“Yeah, well, technically you did.” When she snatched it, I added, “Hope you made enough tips to cover all those beers.”
Giana gasped. She was sixteen. To her alcohol was a forbidden fruit that adults had at mealtime, and teens only sipped at Christmas.
“What the hell?” Maria hissed.
“You have three choices: Make them pay for their drinks.” I lifted my fingers to count. “Pay for them yourself. Or keep them comped like this, and I’ll make sure to mention it to Don Morelli when I give my nightly report.”
My sister blanched. “Gabby, you can’t be serious.”
Deadly.“They’re using you. Can’t you see that?”
Her eyes began to melt. The black pupil bleeding into the chocolate iris. Her lip stuck out in a big, fat pout. “Please, don’t do this. Can’t we just—can’t we just sweep it under the rug this once?”
“No.”
“What’s the matter?” Carmela, the next oldest sister to me glided up to the stand.
While Maria began to blubber, I explained in clipped words.
“Yeah, no, Maria.” Carmela shook her head. “We don’t give out freebies unless it is an anniversary or a birthday.”
“But I can’t tell them that,” she moaned, lines of water ruining her perfectly applied makeup. “I’d rather die.”
I should have made her. We might be the capo’s daughters, but we weren’t fragile princesses. We needed to stand up for ourselves.
I snatched the crumpled, tearstained ticket. “I’ll fix it. But don’t let it happen again.”
Instead of looking grateful or thanking me, Maria stuck out her lip. “It’s not like you’ll be around to catch me next time.”
Carmela gasped. “How dare you?”
I held up my hand. “Maria is right. Her actions have consequences. Don’t any of you—” I pointed my fingers at each in turn “—forget that.”
Marching to the back of the restaurant, through the busy tables full of locals, tourists, and even an influencer, who was more interested in filming himself eat than actually consuming the food, I planted myself in the center of the four far tables. There was a crew of ten soldiers, having supper and shooting the breeze.
“Question about the drinks, guys.” I held up the ticket. “Your waitress forgot to split them under with your meals. Is someone taking care of all the beers? Or how should I divide them?”
Not one man spoke up. Brown, black, and grey eyes shifted as they looked at each other for answers.
“Puttana Irlandese,” someone whispered in back.
My stomach flipped. I was a girl from the neighborhood. My house was a block from his mother’s. And yet, that was how he saw me.
“If you don’t want me to tell Don Morelli that you tried to flirt with my sister for free drinks, you’ll decide now who’s paying,” I snapped.
“I’ll take it,” Tommy piped up. “I told them not to.”
I wanted to tell him he shouldn’t have to, but I handed it over. I wasn’t here to police everyone.
“Felicitations on your marriage, Gabby.” Tommy grinned. “We’re looking forward to the wedding.”
My stomach flipped again. The black dress shirt was suddenly too tight, and I couldn’t breathe.
“Thanks.” The word was flat.
As I walked away, I heard them murmur that it would serve the Irish right if they turned my wedding into a bloodbath.
“You’d really start a war with the Irish?” Maria asked, stopping by their table. Her hushed whisper wasn’t as quiet as she thought it was.
