It seemed like a cruel trick to play on me, but it was better than the alternative. Better that than Da actually have cancer.
As acting boss, I’d done a shite job of making the lads heel. My cousin Kevin, with the stupid lip hair, was overly eager to help. He texted daily with suggestions. It was to the point where I was ready to shove the bleeding phone up his arse. Despite his eagerness, I managed. I pushed the lads hard while keeping an active daytime role as construction tycoon, and yet these fucking bastards showed up today acting like a pack of hounds.
Their behavior in the teeny, tiny Italian church was disgraceful.
These eejits didn’t seem to understand that we owed the Morelli Family. But why should they? That was a problem a boss should deal with. The lads should know only as much as was good for them to know and obey without question. We were going to have to work on that. Tomorrow, discipline was in order for nearly every member of our crew.
And the Italians?
They hated our guts. It seemed they didn’t understand the motives of their tactician either. I shot a glance at Don Morelli. Placid smile on his lips, he held court over his underlings.
The problem was, I couldn’t find any motive for his actions or any threat of betrayal.
“Gabby! Dolcezza! I haven’t seen you in ages,” a guest cried out, coming to the head table and leaning over it. Those engorged titties nearly knocked over the candle votive.
Gabriella hugged the woman, exchanging kisses on the cheeks, and subtly tried to push her away from danger. “Zia, sta bene?”
“Si, si!” The woman gripped my wife’s cheeks and pinched them hard. “I tried to visit you in Recanati. You didn’t return your auntie’s calls! Naughty girl.”
Gabriella faltered. It was a small movement. Barely a reaction from her muscles. If I hadn’t been staring hard, I would have missed it.
“Oh, I was busy. Studying,” my wife quipped.
The words sounded hollow.
Reaching for my glass of water gave me an excuse to lean closer.
“I even popped over to the town—such a charming school! But you weren’t there. They said many of the scholars were away on an overnight excursion to the south.”
Gabriella nodded along, laughing over talk of a restaurant in that town square.
But the mirth lacked music. When the aunt finally waddled away, Gabriella reached for her wine and sipped it quickly.
She’s uncomfortable.
When her father first told me about the study abroad, it was to laud the merits of his daughter. How great a scholar she was, even though she chose not to go to college. I hadn’t given two shites if she was a university girl or not—I wasn’t. But now I wondered if that adventure might not be the key to unlocking her secrets.
My little wife was undoubtably a spy, planted in my home to distract me and report back to the crafty mafia don. But that wasn’t the whole truth.
“Sláinte!” one of the lads brayed.
Guttural hoots broke the tangled black web of my thoughts. Three of our men were preparing to storm the stage, intent to take the instruments and start a jig. I looked at Connor and shook my head.
Connor wrestled the trio from the ballroom.
Not five minutes later, a portly Morelli goon swaggered to the microphone and began a rich rendition of a crooning love song. Something about the moon and pizza and amore.
It wouldn’t have been so bad….
If Gabriella hadn’t smiled.
It was real, reaching her eyes and making them shimmer. The whole fucking dinner, she’d kept a grin on her lips, but it was polished and professional. This one made her shine.
She’s never going to look at me like that.
I wanted to smash the singer’s flat face into his skull.
Plucking my goblet, I slung back the contents. It was the only drink I’d had all night, wanting to keep my wits sharp. Now my nerves needed numbing before I started carving up Italians with my steak knife.
