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“Paulie, you were never going to be Don,” Dante says, his hands in his pockets, posture easy, as if he doesn’t care.
But that muscle in his jaw is tight, the one I like to lick when we’re alone, and I can tell he’s about to lose it.
“The fuck I wasn’t—”
“You couldn’t handle this. Do you really think I was just going to give you this family? Let you tear it down? I would give you two years before you had the entire organization incarcerated.”
“Carmine—”
“Carmine wanted you in charge because he didn’t want me in charge.”
“Even more reason—”
“You think that if you went against him, he wouldn’t have had you taken out, Paulie? You weren’t smart enough to gain loyalty, not the kind that would keep you safe.”
“He wouldn’t—”
“He had my mother killed.”
Silence fills the space.
We haven’t talked about this either. About the revelations that were brought to light that night in Carmine’s office, about the news that undoubtedly haunts Dante.
“I don’t—”
“Men liked her too much; she had too many opinions. Had his own wife murdered and then played the mourning widower like a pro. Do you think there’s a universe where he wouldn’t do the same to you?”
Paulie’s face changes just a bit. He’s not sure how to process this information.
“He was loyal to no one. Not his men. Not his wife. Not his children. It wouldn't have changed just because you were in the picture.”
“That's not—”
“It is,” Dante says, and for a moment, I think he’ll get through to him. That we can move past this as a family, that this will blow over.
And then something snaps.
“Fuck this.” Paulie reaches behind him and I know.
I know what he’s doing.
Others do as well, the few people who aren’t family and are still in the room to watch the drama unfold shifting toward the door, fleeing for safety.
The next thing I know, Paulie has a gun in his hand and it’s pointed toward Dante.
“Lilah, out,” Dante barks, and I feel Marco place his hand on my arm, eager to obey Dante’s command, but I can’t move.
I can't breathe.
I can’t take my eyes off Paulie, who has his gun pointed directly at my husband.
“Paulie—” Jason starts, at some point returning to the room after helping people out. He starts walking toward him slowly, but Paulie points the gun in his direction, causing him to freeze.
My mind thinks of Bethanny, his sweet daughter who bragged for an hour straight about her amazing father the time I went to the hospital to visit her when she had pneumonia.
I think about Marco, who told me Jason is his oldest friend, how he brought him into the family, how he’s good, he just bet on the wrong Carluccio.
I think about how he defended me when Paulie hit me.
