“Well, come, we have to get going. The dinner party is tonight and we have so much to do.”
“Oh my God, I almost forgot!” I exclaim as we run through the house to the car.
“You? Never,” he laughs.
21
Marchello
The New Year rushed in with parties in our social elite circle and clubs. It’s my last hurrah with Dante who’s getting married next. The weeks flew by and it’s the first time in my life I’ve been with the same woman for Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Life is good. And now it’s the time for the wedding of the year.
The dinner the night before the big event went off without a hitch. Juliet was radiant in an off-white dress that was so gorgeous she could have worn it to her wedding. It’s an evening just for the family in a restaurant where no one would expect us, because we eat here infrequently.
After dinner, the women enjoy tiramisu and coffee while us guys have a cognac, like we would if we were home, sitting by ourselves at the end of the table. We notice Dante’s been on edge all evening and we razz him about pre-wedding jitters.
He denies it, saying, “It has nothing to do with me saying goodbye to my wild ways tomorrow. No, something isn’t right. I can’t figure it out. I wish we had this mystery behind us.”
I clap him on the back. “Relax brother, you are probably overthinking things and there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I wish,” says Riccardo. “Rarely does a man drop dead of poison, or a bullet, and it doesn’t ignite a chain of events. There’s always retaliation. But so far. . . none.” And the last word, if it was an object, would have been Riccardo spitting sunflower seeds across the room.
“Maybe it happened already, and we just don’t know about it.” Sal tips his chair onto its two back legs. “I don’t like it either, I’m trying to be supportive, brother.”
“Mm. I’m on the fence if we’re being honest.” I kick Sal under the table like old times. “I agree with Dante, a body for a body. It’s just a matter of when the body will drop,” I say, lifting my snifter to my lips.
I hold up my tulip glass that’s perfect for cognac and allows the smell of the grapes and whisky to reach my nose while other places would use a rock glass. I scrunch my shoulders. “Sorry, brother, I’m trying to stay positive for you but it’s just not how our world operates. Seems like I’d almost take one shoot out over this drawn-out, suspenseful feeling of the unknown. I don’t like it either. Fuck, meeting the head of the Albanian mafia was enough excitement for me. Where the hell does something as bizarre as that happen?”
“Yeah, and to think we could have kept that fucking wallet and sold it to the highest bidder. I say the Albanians were probably the ones muscling in on Prende and Marchello,” Sal adds.
“I know.” Dante refills his glass with smooth and deliberate moves. “But, if we gave that crypto key to anyone else, hellfire would rain down on us in proportions that we’ve never seen before and Marchello and Prende would not escape certain death for that. This I know.” He swirls the amber liquor in the glass and the surprised us all as he boasts very loudly, “But fuck it, tomorrow is my wedding, let’s get happy. Riccardo, get us another round. Bring the really expensive stuff.”
The women glance at us to make sure we’re okay and one they are assured we’re fine, they return to their own private party as we rented the entire place.
More cognac shows up, and the best man, Riccardo, makes a toast. There are no hard feelings he’s the best man since Dante’s known and respected him for years.
“To Dante, the man who brought us into the twentieth century, fell in love with his woman who was to be bargained away,” we all make small jokes at this, “but saved the day nonetheless. And was all the wiser for it having picked a resourceful woman who will bear you many sons and daughters. To healthy, to life, to prosperity.”
We raise our glasses and say “saluti” before taking a sip.
Dante has a few buddies from his college days flying in and most of them have business to discuss tomorrow morning. Who says Oxford isn’t worth its price of admission? It was more the international version of the French Connection where Dante made contacts who span the globe. Wealthy, and talented, mafia offspring are making their way in the world and often, legal businesses can be just as profitable without laundering money. Who knew we could put money in ATMs that literally converts it to bitcoins that are untraceable, legitimate and totally free of being confiscated by any governmental agency? Fucking brilliant shit!
We give Dante a difficult time because we love and admire him. The golden boy of our mafioso. Dad would be proud. Damn him for dying so young. I hear the staff putting chairs up on tables and realize we’ve overstayed our welcome, for which we’ll throw another hundred euro on the table.
I see my wife, yes, my legit wife, talking to the women at the table and they’re becoming fast friends. I have no clue what’s in store for Prende and I, but the house in the country should be a great beginning. I love living close to everything in downtown Florence but I’m a married man now and I don’t have to get somewhere in a few minutes. I have men under me who can do that for me.
When the restaurant closes, we stumble to our cars. I can barely see straight, but I brought the Ferrari and I know Prende doesn’t have a car.
Shit. Should have thought ahead.
“I had too much to drive.”
Prende snatches the keys out of my hand. “I’ve been waiting months to drive this car.” She helps me into the passenger seat.
“Do you even know how to shift?”
“Hell, yeah. Just because I don’t have a car doesn’t mean I can’t drive. Mama’s car was a relic, and I probably stripped every gear, but I learned.” She flashes me an impish grin and I fall in love with her all over again.
I love that my girl never stops surprising me. Here I thought she was naïve. Smart, but naïve when I met her, but she catches on quicker than anyone I know.