Page 16 of Marcello DeLuca

I glanced away, unsure how to respond. Before I could say anything, another voice cut in, this one deeper and carrying authority.

“I think Marcello will chop off your fingers for talking to his girl that way,” the man Marcello had introduced as his older cousin spoke, his tone carrying a blend of jest and warning. He was a formidable figure with a no-nonsense glint in his eyes. “I most certainly would chop off a man’s finger for complimenting my woman that way, especially a man who knows she’s mine.”

Romeo chuckled nervously, raising his hands in surrender. “Just being friendly, Vito. No need for drastic measures.”

Vito stepped closer, his presence commanding. “Friendly or not, you might want to keep those compliments in check,” he said, his voice low but firm. He turned to me, his expression softening slightly. “I’m just looking out for Marcello. All of my little cousins are like little brothers to me.”

“Marcello is lucky to have family who care about him so much.” I smiled, thinking of how my father would protect me the same way if he were still alive.

Vito nodded, his gaze steady and unwavering. “We all look out for each other. And now, that includes you, Lanay. Welcome to the family.”

His words, though simple, touched me deeply. I glanced back at Romeo, who gave me a wink and a knowing smile before wandering off to join another conversation.

Marcello appeared at my side, slipping his arm around my waist. “I see you’ve met Romeo and Vito.”

“Yes, we’ve met,” I replied, leaning into him.

Vito was about to say something, but his phone started buzzing, so he shifted his attention to the device. “I have to take this.” He excused himself to answer the call.

Marcello pressed a kiss to my temple. “You’re getting along well with my family like I knew you would.”

“They’re nice.”

“Not nearly as nice as you.” He twirled me around, assessing me like a piece of fine china. “You truly are beautiful tonight. Not that you aren’t every time I see you.”

If the room weren’t filled with people, I would kiss him, and I mean really kiss him with my soul. But since we were surrounded, I simply smiled and said, “Thanks for the compliment.”

“It’s time to open the gifts,” Ramiri announced, his voice cutting through the lively chatter. The room quieted as everyone turned their attention to the center, where a table laden with presents awaited.

Marcello and I made our way over, and he took a seat while I stood beside him, eager to see what lay inside the elegantly wrapped boxes. The first few gifts were thoughtful and practical—books, clothes, and some electronics. Each one was met with sincere thanks from Marcello and polite applause from the guests.

Then, Ramiri handed Marcello a larger box, wrapped in sleek black paper with a crimson ribbon. “This one’s from your Cousin Enzo,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Marcello had explained their family’s ranks to me. His cousin Enzo was favored to be next in line to be the leader of the DeLuca family. They called their leader ‘the don’. Therefore, I sensed the significance of the future don’s gift even before Marcello opened it.

He carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a sleek, polished machine gun nestled inside a velvet-lined case. The room held a collective breath. Alongside the weapon was a card. Marcello opened it to find ten thousand dollars in crisp bills and a handwritten note from Enzo: “Make your mark, Marcello. The family stands behind you.”

Marcello looked up, his eyes meeting his fathers with understanding. “Grazie, Enzo,” he murmured, as if speaking directly to his cousin across the ocean.

Before the murmurs turned into conversation, Vito stepped forward. As the local capo, he commanded respect effortlessly, and the room seemed to still as he approached and handed Marcello a crisp, white envelope.

“Open it,” Vito said.

Marcello did as instructed, revealing a check for ten thousand dollars. He looked up, visibly moved by the gesture.

Vito placed a hand on Marcello’s shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “Make the DeLuca name proud,” he said, his words a blend of command and encouragement. “Show the world who we are.” There was a seriousness in his tone that spoke volumes about the expectations and the support that came with it.

Marcello nodded. “I will, Vito. Thank you.”

Vito’s intense gaze softened slightly, and he gave Marcello’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back. The room seemed to exhale collectively, the tension easing as the capo returned to his place among the guests.

Next, Don Ermano, Marcello’s grandfather and the revered patriarch of the DeLuca family, rose to his feet. His presence commanded respect, and even in his advanced years, there was an undeniable strength and wisdom in his gaze.

He lifted his glass. “To my grandson, Marcello,” Don Ermano began, quieting the room. “You have grown into a fine young man, one who embodies the values and spirit of our family. Your journey is just beginning, but I have no doubt that you will carry our legacy forward with honor and courage.”

He paused, his eyes softening as they met Marcello’s. “I have seen many seasons pass and many changes come to our family. But the pride I feel tonight, seeing you step into your future, is beyond measure.”

Don Ermano then motioned to one of his aides, who stepped forward carrying a small, ornate box. “This,” he said, opening the box to reveal a beautifully crafted, vintage pocket watch, “has been passed down through generations of DeLuca men. It is a symbol of time’s passage and the enduring strength of our family. I now pass it on to you, Marcello, with the hope that you will always remember the importance of time and the legacy you uphold.”

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