I sat back in my seat, checking my rearview mirror. Silvio was coming toward my car, a cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth. Silvio had been around since before I was born and had about thirty years on me. He had started out like everyone else and worked his way up. He wasn’t blood, but he might as well have been. My grandfather considered him family.
Silvio stopped at the window, leaning in some, smoke blowing in the car. The sweet smell paired perfectly with the scent of the old leather seats. “Afraid you gonna catch the garter?” He grinned at me.
“I’m quick,” I said, returning the grin. “If I can dodge a bullet, I can dodge that fucking luck.”
“Don Emilio has taught you everything but the most important thing.” He laughed. “That a woman is quicker than a bullet.”
“None have hit me yet. A woman or a bullet.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He used the car to lift himself straight, blowing out another ring of smoke. “You just jinxed yourself.”
“Bullshit,” I said, shutting the car off. I stepped out and shut the door, pocketing my keys. “I’m stating facts. Even fate can’t argue with those.”
“You willin’ to bet your balls on it?”
We both turned to look at his son, a mini version of him, Silvio Junior, or as everyone called him, Junior. His nickname was “The Bull,” though behind his back, most of the guys called him “No Nuts.”
No Nuts had been sent to Sicily after he’d killed the wrong guy and caused some issue between our family and another. It was a straight hit—bing, bam, boom, done—but somehow he got the cars mixed up. He didn’t bother to check the car’s license plate. So instead of killing an associate, he killed someone important to another family.
Silvio had gone to my grandfather and asked a favor of him after: to hide No Nuts until things could get straightened out. While No Nuts was there, he fell for a Sicilian girl, who didn’t seem to feel the same about him. She castrated him and then ran and hid.
No Nuts lost his mind when he lost his balls, like they were directly connected, and no one could locate her or them since—the woman or his nuts.
We both shivered, cupping ours, protecting them from evil. That poor motherfucker was the poster boy for ball loss. I couldn’t be sure, but after he came home, it seemed like his eyes had crossed some as a side effect.
“Poor bastard.” Silvio shook his head. “That bitch is going to pay. You can’t run and hide forever. Your bad deeds always catch up to you.” He stared at No Nuts for a second before he shook his head. “Don Emilio sent me out to get you. He wants pictures done of the family.”
We watched No Nuts dancing around a bunch of cars, mouthing the words to “Mambo Italiano,” before we went to find my grandfather in the mix of the crowd.
* * *
There were morepeople than I thought. Most of them were crowded around my grandparents, watching as they danced to a slow song. Once the dance was over, and so were the pictures, my grandfather and I headed toward his office.
One foot inside of the house, and it was like taking a step back in time. Most of the furniture had been imported from Sicily. Some had been passed down through the generations. The only difference was that the entire house had been decorated with flowers for the wedding.
I followed my grandfather up the steps, eyeing the hand-carved cross and then a picture of my aunts and mother. It was an oil painting done years ago, when they were just kids. They were all pretty close in age.
My mother, Emilia, and the little girl sitting close to her in the painting, Luna, were the closest in age and in life. My grandmother told me that wherever Luna went, so did Emilia. Emilia treated her little sister like a baby doll. Luna died not long after I was born. From what Silvio had told me, my mother and grandfather were never the same after. Luna was the baby.
When I realized my grandfather had reached the top of the stairs, I started moving again, meeting him in his office. I wasn’t surprised that my uncle Carmine was already in the sitting area, Tito Sala next to him.
Uncle Carmine was my grandmother’s sister’s husband, and my grandfather’sconsigliere. He counseled my grandfather on issues. Tito Sala had done the same for the Fausti family at one time.
The Faustis were the bosses of the bosses. Most people assumed men of such high ranking didn’t exist any longer, but the Faustifamigliaexisted, and in the old country. Italy. When the worst of the worst couldn’t be controlled, or issues like the ones going on between the five families cropped up, their leaders stepped in.
Most of the time, though, it was their lower-ranking men who dealt with the petty shit. If theircapo dei capi—bosses of all bosses—stepped in, it meant that the entire organization was close to the end. That’s why the family always stepped in before it could even get that close.
Marzio Fausti had been thecapo dei capifor as long as I could remember. But he’d been killed, and his son, Lothario, was acting in his place until a new leader was announced officially. They were sniffing around more than usual lately because of the issues between the five families.
Tito Sala could be here for the wedding, or he could be here to judge the mood and report back to Rocco, who was in our area as of late. Then Rocco would pass that information on to whoever in his family.
I greeted Uncle Carmine and then Tito Sala. They both took a seat after we all shook hands. My grandfather took his seat at the head of the desk. I took the seat across from him, glancing down at my phone for a brief second.
My mother had tried to call me during the church service. The missed call was stuck on my screen, and it showed a voicemail. I turned my eyes up before my grandfather demanded my attention.
He looked me straight in the eye. “You and I, along with the men in this room, know I have prepared you all of these years to take over.”
It wasn’t the norm to have two men prepared to take one spot, but my grandfather had taught Silvio the same as he had taught me over the years. He had groomed us both for the position he held in the family.
