She rubs my hair, giggling as I kiss her stomach.
The room becomes loud with congratulations to us and our baby.
Salvatore says, “See, Tino, I knew I’d like you.”
About fifteen minutes later, Reese is seated next to Salvatore at the head of the table, me to her left, and a man who introduces himself as her half-brother Matteo to my left. Sal goes down the line introducing Reese and I to her family, from uncles and aunts to their offspring. And a woman, mid-fifties, dressed in black is the only one frowning, I wait to learn her name. Adela.
“We’ll be leaving after dinner,” Reese says.
“Alright, it’d be nice for you to stay. But I am a man of my word, I said I would have your answer, and…” he pauses to glance at a watch, “And the answer to all of your questions will walk in that very door in about ten minutes.”
“Thank you.”
Her answer? What answer, and what question? There’s no opportunity for inquiry as Sal smiles at her, nodding his head. He places a hand over Reese’s. “This one, this one have I loved before I even knew her, I loved her!” She sinks ever so subtly closer to me. Sal senses it, but smiles more.
“You remind me of Milo, in everything you do,” he says, then picks up the champagne flute, downing it in one gulp.
Reese reminds him of Milo? My eyebrow rises, and Sal continues with his speech, “There was a day, Milo was all about family. My golden boy! He was once a beautiful soul, Reese. The most beautiful of them all. He only struck when provoked, when family, our blood was in harm’s way. I knew you were Milo’s daughter the second you threatened my life,” he turns to acknowledge the rest of us, “Reese here threatened my life over Tino.”
“Ohhhh,” some say, some laugh, some are in shock. And others hold up their drinks to toast.
“Yeah,” Sal nods. “That’s true love. If I don’t know what love is, then I don’t know shit!”
“GIOVANNI, YOU LET HER THREATEN YOU!” Adela says through seething teeth.
The once jubilant room has quieted in an instant. The Boss’s smile fades. His warm brown eyes decrease in temperature rapidly, and when they land on Adela, there obsidian. They’re full of the same hatred he adhered to as he asked if I believe he and Milo where one in the same. Psychotic. His pupils mirror the hell he anticipates unleashing on Adela.
“Who is she,” I whisper to Reese. Most of the family was introduced with their subsequent relationship title, Adela was simply Adela.
“Milo’s wife,” Reese murmurs as one of the foot soldiers steps behind the woman in black.
“Oh God, Evan,” Reese grabs my forearm, face a flurry of worry. “Sal said, family calls him Sal. The Family… his goons… the motherfuckers he associates with call him Giovanni. He doesn’t consider Adela as his family,” She whispers. And then she arises from her seat. “Sal, please don’t take offense, Adela was your son’s wife.”
I grab Reese’s hand and pull her back into her chair. I don’t give a shit about the woman. Arm around her shoulder, I lean in and say, “Babe, allow him to deal with his people any way he sees fit. You are my priority, Reese’s Pieces, stay out of it.”
Sal’s index finger taps the air once more as he thinks. “You have my word, Reese. Adela, you are a guest in my house, an extended guest at that. Reese is blood, not ‘she’!” his voice tappers off, he looks at Reese as if her request is his restraint. “Adela, if you ever question me again, the vow I’m pledging to Reese ends, capiche? Now, remove yourself from my table and my home.”
Matteo stands, “Sal, por favore, mia mamma non ha dove andare, —please, my mom has nowhere to go,” he beseeches in Italian.
“Matteo, sit down. Dinner before business.”
There’s a loud puff of air as he sits beside me yet again.
45
Reese
We’re right in the thick of things. Before Adela was ostracized and removed from the room, I had recoiled from my grandfather’s love. Sal compared me to my father… I do not know why. He’d touched my hand, his eyes were alight with the adoration one has for their offspring, and yet I nestled myself closer to Evan. Though the atmosphere was exciting and Evan had just found out we were expecting, I was still leery of Sal. I’m here for one reason only.
Now people are passing along serving bowls and filling their own plates to the rim. As I eat, my eyes close softly and I enjoy the taste of fresh pasta and alfredo sauce. I get caught up in the rapture of the familial ambience yet again. I whisper to Evan, “We’ve got some cooking to do when we get home, babe.”
“You sure that isn’t my son talking,” he says rubbing my belly. He’s no longer as tensed as he was when imploring me to let Salvatore handle Adela.
I smile. “Son? Sheesh, if he’s as hardheaded as you, how will I deal?”
I’ve never been openly affectionate since my father. I went from hugs and kisses during kindergarten graduations and elementary school spelling bees, to a brisk kiss to either cheek—on my mother’s part— during her many wedding ceremonial processions, when I was invited to said weddings.
Now, here I am. Learning about the Giuglianos. Laughing, and talking as Evan rubs my belly or nips at my neck and ear while we whisper. All the while, in the back of my mind, lies have mingled and mixed with truth, and I’m here to separate the reality from the fiction of us. Not me and Evan. But Salvatore and I.
Why did he appear in my life? Why force himself upon me when I did
