Page 7 of Under the Influence

“Simone is dead, I have made my peace with it. Let us move on.”

“This piece of trailer trash doesn’t deserve to be in our family.”

“He’s a made man, watch your fucking tongue. You know better! Now sit the fuck down, or I’ll be burying another son.” Don Vincenzo shoots him one last threatening look and Pietro sits down reluctantly.

“Apologize to my daughter,” Papa snarls before Pietro turns towards me and gives me a very affable apology. “Go and clean yourself up,” Papa says in a softer tone, excusing me from the table.

“Can we not get through one meal without someone taking a gun out?” Zia says irritably. “Pass the Anisette,” she utters to Claudio. He pours her a glass, and she just shakes her head, grabbing the bottle from him and pouring herself a generous glass. “The bottle is better,Cazzo, my nerves are shot to death in this madhouse.”

“Maybe you should go inside, Zia, for a little nap?” Mama says gently.

“Nap? Do I look like a child or an invalid to you?” she says to Mama angrily, who reddens.

“I just thought—”

“Nobody asked you to think,” she says grumpily, nursing her drink.

“All I have in this world is my balls and my word, and I don’t break them for no one.”

—Tony Montana

RED WINE SATURATES ME, STAINING THE WHITE MARBLE FLOORS WITH EACH FOOTSTEP I TAKE.

My heart thumps in my chest, contemplating everything that had just happened. Those gray eyes belonged to a Don.

Not just any Don but one who would be marrying my future sister-in-law. Half of me was relieved to be excused while the other half was still in shock.

My white dress is now ruined, but that can’t be helped. If tonight was supposed to make me more attracted to Pietro, it was an epic failure. His childish petulance made him more unappetizing than ever. I walk into one of the bathrooms on the lower level and pull off the sopping dress. Red wine bleeds through the material, giving my olive skin a pinkish hue. I find a fabric robe on the back of the door and pull it on, discarding the stained dress in one of the laundry hampers. Once, I open the door, there are a pair of steely gray eyes staring at me. My own eyes widen in shock, but before I can say anything, Rocco puts a finger over my lips and pushes me back into the room. He enters and closes the door behind him, locking it.

“What are you doing?” I stammer, trying to keep my voice down.

“I just wanted to apologize for ruining your outfit,” he says, looking down at me, with only an inch of space and material separating his body from my almost naked one.

“It’s fine,” I mumble, side-stepping him, but he stops me.

“What’s the rush? Are you scared of me?” he chortles.

“Men like you don’t scare me,” I say cocking my eyebrow.

“You mean gentlemen?” He replies, his eyes sparkling in mischief.

“Gentlemen mention when they are engaged. Gentlemen mention it’s their engagement party,” I say a little too sharply.

“As the old Don said, it’s a business deal just like with you and that imbecile Pietro.”

“How do you know that? Pietro and I could be madly in love,” I say, trying to sound confident but faltering.

“Seeing as you don’t believe in romance, I doubt that. I just hope he isn’t the one who gets to do the screwing, that would be a waste,” he says, smiling.

“You shouldn’t be in here, and you know it.”

“I’m apologizing to my future sister-in-law.”

“Did you know it was me that night?” I ask.

“Perhaps, perhaps not, isn’t that one of the benefits of a masquerade party?” he says coolly.

“I thought you hated the theme.”

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