“Hey, hey, hey,” Vinny said. “Loosen your grip, boss.”
Beneath my palm, a thin line cracked through the mahogany trim of the card table.
“You sure you don’t want one of us to go with you?” Vinny asked. The implied “to keep me out of trouble” went unsaid.
“I’ve promised her I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Yeah, you’re off to a good start,” Tore quipped.
“Weren’t we playing poker?” Vinny cut in.
“Look at it this way. You’ll get closure and be able to switch mindsets from brotherly to fatherly duties from now on.”
“What do you know about fatherly duties?” I asked. With his playboy antics, Tore wouldn’t become a father for another decade or two if he could help it.
“I’ve learned a lot from a few friendly MILFs I know.”
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, too long for a text.
“Gigolo,” Vinny fake-sneezed.
“Just enjoying a good time. No harm. No foul.”
My phone rumbled again. I smirked at their ridiculousness and answered the phone.
“Pronto.” Ready—my standard greeting.
“About time you answered my calls, boy.”
All my good humor fled, killed in an instant by Francesco Giambrone’s brash bluster. I leaned back in my chair and took a puff from my cigar.
“There a reason I need to?”
“You arrogant little shit. My daughter and I deserve more respect than that.”
“Your daughter deserved more respect than an arranged marriage to a man she’s never met, but I don’t see you caring. Why should I?”
“I’ve been patient with you. Too patient. Now I learn you plan to foist three rejected children on my daughter. I won’t have it.”
I downed the last of my grappa. The oak and caramel notes helped wash away the bitterness of this conversation.
“Getting a little ahead of yourself. Your daughter’s not my wife. And she’ll have no say, even if we marry.”
“If? There will be no if.”
“I think you’ll find, Giambrone, that I follow my own plans. Not my father’s, and certainly not yours.”
“I won’t stand for this.”
“You don’t get a choice. But congratulations. Should Michaela and I marry, you’ll inherit three obnoxious grandchildren.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Break the contract, and this’ll mean war.”
“You’re the first to mention a possible breach. You considering?”
“Enough games, Iannelli. I want a date set. I want the details ironed. I want what was promised.”
“I’ve told you before. I’ve no desire to marry yet, and since the contract has no clearly defined deadline, I see no need for urgency. But of course, I’m willing to be lenient if you feel Michaela deserves other prospects. You’re free to break it without any reproach on my end.”
