“Stop with all of the questions, Vinny. And if you invested in ‘boring’ cars, you wouldn’t be so stingy with those fucking toys outside.”
“Is it for the girl? The candy bitch our Zia Isadora tried to pawn off on me— “
My hand clutches his throat. Thumb applying just enough pressure to constrict his breathing. “You're my cousin. I love you. Shut the fuck up.”
He nods.
“Keys.”
He fumbles in his pocket, grabs his keys and hands them over.
“And don't ever call Reese a bitch. Got that?”
Vincenzo rubs softly at his Adam's apple as I hustle down the stairs.
The sliding glass door is open, so I pull out Vinny’s key ring. There are three Ferraris of varying shades of blue. I press a button and the pale-blue one purrs. When I’ve pulled out of the driveway, Vinny stands at the edge, bending over, breathing hard. I toss the key ring to him with the rest of the set.
“You better bring my baby back without so much as a scrape or I'll tell Tony!” He shouts, hand gripping his side.
Fucking dumbass. “If it has a scratch, I'll do you the honor of keeping it.” I smile and then the back tires screech against the asphalt as I pull off.
43
Reese
“Ma,” Matteo pats the shoulder of the woman in black. I take it she's Milo's old lady. I want to ask if the bitch was ever pretty but realize I have no need to be jealous on my mother’s behalf.
The dining room is long. There are display cases with crystal vases, shiny utensils and crystal flutes behind us. Adela has her side. I have mine. For the past half-hour, my half-brother has rushed back and forth between us, conflicted.
She says something in Italian about Giovanni.
In an attempt to not be rude, Matteo replies in both languages, “Sal will be here in a couple of hours. He apologizes for being late, Reese.”
His mother reminds me of one of those crazies on talk shows when finding out their significant other has cheated. Every few minutes she arises from her seat as if on stage, I can just hear a crowd of talk show viewers egging her on to hit me. I'm an inch from taking off my shoe and throwing it at her head. As I consider this, I smile. Maria is my girl when it comes to tossing a zapato at someone.
“What is so funny?” Adela enunciates every syllable with a frown.
“Humph, so you speak English again? Lady, are you going senile?”
“Lady? I am Adela Giugliano. Wife of Milo Giugliano. He didn't even give you his fake last name… Benincassa, was it? Hah!”
“Ya got a point there,” I reply. She seems taken off guard. Well, it's true. Despite how postal I went on Evan the night before last, my tongue isn't as venomous as usual. “But you were unable to keep Milo's eyes on your droopy-ass tits.”
Why am I rooting for the mistress, although, I believe my mom assumed she was the only one…
I'm escorted to an office which rivals Evan’s penthouse apartment, and I thought that was big. The man in question is seated at a cherry wood table, the room is all big, extravagant carved wood as if just the size of the place is just one more notch on Salvatore’s pursuit for ultimate power.
“I want that fucking pansy’s head on a platter, capiche?” He shouts into a headset, his index finger points hard against the desk. Someone on the line is responding to him, hopefully in his favor. As his face has reddened, his lips are a pale, thin line of anger.
Sal’s face brightens, he notices me and smiles. Not another word is said to whomever he was chewing out over the phone, he tosses the headset, and tells me, “Judges, give ‘em an inch, they wanna assume control.”
Tongue glued to the bridge of my mouth, I sit. My hands go to my lap, fingers fidgeting. And then I do some shit my mother hasn't done in years. I become mother hen to this growing babe and allow my arms to wrap around by lower abdominals.
“You are here in the flesh,” his hands spread wide, palms out. A toothy grin brightens his face.
“Yes. I'm here to appeal to any sanity you may have…”
“Sanity? Come again,” his bushy left eyebrow rises.
“Leave me alone… please.”
“Not allowable, Reese. We’ve headed down this road before. I’ll do you one better than staying outta your life, doll.”
Rubbing my index finger over my thumb nail, I hesitantly inquire, “Sheesh, what are you up to?”
He opens a small wood box, and pulls out a fresh cigar. Sal gestures toward me. I shake my head, and he lights it.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
I repeat my question, “What are you—”
A goon steps inside of the room, “Boss, I know you said not to disturb you unless Zaccaro is here. He just arrived.”
“Zaccaro! Evan’s here?” I fly around in my seat.
The man doesn’t address me. Chin up, shoulders square, he just waits for my grandfather to answer.
“Tell him to leave,” I blurt. He can’t be here… What if Salvatore intended to use him like Riker endeavored to? I turn back to my grandfather. “Please, Sal, make him leave.”
Salvatore’s eyes narrow. “Signor Zaccaro came all the way from the States to see you, Reese. Your dismissal of him has me on alarm, here I was preparing to extend my gratitude to Evan and allow him into my home. Has he hurt you?”
“No,” my pupils almost pop, I gasp.
“You sure?” My grandfather leans back, fingers steepled in thought.
I can just about see Sal give the orders to ‘ice’ Evan, I speak quickly, “I love Evan with every bit of me. Sal, I have never known love like this before, and it has scared the shit outta me. Baking once held my entire concentration, and then I laid eyes on him… oh, his eyes,” I stop from divulging the truth to say, “He has the most amazing eyes, kind, warm and I swear on my life,
