Page 28 of He Should Be Mine
But my stomach’s already turned to lead.
Dinner at the Don’s house is an ordeal in elegance. Thirty guests, minimum. Crystal glasses. Heavy silverware. Tablecloths starched to within an inch of their lives. Every dish is served in silence by liveried staff. The conversation, meanwhile, is a performance. Layered with veiled insults, careful compliments, and too many toasts to “La Famiglia.”
I’ve never eaten so slowly in my life. I chew, I nod, I make the right small talk with the man beside me, a consiglierefrom Rome who keeps eyeing me like I’m a chess piece he didn’t plan for.
This is a promotion. I know that.
Being at this table means I’ve moved from the outer circle, to somewhere near the fire. Everyone here notices. Including me.
I wonder, not for the first time, what Riccardo did to piss his father off this badly. The Don doesn’t hand out invitations like this without a reason. And he doesn’t give second chances.
Dessert arrives. Something chocolate and tiny and French. I haven’t taken a bite when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I slip a hand under the table and glance at the screen.
Molly.
I press decline. My pulse quickens.
The phone buzzes again. Molly. Calling again.
“Do you need to take that?” the Don asks from the head of the table.
The conversation dies. Thirty heads turn toward me. I force a smirk and clear my throat.
“No, just my girl wanting attention.”
Laughter ripples down the table. Someone snorts. Another guest lifts his glass in mock salute.
“Then yes,” the Don says smoothly, swirling his wine. “You should take it.”
“Happy wife, happy life,” someone else chimes in.
More laughter.
I flash a grin I don’t feel and push back my chair. “Excuse me for a moment.”
I stride out of the room and into the hallway. The phone buzzes again, and I answer just as I reach the front door.
“This better be good.”
“Don’t be mad at me,” Molly slurs. There’s noise behind him, bass-heavy music, voices raised.
My chest tightens.
“Where are you?” I snap, already furious and terrified.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I was just gonna have a quick drink,” he says, voice dragging. “Be back before you. But you know how it is… just the one is never just the one.”
“Molly. Where are you?”
“I don’t know. I met these guys. They bought me drinks. Then they were like, ‘let’s check out this new bar’ and we all piled in an Uber.”
He hiccups. Giggles.
“Now they’re getting all handsy, which I don’t mind in exchange for free drinks, but Rick’s gonna be pissed and he might blame you…”
