Page 12 of Stricken

"How was your flight, Nico?" Uncle Tony's gravelly voice cuts through the clinking of cutlery as soon as the staff is gone. "I trust Los Angeles has been treating you well?"

"Can't complain," I reply casually, spreading my napkin on my lap. "The weather agrees with me."

And plenty of distance between me and this viper's nest, I add silently.

"Good, good." Uncle nods. "I'm happy to hear it."

Conversations flow around me, forcibly light, Chiara inquiring about my girlfriend I still don't have to her chagrin, Roberto making some slurred wisecrack that earns a stern look from Tony. All the while I feel Salvatore's resentful gaze like a dagger between my ribs. Both my cousins are disgusting, but although Roberto is loud and out of control at times, he's harmless mostly due to his own stupidity. It's Sal who I need to avoid. Sal and his scheming.

Once everyone has asked me at least one question, Aunt Chiara again draws all attention to my need—at least according to her—to meet someone. "Do you know,tesoro," she says, "I met Valentina Barone the other day at the market…"

"Seriously, Mom," Salvatore mutters, shoving a piece of marinated artichoke into his mouth.

Uncle gives me a hopeful look.

"She's asked about you," Aunt Chiara drives her point home. "You should give her a call."

"Sure. I will." I don't have it in me to tell my aunt openly I have no interest in rekindling my short-lived high-school romance with Valentina Barone. I'm still not over my hot one-night stand with the handsome stranger with the Russian accent.

Roberto snorts, swirling the wine in his glass. "Mother, your efforts are all in vain. You should know it by now."

"It would be nice for my favorite nephew to have someone by his side," Aunt Chiara muses with a polite smile on her face, ignoring her son's remark. "I'd love for him to spend more time here with us in Las Vegas."

"Zia, LA is great. You should come and visit me sometimes," I offer, knowing Uncle Tony won't let her anyway.

"You love that city so much, it distanced you from your family," he grits out.

"Of course our Nico loves LA," Roberto slurs. "All sorts of freaks out there. Probably feels right at home with them, don't you,cugino? Fucking anyone you wa—"

Before he can say more, Tony slams his fist on the table, rattling the dishes and proving once more he can be physically intimidating even at his age. "Enough," he growls, an angry expression on his lined face. "I won't have this nonsense at my table. You're drunk, Roberto. Keep your mouth shut before you embarrass yourself further."

My jaw tightens. Roberto's insinuations never truly reach Uncle's ears. Otherwise, I'd be dead by now. Or maybe Uncle suspects something and is in denial because his own sons aren't fit to do the job he's been doing all these years.

In any case, I refuse to rise to my cousin's bait. Typical Roberto, lashing out like a spoiled child who can't have what he wants just because he wants it. With Tony, you need to prove yourself first.

Chiara reaches out to lay a soothing hand over her husband's, ever the peacemaker. "Tony, please. Let's just enjoy our meal as a fam–"

But Tony ignores her, his eyes hard as flint. "Since you brought it up, Roberto, let's talk about your little screw-up with the Armenians, shall we? I'm hearing rumors, and I don't like what I'm hearing."

The color drains from Roberto's face and he shrinks back in his seat like a scolded child. I watch the trainwreck unfold, morbidly fascinated. This ought to be good.

"My eldest son," Tony continues, each word dripping with disgust. "The one who's supposed to take over this family's operations. What a disappointment you turned out to be. Can't hold your liquor, can't maintain a business relationship to save your life. You're good for nothing, you know that?"

Sal's mouth is closed, eyes bouncing from his father to his older brother, then to me.

Chiara's knuckles are white where she grips Tony's hand but she doesn't dare interrupt. The rest of us sit in stunned silence, the air crackling. I've never seen Tony lay into Roberto quite so viciously before in front of Roberto's wife. Or the entire family.

"It's your own fault," Roberto blurts out with a scowl on his face.

"What?" Tony's furious, face twisted up.

"You could have helped when I asked for a loan."

"Or you want a loan without working for it?"

I keep my expression carefully blank, sipping my wine to hide the bitter curl of satisfaction in my gut. About time someone put that arrogant bastard in his place.

"I'm your son, aren't I?"

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