Page 132 of Mafia Kings: Valentino

Dinner was just me, Don Vicari, Isabella, and the great-grandmother, who was helped into the room by a servant.

No Ludavica. I guess she wasn’t allowed to be present for family meals.

We sat around a huge wooden table made for 12 people. Don Vicari sat at the far end with the old lady at the other.

Isabella and I sat opposite each other in the middle of the table. Even though we were the closest in distance, the whole setup felt strange and stiffly formal.

For theantipasto,there was some weird kind of dish I’d never seen before. It looked like tiny fish skins wrapped around a bunch of stuff.

“What’s this?” I asked, poking at the silver, scaly thing on my plate.

“Sarde a beccafico,”Isabella informed me. “Butterflied sardines stuffed with breadcrumbs, parsley, pine nuts, and raisins.”

I wasnota fan of sardines.

“Are sardines a big part of Sicilian cooking?” I asked.

“Fairly big, yes. My father loves them.”

“…great.”

I tried a bite –

And my mouth got flooded with fishy taste.

Fuckin’ sardines…

I forced it down with a big swallow of red wine, which was just okay – not like the fantastic wines my family produced in our vineyards. But at least it killed the fishy taste.

Isabella smiled. “Not to your taste?”

“It’s fine,” I said as I drank more wine and tried to swish it around in my mouth inconspicuously.

Don Vicari didn’t say much. When he did open his mouth, it was talk about boring-ass things like how there hadn’t been enough rain and everything on the property was dying.

I noticed the old bastard loved to complain, complain, complain.

That seemed to be his greatest joy in life: being dissatisfied and pissed off.

The old lady didn’t say anything at all. She just ate in silence. Whenever I looked over and caught her eye, she gave me a big smile before going back to her food.

The main course was Sicilian-style tuna steaks, which were ten times better than the sardines: not fishy at all, and the sauteed garlic and tomatoes they were cooked in were quite good.

It was during the main course that things went sideways.

“So,” Isabella asked, “how was your first day at work?”

I glanced over at Don Vicari, who gave me a dark look.

“Um… uneventful,” I answered.

“That’s funny – I’ve never heard anyone describe being around my brother as ‘uneventful.’”

“Well, you know…” I said, then trailed off, not wanting to get in trouble with the Don.

“My guess is that the evenings will be pretty uneventful, too, without TV or internet,” she said slyly.

Nice. A callback to our secret conversation in the hallway.

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