“Ah,” the man says and leaves it at that.
I try to study him out of the corner of my eye. I don’t know if he’s sad or bored. Why anyone would be sad about Syrus Gruco’s death is beyond me, but I’ve been surprised before.
“I’m Alex, by the way.”
He glances at me and nods.
“And you are?”
Now I have his attention. He turns toward me with his nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed.
Oh, I get it. Big man. Probably important. How dare I ask who he is when I should already know? Jesus, these mafia guys are arrogant.
I almost guarantee he isn’t as “important” as my fiancé, so I’m not exactly intimidated.
But then it hits.
“Oh shit, are you a part of the family?” No wonder he’s out here, drinking, looking like somebody hit his dog. That’s who would truly care about the don’s death. His family.
Which would actually make him—
“No.”
I sigh in relief and tip my head back.
“Unless you mean the familia. Then yes.” I meet his eyes just as he holds out his hand. “I’m Settimo.”
I grip his hand and shake, the whole thing seeming too formal, but Settimo’s lips pull into a slow smile and it lightens things. He’s got white teeth too. A powerful, muscular frame. If he was standing in front of me, he’d tower over my 5’6” self.
“So, what are you doing here?” he asks, letting go of my hand and leaning back in a relaxed pose.
I hold up the joint and raise my brows. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, I mean at the funeral. How did you know Syrus?”
“I didn’t. I mean, not personally. I knewofhim, I guess. My fiancé is the son of a Capo.” I say it with a mixture of pride and disgust, and then I feel more disgust for ever having any pride. But power, you know? Who doesn’t like that? If my fiancé wasn’t a giant dick, and if I wasn’t being forced to marry him, I’d probably be pretty psyched about the arrangement. Anything to get the hell away from the butcher shop.
I catch Settimo looking for the ring on my left hand, but it’s bare. The ring, a little dainty if you ask me, is in the cupholder in my car. Right underneath my phone. I only wear it when I’m in the presence of someone who gives a shit.
“Hold on a second,” Settimo says, holding up a hand. “You mean to tell me, you’re thefiancéeof thesonof aCapo? I didn’t realize I was in the presence of such an influential figure.” He flashes me that smile, and my own lips tug. He’s being more teasing than mocking.
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He chuckles. “No?”
“No, I just mean…” I think about it for a second. “I just mean that’s how I’m connected to the familia.”
“Ah, I see.”
“And how areyouconnected? Soldier? Associate?”
“We’re talking about this very lax for two people who don’t know each other.”
“Worried I’m a cop?”
He studies me, his eyes roaming my face before peering into me. For a second, I think he actually is worried about it.
“I’m the brother of the neighbor of a Capo’s barber.”