Page 128 of Married With Malice

Monte doesn’t answer and I look over to catch him giving me a frank, troubled stare.

“Say what you need to say,” I tell him and turn back to watch the road.

“You know I’ve got your back, right? And I’m speaking for Nico too. We both do.”

“I appreciate that. But where’s this coming from?”

“Look, I don’t need to know everything. But if shit ever goes sideways and a choice needs to be made, I’m standing with you, pal. So is my brother.”

Those words are far from frivolous. And dangerous. Even hinting that his ultimate loyalty doesn’t lie with Richie is a risk.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “Don’t think I’m not grateful but don’t say that out loud again.”

He nods. “I get it. But I still wanted you to know.”

There’s not much of a parking lot at Greasy Vito’s and all the spaces are already occupied. We end up parking in front of a corner bar and need to walk down the street.

There are some entry level members of the network hanging around out front. One of them is Nico. His face is tight with apprehension as he walks our way.

“Hold on,” he says. “Richie said to come get him when you showed up.”

Great. I’m not in the mood for a public lecture from my uncle. To be honest, I’m not in the mood for any of this bullshit. My tolerance level for all things mafia has taken a nosedive. There are deep cracks in my mask and soon even Richie will notice that I’ll never be the ruthless heir he wants me to be. Every day I find it tougher to keep my temper in check.

More and more, the only thing that keeps me sane is going home to my Anni every night.

Monte shifts his weight, looking nervous. “You want me to go in or stick around out here?”

“You should probably stay here. I’m sure he just wants to bawl us out for being late. I’ll smooth it over.”

From the way the other guys are casting furtive glances this way, it’s clear we’re the family pariahs at the moment. Maybe I shouldn’t have treated this event so carelessly. Two things Richie is a stickler for are respect and punctuality. I’ve just failed at both.

Nico holds the door for my uncle, who moves slower and slower with each passing month. His long list of health issues just seems to get longer. The fact that he never deprives himself of a full plate of sausage and peppers or Aunt Donna’s lasagna doesn’t make him any healthier.

The spot of tomato sauce under the neck of his white shirt looks comically like a blood stain. His face is red and swollen. The stark glare he sends my way has made plenty of men crap themselves in fear.

With my arms folded and a carefully neutral expression, I await his approach. Monte stands beside me. Nico, with no clear instructions, trails behind Richie and looks to his big brother for reassurance.

Richie stops walking. He won’t come any closer because he doesn’t enjoy looking up to men who are taller than him.

“You’re late,” he says and his tone is thick with venom.

“Sorry about that. I had an errand to run. I’m here now.”

His face turns even redder. “An errand? A FUCKING ERRAND? Just who the FUCK do you think you are?”

My uncle didn’t often raise his voice to me, not even when I was a kid. This is likely just a humiliation ritual to show off that even his favored nephew, the so-called future of the family, needs to obey orders without exception. The best course of action is to be humble and say little.

“Again, I’m very sorry. It’s my fault. I sure hope that I didn’t ruin the meeting.”

His eyes narrow. His jaw clenches and veins pop out on his neck. But he lowers the volume. “You listen to me and you listen good. There’s one boss around here. Your brother made it a point to forget this. He threw everything I’d given him back in my face. I see you heading down the same path and I won’t have it. I just won’t fucking have it. You’re my sister’s son and the way you honor your mother is by honoring me. You got that?”

I would have just let the moment go by.

He could have had his triumph of being the king and making everyone squirm. I would have apologized again and put on a charming front for the whole gang waiting inside the restaurant.

But that fucking prick had to go and mention my mother.

The memories I have of her aren’t nearly as vivid as Cale’s. They’re more like watercolor paintings seen from a distance.

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