Page 8 of Married with Mayhem

Only a few people are aware of the more shadowy customer base that comes here for other reasons. The basement mafia card games are a long tradition. One of my earliest memories is seeing a guy take a blade to the throat two seconds after being accused of stuffing an Ace up his sleeve. The blood gushed everywhere and he was dragged outside in a hurry. Nobody ever talked about it again. If I were to mention the incident to my father, he’d say the whole thing never happened.

But it did happen. I watched my dad help my grandfather mop up the blood with dishtowels and then burn the evidence in a can in the back alley.

As for the guy, a low tier associate from one of the New Jersey families, he lived. He just never talked again thanks to the throat slash and had to carry a pencil and spiral notepad everywhere.

“Hey, Monte. How ya doin’?”

The man who steps into my path balances two pizza boxes on one meaty palm. A trio of foil-wrapped heroes sits on top. His broad face breaks into a grin and I have no choice but to stop for a chat.

“Trying to keep cool, how about you?” I say to Chris Gianni as he thumps my back with his free hand.

“No complaints. I was in the neighborhood and never pass up an excuse to grab your dad’s food.” He jerks his chin at me. “The word is you’ll be coming up in the world any day now.”

“Is that right?” It’s a chore to keep my face from showing what I think, which is that I’d rather lose an eyeball than get shackled to any of the upstart idiots who have spent the last year clawing at each other for a chance at the New York mafia crown.

Gianni’s shrewd black eyes glitter. “And well deserved. You’re earning quite a name. You’ll be a captain in no time.”

“Nice to hear but I’m not too good to pay my dues.”

He nods with approval. “Your Uncle Vinny was the same way, rest his soul.”

“Yup.” I’m trying not to clench my teeth. The adrenaline still hasn’t worn off after the Florida job and the less said right now, the better.

Gianni leans in close enough to share his garlic breath. “And I’m just saying, if you’re ever unhappy under Silvio’s banner, give me a call. In my crew, you’d be a made man tomorrow.”

I don’t have much interest in becoming a permanent member of either one of their crews. After last year’s war hollowed out thehigh level ranks of New York’s two largest mafia families, there’s been competition to regroup and take the reins. Once faithful captains of the Amato family, Gianni and Silvio are scheming to be big bosses. The last thing I want is to get in the middle of their fucking tug of war.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.

I won’t. For now, my options will stay open.

Gianni winks. “See ya, kid.” He waddles off with his tower of food.

I watch him disappear around the corner before turning back to Gino’s.

The orange neon ‘PIZZA’ sign blinks in the window. The narrow red brick building is sandwiched between two other buildings with a deli on the left and a locksmith on the right. It’s not unusual to see a line out the door but this is a weekday in the lull between lunch and dinner so customer traffic is light.

Sal Castelli is behind the counter when I walk in. My father appraises me with a raised eyebrow, throws a white towel over his shoulder and comes around to crush me in a bear hug.

“Didn’t know you were back,” he says and pulls away to take a more critical look at the bruises on my face. “Looks like you’ve been up to no good.”

“Never,” I say. “And I just rolled over the bridge an hour ago.”

“Care to explain the shiner?”

I shrug. “Collided with a foul ball while I was sitting behind the dugout at a minor league game.”

No lies detected. That did happen. It happened three years ago but it did happen.

My dad crosses his beefy arms and sizes me up. “So how was Florida?”

“Hot.”

And that’s all I’m going to say about the job I did in Tampa. I got what I wanted out of it and I cleaned up the mess. No one around here needs to know more.

He snorts and gestures to the cluster of tables. “Guess you and your brother made a pact to keep me in the dark.”

Nico’s sitting down at a table with a couple of girls. I recognize them both. We all went to high school together. They are cackling their silly faces off but my brother ignores them. He intently listens to the exchange I’m having with our father.

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