I shoved his head away and he leaned the other direction, wanting Guido to do the same thing.
“Do not put numberonehair on your side and numbertwohair on mine,” Guido said, pushing Romeo’s face away. Romeo still held the camera up, sticking his tongue out at it. “I know the meaning of this. I will report you to the system if you do, as something offensive. My hair is notshit.”
The place had been slow when we entered, but there were a bunch of us, and the group was loud. Not because they meant any disrespect; it was just the natural level for Italians. For whatever reason, though, it sent the staff into overdrive, and all of a sudden the place bumped.
“I do not understand what Lou means by this,” Guido said, apropos of nothing. “Guido—what is wrong with my name? It comes from the old name Wido. Which I believe means wood.”
Romeo cracked up. “Insta love? Or Instaculo? Widoworks well withculo.”
Guido shoved him.
“Guido is, ah—” Tito waved his menu around. “In America it is a slang word for a man who is overly vain.”
“A slick Italian-American,” Dario said.
“At least you don’t wear nose karate,” Mitch said, making a chopping motion with his hand. “Too much of that old-style cologne gives you a deadly kick to your sniffer. That shit will make your eyes water.”
“I amallItalian,” Guido said, ignoring Mitch. “I live here for the job.”
Dario shrugged, eyes on the menu. “Still applies.”
“That is not me,” Guido continued on, as though he was arguing with Lourdes Maria Goretti back at the salon/shop. “That is Romeo!”
“Hah?” Romeo said, looking up from his phone. “What?”
The entire table erupted into laughter.
Rocco snatched Romeo’s phone, setting it on the table. “Pay attention to us.” Then he called him something rude in Italian.
“You can no longer boss me around,fratello,” Romeo said. “I am about to be married.”
“Thenshewill boss you around,” Rocco said. “One less job I will have.”
The table laughed again. Rocco reached over and messed Romeo’s hair. It was something an older brother would do.
I patted Rocco on the shoulder. He stilled for a moment before he swallowed hard and visibly lightened.
Before I came along, he was the sole ruler of our small branch in the Fausti Kingdom. He had heavy burdens to carry on his shoulders. Then he stood to lose it all when it was made known that I was the oldest. After I assured him that I’d rather be his brother than his leader, we squared things. But I was his older brother, and I’d take care of him.
“Juliette has taken the job without issue,” Dario said. “She has risen in ranks in no time.”
“It is in their nature, no?” Tito said. “A woman has to be, ah, of a certain temperament to be able to handle a Fausti man.”
“What about the women with Fausti blood, Uncle?” Guido lifted a brow.
Tito had married into the Faustifamiglia. His wife, Lola, was my grandfather’s younger sister and Luca’s aunt. And if anyone was a tyrant, it was Lola Fausti, especially when she used her broom as a fucking weapon.
Tito smiled, a devilish point coming to his chin. “That takes a certain charm as well. Nothing youraggaziwould know about.”
“AH!” All of the men but me threw their napkins at him.
The waitress scurried up then, starting to make small talk—she started this off by asking if we were all Italian. Mitch and Mick glanced at each other.
Speaking of tyrants, I pulled out my phone, sending Scarlett a quick text. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was always on my mind, but when she wasn’t feeling like herself, it almost drove me mad. I could still feel her desperation. It clung to me like the cold.
A second later my phone lit up.
I’m at Barb Salon, a hair salon and barbershop. Violet wanted to spy on Guido’s love interest.
