She would have been accepted into our family if I married her, as it’s not uncustomary for mafias to marry off their daughters to a rival in order to keep the peace.
However, the irony isn’t lost on us that she’s a skilled assassin and technology whiz who has successfully corralled our enemy.
She exceeded our expectations.
Who knew all it took was potentially getting murdered with my zipper down and my dick out . . . and it wasn’t even in a woman’s mouth when she found me in the bathroom.
“So, when is the wedding?” Marchello asks me.
“What? What wedding? Dante is getting married in January. That’s enough excitement for Mama for now.”
Riccardo comes over and asks, “Everyone doing alright?”
“Yes, thanks for giving us a few minutes,” Dante concludes. “Please ask Francesca to join me for a moment. I’d like to welcome her to the family.” He dismisses us with his hand, and we carry our refilled glasses with us to join the women.
Francesca passes me on her way to Dante. “Did I do something wrong?” she whispers.
“No. If I know Dante, and I do, he’s working.”
29
Francesca
“Hi, Francesca, nice seeing you again.”
I make my amends for not being free to visit with him before dinner.
“Thank you, Dante,” I respond, not sure of what to call him.
“I overheard you and Sal talking about a vacation you’d like to take. I have one in mind for the two of you and you’ll just love it.”
“And why would that be?” I’m being coy because he’s up to something.
“I think you might be able to mix some business with pleasure.” He rubs his right hand over his square chin before stubbing out his cigar.
“Maybe.”
“Have a seat,” he offers and waves his hand to the old, metal patio chairs Sal told me they hate but hate the thought of getting rid of them more.
I gingerly lower myself into the chair.
“What do you have in mind?” I cross one leg over the other and lean forward with an elbow over my knee, as if we’re going to share a secret.
“Congratulations on becoming don. It’s about time a woman in Italy achieves such greatness.” He motions to the alcohol in front of him with questioning eyes.
I nod. I can’t turn down a drink with him—besides, I hear it’s good stuff. He doesn’t impress me as a man who goes cheap on anything judging from the casual wear, Juliet’s ring, and the lavish wedding I’m hearing about.
He looks good in a light knit shirt that pushes the material just far enough to show off his sculpted muscles. For a man in his thirties, I can tell he will age well.
“Thank you,” I say, and we clink glasses with a “Saluti.” He tells me about the drugs in the club and that it’s time we make a subtle move but one that will be felt. It requires total anonymity, as the Albanians are strong, outnumbering us due to their connections around the world. He lifts his glass to punctuate his point. “But you know this.”
“Yes,” I agree, sipping the whisky. It warms my throat quickly, but I’m able to suppress the slight cough my lungs want to make. “I have my issues with them, personal ones.” I look into his eyes; we know we’ve reached common ground and a contract has been made.
We’re both stronger together, and a new family has been born.
Epilogue
Sal