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And if I tell the truth of my answer, that I would sacrifice everyone and anyone to keep Dante safe, does that damn me to Hell?
Or am I already headed there anyway?
Paulie moves, stepping into the room, everyone giving him a wide berth. Even without a weapon in his hands, he gives off an unhinged, psychotic-break type of energy that has everyone backing away. I look around, making note of who is still in the room—elderly men and women, old friends of Carmine’s, women and children who don’t need to be here for this . . .
Fuck.
What a goddamn mess.
My eyes move to Jason and then to Roddy.
“Get them out of here,” I say, issuing orders to the men and tipping my head in the direction of a group huddled together. “Then someone go check on Tino, make sure he’s good. If needed, call an ambulance.” The men nod and I watch Jason quickly move to a woman with a small girl, both shaking with fear, and leading them toward the exit.
“What, you take fuckin’ orders from this cunt now?” he yells at who was once his second. “A fucking piece of pussy walks in, turns you all against me, and what? You just follow her?”
“Paulie, it’s not like that. These people don’t need to be here for—”
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch,” Paulie screams, taking a step toward me and barely, just barely, touching my arm.
Before I can respond, Dante fucking loses it, taking three steps in my direction before bellowing at his nephew. “Don’t you even fuckin’ think of putting your hands on my wife!”
The room, most of whom probably still assumed I was dutifully engaged to Paulie Carluccio, goes crazy at Dante’s words. With them, I pull a page out of his and Marco’s book, shaking my head at the ceiling because this is so not the right fucking time.
“Head in the fuckin’ game, Delilah,” Marco says behind me, his voice low and on guard. I don’t know when he got there, but I’m glad to have him near, to have him on my side.
“Oh, what, you all didn’t know?” Paulie says, a sick, chaotic laugh coming from his chest. He’s completely gone, any speck of a respectable, put-together man evaporating now that the truth has come out. “Yeah, Dante’s apparently been fucking my fiancée and even went so far as to fucking marry her.”
“That’s not—” I start because that’s not what happened. That’s not how this worked, not how any of it worked, and I refuse to let him twist that aspect of my life.
“No one fucking asked you!” he shouts, pointing a finger at me unsteadily.
I watch as it shakes, his hand unsteady.
From drink?
From nerves?
Does it even mater anymore?
“Paulie!” Dante shouts at his nephew, but I keep staring at him, crossing my arms on my chest.
“Paulie, this is fucking ridiculous. Be a fuckin’ man and have a real conversation with us about this. You want a position of power? Fuckin’ prove you can handle it. All I’ve seen is you fuckin’ around, messing with your men’s wives, getting drunk, hitting women—”
“That was your fault!” he says, turning to me, and I try not to smile despite the serious moment because he’s right.
And it’s a fault I’m still proud of.
“You did this, you fucking whore. Just like your mother, use—”
“Do not,” I say, all humor evaporating, and move a step forward. Marco tries to grab my arm but I shake it off, and I also ignore the way Dante says my name low and furious, a warning. “Do not speak about my mother.”
“A fuckin’ whore. Fuckin’ a Russo then gets pregnant by that mayor. Then fucks the Russo again. He’s dead because of her, you know. Your father’s death was your mother’s fault.”
I shake my head at him.
“And your father got his goumad pregnant and forced Teresa to claim you as her own. The two of you and your scum of a grandfather treated her so terribly, she made sure Tony got his. So I guess we’ve got that in common, Paulie, fucking over our fathers and all.”
“Delilah—” Dante starts, but I shake my head.
