Page 127 of Married With Malice

“Care to elaborate?”

“Later. I can’t be specific in front of the kid.”

Sabrina makes a face. “Dude. You are, like, five minutes older than me.”

“I’m not talking years. I’m referring to life experience.”

“Showing everyone your dick doesn’t translate to life experience. It is impressive though. Your dick, I mean.”

“Whoa.” I swivel and give Monte a dirty look.

He throws his hands up. “I swear I did NOT show that girl my dick.”

“True,” Sabrina says with good cheer. “I saw a picture. You should be more judicious with your sexting. Girls talk.”

“Fuck,” Monte says.

“Oh, you’ve done that plenty,” Sabrina says. “But you can still hold your head up. I’ve heard only good things.”

“Stop it,” I growl and feel the pulse of a headache starting. “Both of you, don’t make me threaten to turn the car around.”

“As if you’re Mr. Maturity,” says Monte.

“Yeah, who are you kidding, Luca?” Sabrina laughs. “Here you are, fresh from screwing my sister in the pantry. Very undignified. Really, I should be offended.”

“Would you like towalkto the library?” I ask her.

She sticks her tongue out and then grins. “No. And more importantly, Anni doesn’t want me to walk to the library either.”

Can’t argue with that. She’s Anni’s little sister so she’s now my little sister too.

When we finally wade through city traffic to reach the library, Monte climbs out of the backseat. I ask Sabrina how she’s getting home later and she shrugs, saying she might take the train. I’d rather not consider what calamities might befall her on public transportation and make a mental note to arrange for a car to escort her back to her father’s house on Long Island.

Monte lingers at the curb to watch her meander up the steps and into the building. A horn honks behind us and that jerks him out of his trance. He ducks into the car and throws on a seatbelt.

After I pull away from the curb I say, “I hope you weren’t looking at what I think you were looking at.”

He scoffs with a head shake. “Of course not.”

Monte Castelli is an excellent friend but he’s not the kind of guy you’d want dating your sister. I don’t even need to tell him this. He knows.

A glance at the dashboard clock confirms I’m already ten minutes late for the meeting and I’m nowhere near the destination.

Maybe I ought to feel more of a sense of urgency but I’m too busy planning ahead for a romantic night with my wife. We’ll go to dinner and the show first. Then she’ll find a delivery of chocolate covered strawberries and champagne waiting in the hotel room, where I intend to worship her all night long.

I’m still feeling kind of dazed after she surprised me at the house with our pantry quickie. That’s an episode we’ll be repeating in the future.

Damn, I fucking love that girl.

But before I get to see my wife again I’ve got to take a trip to Queens and play nice. The meeting is just a formality to check one of Richie’s boxes of tradition. Nothing important will be discussed but I’m expected to appear, along with the rest of the lineup ofcaposand underbosses and foot soldiers. Kind of a mob team-building exercise.

Greasy Vito’s is a vintage establishment in a struggling Queens neighborhood not far from where Richie grew up. Neither their menu nor their décor has changed in decades but they have the best fettuccine alfredo in the tri-state area.

Monte checks his phone and grunts as he reads the screen. “Nico says your uncle is throwing a tantrum because you’re late.”

This is no shock. I’ve been able to feel my phone blowing up in my pocket for a while.

“I’ll deal with him when we get there,” I say.

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