Those of us on the payroll were both admired and feared.
The car service dropped me at exactly ten o'clock.
"Go on through, Donna Julia." A heavily armed soldato standing in the shadows of the porte-cochère spoke with a slightaccent. The car parked beside him was a customized purple and yellow Ferrari Portofino that was as tacky as it was outlandish and belonged to my cousin.
My cousin Vinny.
Now I remembered. Not Ralph Macchio, but they did look alike. My cousin had bad taste and poor judgment.
"Julia!" Vinny embraced me and delivered two air kisses as if we'd not seen each other for a decade. We'd played together as kids, so my annoyance with him was always short-lived.
"How's life, Vin?"
"You know." He shut the door and put his hand on the small of my back. I hate that. I'm not his girlfriend or his little sister, but I ignored it. The things you do for family. "I'm single again. You want to head to Omertà after?"
"Do I look twenty-four to you?"
"Yes!" He smiled, removed his hand from my back, and pointed towards the kitchen. "Wine?"
"Wine, yes. Clubbing, hard no."
"Julia, you hurt me."
"You'll do just fine." We entered the kitchen through a side door. The room was expansive—designed for a restaurant, not a home. Hell, the mansion had enough stone to tear down and rebuild into a castle. The range alone had burners to fry eggs for an entire football team while simultaneously grilling slabs of bacon on the side.
He poured from an open bottle of Chianti. At least he remembered my preference. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. "Is Don Nonno here yet?"
"Taste it." He pointed to the glass he'd just poured. "It retails for sixty bucks but tastes like it costs a hundred."
I sipped and nodded. "Yup, tastes exactly like a hundred-dollar bottle of wine you picked up for sixty, Vin. Now, where's our grandfather?"
"In the den." Vinny put his hand on my back again and I swatted it away.
I was capable of walking without help, thank you very much. "He's asleep?"
"He comes and goes. If he calls you Stella mia or Dolcezza, just ignore him."
I spoke in a whisper. "I'm not looking forward to the funeral once he's gone."
"Nobody is." He put his index finger to his lips. "Now be quiet about it."
Funerals and weddings were dangerous in our line of work. Respect and tradition meant everyone had to show up, and everyone knew it. Rival families. The feds. State police. Tabloids and shock television vultures. And God only knew who else.
Nicodemo "Nico" Russo's funeral was going to require more security than any in recent memory.
My aunt's voice broke my train of thought. "Julia! Come here. You look gorgeous. How was your flight?"
Deciding I could plan funeral safety measures later, I embraced my aunt Filomena and we chatted briefly about my trip before she reminded me that I'd need to repeat everything once the meeting started.
"Enjoy your wine, dear."
I sipped and observed the room.
Over the next twenty minutes, it filled with family members. Two of my uncles, Dominic and Angelo, made a point to talk to me separately. Almost like I was a member of the family now. This assignment had given me the appearance of respect. But in the end, I knew I had to earn it. Just like the rest of them.
Most, maybe all, were loyal, hardworking, and respectable.
But if life taught me anything, it was this: never get too comfortable.
