Hell, today some of the elected officials even have them due to the bombs that took out a road and killed a judge and other innocent people years ago. One was Rosario Livatino. He denounced the mafia and is earning sainthood for his plight to clean up Sicily.
The canapés are making the rounds with the waiters who move as cardboard cutouts wearing white gloves and lacking a sense of humor as I make a crack about a woman fussing over the food.
“I’m picking up an odd vibe. How did you get these tickets?” Savio asks, “This is clearly not our scene. Well, not entirely,” he muses.
“I got them from a fence. Apparently, it’s a closed circuit.”
“Hmm. Now might be a good time to ask ourselves ‘why’.”
Savio is only stating the obvious. I’m not used to listening to the word ‘no’ because, in my life, everything is obtainable. Everything.
“There she is,” I mumble under my breath, taking in the goddess with blonde hair piled upon her head similar to a style a movie star would wear. She makes moving on heels as high as stilts an effortless feat.
“The woman in the champagne colored dress? The one that that’s clinging to her like a second skin?”
“Mm,” I reply.
“Yummy,” he mumbles.
Two men pass in front of us as as my dark eyes zero in on my girl. “That’s De Luca’s daughter. This must be a place they are auctioning off their daughters, what an ingenious ruse,” one of the strangers says.
“She must be the catch of the night,” Savio murmurs to me.
“Watch it, Savio, she’s quite the woman with family ties to an unfortunate man who screwed the wrong mafia family.”
My phone vibrates, I pull it out of my coat pocket and glance at the text.
“We have work to do, we need to get to it, it’s going to be a long night,” I say slipping the phone back in my pocket.
6
Valentina
Mama says we, the De Luca family, must make a statement at the upcoming gala, so in preparation of this, my dress arrived weeks ago. I’m glad Papa agreed that Laura could go with us because it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without her.
As promised, we’re spending today shopping for her dress and getting facials together. Walking along the cobblestone streets lined with designer stores we search shop after shop. We’re about to give up when we stumble across a boutique off the beaten path. It’s here that Laura finds the perfect dress by Marchesa, with a nude tulle base and red flower design overlay. The long sleeves are perfect for Rome this time of year, the bottom of the gown blossoms into yards of fabric at her feet and the cinched waist shows off her enviable figure.
Like a bridesmaid at a wedding, I pull the dress at the bottom to show off the flowers in the fabric that will trail behind her as she walks.
“You look good enough to be on the red carpet at the American movie awards,” I exclaim.
The tulle creates the illusion of nudity, but her skin is covered. It’s captivating. No doubt, all eyes will be on her.
“I don’t want to be around when your father gets this credit card bill,” I mumble as she hands over the black card her father gave her last year on her twenty-fourth birthday.
“It’s a once in a lifetime event. Your parents never let me go before and my parents never get invited to these swanky events. They are not A-listers like yours.”
“I’ll give you that, but honestly, it’s my father’s large donations that open doors,” I state what we both already know.
“Besides, this is just a prelude to the wedding dress I want, he may as well get used to the taste of my spending,” she says as the associate hands her a zippered bag with the dress and a handle bag with the shoes and matching clutch inside.
“I’m sure you’ll make that back from cash gifts at the wedding.” I mean, this is Sicily, and the mafia still carries on the tradition of huge weddings. Every member of ‘the family’ knows they need to pay homage to my father, even if the bride is only a friend of his daughter. To not give an envelope full of cash to the newlyweds would call into question their loyalty.
We find our tail, I mean guard, Ridolfo, outside, standing guard. Even though we consider him a third wheel, he comes in handy when there are shopping bags to carry.
“I’m starving.”
“We should head home,” Ridolfo grumbles, looking at his watch.