I had dropped Alcina off at her parents’casaafter we arrived from Bronte.I told her to start planning the wedding—it would take place in four days. I even called my grandfather and invited him and my grandmother. He did not ask her name or where she was from, but I could tell he was pleased that I chose someone. The rest didn’t matter to him.
I instructed him not to bring Silvio, and I also told him to stop him from going after the Sicilian girl he had been after to seek revenge for any wrongdoing to his son. She did not deserve the vengeance. We’d talk more about it at the wedding.
Tito Sala and his wife stayed with the women. Fausti men were placed around theircasa,since Romeo Fausti had decided to join his uncle. He had some business in the area, and that meant more protection. They were romantic motherfuckers, when they flipped the ruthless side of the coin, and after Tito had told him what was happening, Romeo had agreed to lend some extra protection until I could get back to Alcina.
Giuseppe mopped his head with a handkerchief, watching the door with anticipation. He told me that the Balistreris were getting impatient and that the old man, Eraldo’s father, had sent him to Bronte to meet Alcina. He wanted to remind Giuseppe that time ticked, and not in his favor. Giuseppe paid him to help keep the family safe, but once he agreed to go a step further, to marry Alcina to Eraldo, the old man was understanding of his term, for his son toserende, but not agreeable to it.
That was the only reason Alcina was not married to Eraldo. The old man respected Giuseppe’s traditional side, and he gave Giuseppe until October to come to terms with that not happening.
The thought ofminemarried tohimmade me set my glass down harder than intended.
We were waiting for the Balistreris now. Giuseppe had called a sitdown at my request.
I knew it was only a matter of time before Eraldo wanted to meet her. Giuseppe’s hesitation of their meeting, and the price on her head, would only make him more curious about her—was she ugly enough to hide, or more beautiful than he could ever imagine? If he saw her, this would no longer be about business, but something more personal. He would want her.
That eleven-year old girl in my pocket looked nothing like the woman who stood before me in the pistachio grove.
The door opened to the restaurant. All heads turned but Nicodemo’s and mine. I picked up my glass, took a sip, and then set it down, fixing my vest after. I was used to a suit.
There were eleven of them. The old man and his son took the center. The muscle protected the hearts. Three of the men stood at the door, blocking our exit, and there were probably more placed around the building.
Nicodemo grinned, his teeth bright against the tan of his skin. He thrived in this atmosphere.
So did I.
I always reacted accordingly. The main thing about these sitdowns, especially with men who were old school, was respect. Anything less wouldn’t be tolerated.
Giuseppe’s seat was at the middle of the table, separating the two sides—a representative of his daughter.
I nodded at the old man, addressing him only. “Grazie,” I said, “for agreeing to this meeting today.”
He nodded, picking up his drink, and took a sip. His eyes never left mine.
Nunzio stared at me, and I gave a subtle nod. He translated my words so thefamigliacouldn’t argue that something was lost in translation. The old man hated me on principal, and I could feel it, so I would make sure there were no “misunderstandings” at thistavolo.
“I called this meeting today because the deal between yourfamigliaand the Parisifamigliahas been broken. There will be no wedding between your son and my wife.”
Giuseppe’s mouth fell open. He looked between us, as fast as his daughter blinked when she was attracted to something.
Nunzio translated again.
The old man stared at me, his eyes even harder. He knocked on the table once, twice, three times, and then all guns pointed in our direction.
Adriano had his gun out before they did. He was as quick on the draw as he was with snatching a piece of food. That was why it was wise to never judge a book, so to speak, by its cover. There was a legitimate reason why he was sent with me. He would take four of them out before a bullet would touch him. Nunzio had his gun pointed at the old man, his main job to destroy the heart before the muscle destroyed me.
Nicodemo still had a grin on his face—the men at the door wouldn’t know what had hit them. He was eager for it, already scenting the potential for bloodshed in the air.
Every word that I spoke, Nunzio translated, even if I would speak a word or two in Sicilian.
“You are a businessman,” I said to the old man. “We can either do business, or—” I shrugged.
Giuseppe made the sign of the cross, kissing his fingertips, which came together after.
“We will see her,” the old man spoke in Sicilian, and Nunzio translated.
To see what the fuss was about. I shook my head. “The only person you need to see is me.”
The old man held my stare, which was unyielding, as I took a drink, just like he had done. The ice clanked in the glass; the amber moved and then slid down my throat like spiced honey.
