AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I smile when I am greeted and limit myself to responding with polite nods. Tonight, more than ever, the nickname they use to refer to me in the Cantina seems perfect: pet.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, surprising me, when he finds a space next to a high table and makes us stop walking. He untangles his arm from mine and stops in front of me.
“Water, please.” His face turns a little to the side.
“Water?”
“I don't know what the options are,” I admit, and I feel my cheeks heat up.
“Champagne, wine, whiskey, cocktails, beer, anything.”
“Coke?”
“Coke?” His face draws back, surprised. “The soda?” I laugh at Vittorio because it's not like there's another Coca-Cola besides the soda. “Are you laughing at me?” Now he tilts his head to the side, and, for the first time, I see his eyebrows furrow.
“Sorry,” I apologize, sucking my lips into my mouth. “I've never drunk anything alcoholic before.”
“Your father,” he deduces, and I blink upon realizing that he knows much more about my life than I imagined.
I look away, uncomfortable. I only look back at him when Vittorio places the glass of soda in front of my eyes, drawing my attention back to him. I don't know how the drinks got here so quickly and without him leaving me alone, but I imagine that's the norm for the Don.
Vittorio lifts a glass of wine to his lips, and I accept the long glass he’s still offering me. I take a long sip and the cold drink isa party exploding in my mouth. I have no idea when was the last time I had a drop of Coca-Cola in my mouth. Soda was a luxury I definitely couldn't afford, and the Cantina pantries didn't seem to like them.
The silence settles between us for several minutes and, surprising me once again, Don is uncomfortable with it because he breaks it.
“How do you feel at your first party?” I look at Vittorio, still not knowing how to deal with his knowledge about my life.
I never wondered what else, besides my address, obviously, Vittorio would know. Maybe it was stupid of me not to immediately assume he would know much more. The man acts like the whole world is his, it was definitely stupid on my part.
He waits for my response without realizing or caring how much his comment about my father's alcoholism shook me. Then I remind myself that this is it, I don't matter.A small price to pay, I tell myself.
“I still don't know,” I explain. “We’ve just arrived. What kind of party is this?”
“A charity event.”
“For what charity?”
“I have no idea.” The answer makes me raise my eyebrows.
“But several of the people who approached you congratulated you or thanked you for the generous donation.” He stares at me blankly, as if he doesn't know what I mean. “Don't you know what you donated to?” Hips gather in one corner of his mouth in a malicious way at my question.
“I know exactly what I donated to, Gabriella.” The surprise on my face is quickly replaced by confusion when I can't understand how the two things can make sense. Vittorio tucks his lips into his mouth and an expression of almost amusement flashes across his face for a second. “Do you need to know what this event is for to decide if you like it?” He goes back to the initial topic.
“It's very beautiful.” I shrug. “And luxurious.” His eyes narrow before he nods and then looks at the watch on his wrist. It's not the first time he's done this.
“Don Vittorio.” That's the first person tonight who greets him not as Mr. Cataneo but uses his title within the mafia.
My spine stiffens at the obvious realization. Vittorio gives my hand a subtle tug, silently and subtly ordering me to return to his side. I obey in the blink of an eye.
The man in his fifties approaches us, alone, with one hand stuffed in his pants pocket and the other holding a glass of whiskey. His eyes are green, almost brown, and his dark hair has some gray streaks. His body is athletic and his smile, fake.
“Don Felippo,” Vittorio greets with a dry tone, very different from the cordiality that the man in front of us had imprinted in his own voice.
“I didn't expect to see you here,” the guest says.
“I didn't know you followed my schedule.”
“Such a successful businessman. All of Italy has one eye on you, Don Vittorio.” The smile that appears on Vittorio's face after that comment is cold enough to spread ice through my veins.
