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“Who the fuck do you think you are, girl?” Roz asks, as if she has any power at all.
“I’m Delilah. I’m sorry. I thought we already went over this. I’m Lilah Russo, and you’re the uptight bitch who was too caught up in trying to sit in a seat that was never going to be hers to help a young girl trying to find her family.”
“Maddon’,” Alfredo says.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Sal asks, his face going redder.
“I think that I’m going to be the Donna of this family before you fucking die so your options will be to get the fuck out or back the fuck down.” I tip my chin up with my words, crossing my arms on my chest, knowing that this moment is a tipping scale for how the rest of the men in this family will fall into line.
Ruling is my right, but loyalty and respect aren’t inherited.
“Like I’ll ever listen to some fucking cunt who—” I don’t hear the rest of his words.
I block them out, deciding that while I would have preferred to earn respect, I’ll force it if I have to in this moment.
My hand moves to the waistband of my pants and I hear it again, louder and more exasperated this time.
“Oh, fuck,” Marco bemoans.
“Madonn’,” Alfredo says.
Still, neither stops me as I pull the small gun from the waistband of my jeans, my thumb flipping the safety and pointing it at Sal’s chest.
“Feel free to argue with me, but when Alfredo passes, I’m the one who’s boots you’ll be licking. And I’ve got a really, really good memory.”
“Who the fuck—”
I move the gun, shooting off to the side of his head and hitting a wall.
“Will you fall in line when I’m in charge?” I ask, and I figure this is as good a time as any to show that I’m someone that deserves their respect. That they need to obey. Someone worthy of leading.
I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, a lifetime where they barely knew I existed, and a lot to learn about this family, but I can’t show weakness.
There’s no time for second-guessing.
My father’s letter runs through my mind as Sal’s life flashes before his eyes.
Good.
“I’m waiting, honey,” I say, my voice low and soothing, a stark contrast to the literal gun in his face.
Truth be told, I don’t know if I’ll pull the trigger if he refuses to submit. I don’t know if I have it in me to kill a man in cold blood, if that’s something I’ll ever be able to do.
But I don’t have to make that decision right there because finally, he nods, a slow smile crawling on his lips. His hands move up in a placating manner.
“Yeah, Delilah,” he says with a smile. “You know, your father would be proud of you.”
A little bit of pride runs through me with his words as I put the safety back on and tuck the gun in my jeans.
“Yeah, well, he’d be even more proud of me for this,” I say, and then I do it.
I purse my lips before I step forward and I spit in his face.
Because my father once told me that men would tell me I didn’t belong in a seat of power and when that happened, he told me to spit in their face.
“Sorry. My dad told me to do that,” I say, and then I turn my back to him and walk away, not worrying about any kind of reaction but scanning the men’s faces as I do.
Wide eyes of shock.
