Page 34 of Married with Mayhem

“Go ahead, Monte,” says Nico. “Show her.”

I’ll have to remember to smother him when we’re not in public.

“Sing,” commands Sabrina. She starts pounding on the table. “Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

My treacherous little brother joins in. “Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

Stevie, all the way over at the counter, adds a loud hand clap with every word. “Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

The construction workers, chins dripping with pizza grease, start chanting. “Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

“All right!” My father waves his arms. “We’ll settle this.”

He takes a walk over to the jukebox. I know what he’s doing before I hear the first note. And I could easily refuse to cooperate.

Instead, I decide to be a good sport and stand up to join in with good old Dean Martin crooning about the moon hitting you in the eye. My dad didn’t lie. I’m a competent singer, even if I am rusty when it comes to performing. I’m so into the music that I forget where I am and by the end of the song my eyes are closed as I drag out the last note.

Applause erupts. Sabrina is clapping so hard she’s in danger of hurting her hands.

“You’re wonderful,” she gushes.

I’m not one to get bashful but something about hearing those words from her makes the heat rush to my cheeks. I escape behind the counter and help myself to a soda to get out of the limelight.

While I’m filling a cup, my eyes happen to land on a small round photo beneath my grandparent’s picture on the Memory Wall.

Aunt Teresa was radiant on her long ago wedding day. I’m glad her husband isn’t included in the picture. He doesn’t reallybelong there anyway since he was still alive enough to answer my text this afternoon.

Nearly thirty years have passed since Cassio Tempesta flew to New York for some business and left with a bride. He spotted my father’s only sister when he showed up for one of the infamous basement card games here at Gino’s and the rest is history. Within six years Teresa had delivered four healthy sons. And then she was gone, far too young, far too tragically.

It's been eons since I’ve set foot in a church but I feel the urge to make the sign of the cross as I gaze at the photo of my unfortunate aunt.

“I’m going to change before tonight’s card game,” Sabrina is saying. “I need to look intimidating.”

A bad feeling roils in my gut and I look to my father for an explanation. “Tell me she doesn’t mean what I think she means.”

He’s returned to his spot behind the counter and starts slicing up a cheese pie. A frown shadows his face. “Pete Vecchio and Bruce Tarantella stopped by for lunch. They got a real kick out of meeting Sabrina. When Pete mentioned the card game tonight, Sabrina asked how she could get an invitation to play. He laughed and said she’s welcome to be his personal guest. There was nothing I could do about it.”

The look on my face must be pretty lethal because my father is quick to jump in with assurances before I utter a word of outrage.

“It’s all old timers coming tonight,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Bruce was laid up with his pacemaker for most of the past year and Pete is still recovering from hip surgery. There won’t be any trouble.”

I don’t share his optimism. They may be old mobsters but they’re still mobsters. Mobsters are greedy about their money. And no matter how old and decrepit they are, they can’t be trusted to remain polite in the company of a pretty girl.

“I’m staying in the room every second she’s there,” I say to my dad. “And nobody better fucking argue with me.”

He fights a smile. “Nobody would dare, son.”

Back at the table, Sabrina is all cozy with Nico while interrogating him about family photos. The two of them look up when I reclaim my chair.

“Singing must take a lot out of you,” Sabrina says with a tsk of her tongue. “You look pale.”

“I’m not pale. But these card games have a thousand dollar buy in. Your bank is still broken.”

“I know. It’s such a pain. Luckily, Nico lent me the cash.”

My irritation swivels to my brother. “Seriously?”

He shrugs. “Sabrina asked for my help.”

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