woke up.”
“But she didn’t do any of that?” I lament, yearning for the sight of Christine’s beautiful face instead of Dante’s exasperating presence.
“You don’t see her around, do you?” Dante retorts irritably. “I sent her on her way. I was perfectly capable of carrying your drunk self to the couch, wasn’t I?”
I wish it would have been a bed, then perhaps my back wouldn’t hurt so much, but I guess this is better than the floor. “We didn’t wake Adalina or anything last night, did we?” I wince. “I can apologize if we did. Where is she?” I make a concerted effort to sit up, and even though my head feels like it’s going to explode, I hold myself aloft while I look around for my sister-in-law.
“Don’t worry about my wife,” Dante replies, his tone indicating irritation. “She’s fine. She doesn’t even know you’re here.”
I can’t remember the last time I saw Adalina. Was it at Thanksgiving? Or was she visiting family? “I can go. Call an Uber or something,” I mumble. “I don’t want to interrupt your Sunday.”
Dante returns to his seat on the couch, a serious look in his eyes as he speaks to me. “I talked to a guy this morning. He’s been keeping his ear to the ground since Father died. There’s been some talk of the families turning against us. They see us as weak without Fausto in charge.”
I don’t have time for this. I have about a million other tasks to focus on, the least of which is worrying about my brother trying to navigate the waters of organized crime now that Dad is dead. “Do you need me to do something?”
“Be careful,” he warns. “Everyone thinks you aren’t involved in this thing of ours; they’ll probably leave you alone. But if some lowly button man gets the bright idea that knocking you off will get to me,” Dante shudders just saying the words out loud. “I don’t want to have to call your daughter and tell her that her daddy-boyfriend is dead.”
“Stepdaughter,” I clarify with a glare. “And no one is going to do anything to me or to the family.” If they did, they’d be asking for a war, and no one wants that.
Dante remains skeptical, yet he helps me to my feet. “Still, be careful out there. I don’t want you getting shot. I love you or whatever.”
“Awww,” I tease, a faint smile forming on my lips. “Say it again.”
He tries to suppress a smile, but I can still make out the corners of his lips twitching. “Never mind. I take it back. I hope they shoot your dick off.”
I sling an arm around his shoulder, leaning onto Dante so he can support my weight. “I love you too, brother.”
Chapter 33
Christine
Dante told me not to visit with my uncle, but I have to. I already contacted Giovanni to see if he’d be interested in discussing his decision to arrange a marriage between Rocco and me. To change my mind now would be tantamount to slapping my uncle in the face and spitting on his shoes.
I gird my loins and force myself to drive to Manhattan, giving myself a pep talk along the way.
“Gio would never hurt me.” When he backhanded me, that was different. It was a show of discipline intended to keep me in line.
“Gio wants what’s best for me.” Ultimately, he wants me to distance myself from Niccolo because people will think poorly of us if we carry on this way.
“Gio will see my side and change his mind.” He isn’t so mad at me that he’d force me to marry Rocco Castiglione if I really didn’t want to.
I repeat the sentences to myself over and over again, trying to find a flaw in my thinking. But any reasonable person wouldview this situation through my eyes. I messed up by fooling around with my stepfather, but I can rectify the situation. All I have to do is promise Giovanni the moon, and he’ll dissolve the arranged marriage. Then I’ll give Dante and Niccolo free rein to figure out everything else.
As I enter Nico’s, a charming Italian restaurant in the bustling heart of Manhattan’s business district, my eyes immediately fall on Giovanni. He is ensconced at a table with a beautiful waitress, her white shirt crisp and pristine against her olive skin. His hand rests confidently on her waist, his fingers gripping possessively as he dissolves into a peal of laughter. The discomfort on the waitress’s face is evident, yet Giovanni either fails to notice or simply doesn’t care as he tightens his hold and continues to revel in his amusement.
As soon as I sense the uncomfortable tension between the waitress and my uncle, my body shifts into protective mode. If this were some guy hitting on Kaye and making unwanted advances on her, I’d punch him in the throat. But that kind of behavior would get us kicked out of Nico’s, and Giovanni wouldn’t listen to my pleas if I embarrassed him like that.
Instead, I approach the pair with a forced smile and interject myself into their conversation with a loud and friendly greeting.
