More gasp, wide eyes, and mouths were falling open in surprise. I even saw a few fingers pointing. Them not having knowledge of Mecca’s position among her organization was proof that they weren’t cut out for what they were after. I made it my business to know more about them, and their business than they sometimes knew.
“It’s not the same,” another voice sounded. It was George Anello.
“You can’t expect us to respect this woman. She’s an outsider. A fucking eggplant,” he spat the ugly word with an eagerness that made his Italian accent peek out. He had spoken the prejudiced word with his chest poked out in pride, causing a storm of gasps and some people to sling heated words in his direction. He may as well have called Mecca the N-word, as far as I was concerned.
Mecca stepped away from the table, her chair grunting from her quick movement.
“Did that motherfucker just call me an eggplant? What fucking decade are we in?” she asked as she stepped away from the table. Knowing my wife the way I did, she was packing, and George was more than likely about to eat a bullet.
I locked a firm grip around her arm, stopping her progression and causing her to turn her anger in my direction. I spoke quickly, not giving her the chance to unleash that anger.
“First, I’m sorry you had to hear that shit. Second, I promise you. I’ll take care of it.”
The hurt in her gaze tore me apart. If I let her go right now, I had no idea what she would do. There was a way you handled people like George, and she would find out soon enough.
“Trust me, love. I’ll take care of it.” I urged, nodding, and presenting a calmness I didn’t truly feel. My calming words had finally eased enough of her tension for her to return to her spot behind our table. Once I was sure she wasn’t going to shoot up the place, I turned back to the crowd.
“My wife is a Vallin, and you are going to respect her and her authority.”
“Or what?” Stan asked, flexing for the crowd.
“Or I’ll show you that I’m a lot more than a niece of a drug kingpin,” Mecca answered.
“Is that a threat?” He pointed in our direction, nearly hitting one of the servers that was spread throughout the room. They had started to set soup on our tables and appeared to not know what to do in the midst of our battle.
“I’m a committee member of this syndicate. I won’t tolerate that from this…this stranger. She can’t step into our house and start running things.”
“She can, and she will have all the rights that I have,” I said, my eyes circling the room. Mecca didn’t even know what all those rights were yet, but I wanted this bunch of uppity pricks to know where I stood. The statements I made caused a stir, but most were smart enough not to voice their opinions out loud. George’s lips were itching to dig him a deeper hole as he glared at me and Mecca.
“So you’re telling us that this little gal is running the crime family that you’ve decided to bind yourself to? No one is going to listen to her, she’ll be overrun or dead within a month.”
The dismissing glare he cast at Mecca said as much as his disrespectful words.
“Shut up George! You don’t speak for all of us,” someone in the crowd shouted as others agreed.
“I know you didn’t call me a little gal. What are you, a member of the good-ole-boys club?” Mecca spit her words through the rage I could feel swirling around her body. She lifted her snow-white napkin for all to see and aimed it in George’s direction.
“You can use this as your temporary mask since you appear to have left yours at home.”
George’s sputtering movements had his protruding belly one wiggle from popping the button in his suit jacket. Some laughed at Mecca’s comment, while others sat stunned, glaring between her and George.
“How dare you insinuate that I’m a member of that Godforsaken Klan? Arjen, are you going to let her talk to me this way?”
“George, you—”
“How dare you insinuate that because I’m a woman, I can’t run an effective organization? How dare you ask my husband, to shut me up?”
“Arjen!” George yelled again. He had been married four times, and I was starting to understand why. I had an idea, but I had never seen his true colors before now. He didn’t have to say it outright, but he had a problem with Mecca’s race, and that meant he had a fucking problem with me.
“You don’t have to yell for my husband. I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself. I have a hole in my face that carries sound, same as him. If you’re done with your caveman remarks, I’d like to start eating my soup before it gets cold.”
George shot off, stomping away from his table and heading towards the bathroom, huffing and puffing. He frowned at me, while Mecca picked up her glass and sipped her wine as her wicked glare chased him until he disappeared from sight.
After she had taken her seat, I turned and sat a gentle hand atop hers on the table. “Will you excuse me for a moment, I need to make a call. Please try not to kill anyone without me. As much as I hate it, politics come into play with most of these assholes.”
“With this crowd, I’m not making you any promises,” she said, a smile in her eyes despite the tough mob she was facing.
“Is everything okay?” she asked with her forehead creased in concern.