I didn’t get to finish my introduction because the little girl reared back, then brought her hand forward swift and hard, slapping me across the face with all her might. It was impressive, the force she managed to put into it. I was so stunned that I wobbled on my heels before falling clumsily back on my ass, holding my fingers to my throbbing cheek.
Simultaneously, gasps of shock and loud male laughter surrounded us. And what was left of my tattered ego was crushed into a fine sand, blowing away in the wind.
I could say a lot about Ettore. My assumptions of him ran deep and more than most of them were not good. It would have been fully justified should he have laughed with the others. But he didn’t. I don’t think I will ever forget that instead of gloating in his child’s anger, he let go of the boys and barked, “Hey,” at his daughter, holding on to her by the upper arm and spinning her to face him. “What the hell was that?”
The little girl seethed. “You shouldn’t have brought her here. I don’t want her here.”
“This is not how we deal with things. Do not let your anger get the better of you,” he said as if he hadn’t just choked the life out of me the day before. “You are not that person. You’re better than that. Now, let’s try this again.”
I remained in a heap on the floor when he released his daughter to help me stand. He surprised me by touching the reddened area where her blow had landed and his lips thinned as he glanced down at his daughter through hard eyes and said, “Ella, this is Vittoria. My wife. Your step-mother.”
Ella’s lip curled in an almost identical way to her fathers and when she opened her mouth to no doubt air her grievances with me, Ettore muttered, “You’d better consider what you’re going to say next very carefully. Cheer camp is next month and I assume you want go.”
Her eyes narrowed on him and then on me. It looked as though it taxed her greatly when, in deadly calm, she uttered steadily, “Hello, Vittoria. I’m Ella.”
She looked angry, but I felt the sadness bubble over inside of her. I felt for the girl. It didn’t feel right to see her punished for a blundering attempt at protecting her family. “Pleased to meet you, Ella. That’s a beautiful name.”
She looked me over in loathing and sneered, “Mymothernamed me,” before folding her arms across her chest and slowly walking away, maintaining eye contact as she made her exit.
The sweet woman from the night before found then was the best opportunity to clear her throat and announce as cheerily as possible. “Alright. I think we’re good over here. Why don’t you all take a seat and we’ll bring the last of the food over.”
Just as Ettore moved to guide us to the table, we were stopped by the wall of grown men. The only openly smiling one immediately tried to diffuse the tension with a joke. “I didn’t know we were allowed one hit. Now, I’ll take it easy on ya, but watch out for Daniele. He’s got mean hook on him and I know he’s been dying to get one in on ya.”
“Sandro,” sighed Ettore, clearly not finding the jest funny.
“What? Oh, come on. It was a joke,” Sandro returned. “Lighten up, Tor.”
Ettore ignored him and instead made introductions. “Vittoria, you may remember my groomsmen. The smiling idiot is Sandro.”
He offered me his hand and I took it cautiously. We shook briefly.
“In the middle is Santino.”
“Tino,” he amended, also offering me his hand. He held it a mere moment, but we didn’t shake.
Ettore ended on, “And this is my brother, Daniele.”
Uh oh. His brother. No wonder he looked like he wanted to sink his teeth into my throat and tear me to pieces.
Daniele did not offer his hand or a hello. He just stood there, glared at me like I was nothing more than a nuisance. A fly circling his head and he wanted to slap me away as hard as possible.
Ettore then turned towards the kitchen where Nunzio was tasting something from a large pot. “You’ve met my pops. The woman cutting bread is Emilia.”
“That’s my wife,” Sandro piped in happily.
Ettore went on, “You’ll remember my sister Giada from the reception.”Oh. The sweet, smiling woman was another sibling. At least one of them was rooting for me. “Sammy, Giada’s husband, is… I don’t see him, but he’s here somewhere.”
Giada threw in. “He’ll be up in a minute. He’s in the cellar slicing the prosciutto.”
“And their daughter, my niece, Nikki is,” Ettore looked around. “Where’s Nikki?”
Giada made a thoughtful sound, but averted her gaze when she carefully explained, “We thought it best she didn’t come today. She flew out this morning.”
Ettore’s brow furrowed as he pulled out a chair for me and helped me sit. “Why?”
Everyone else took their seats as Giada fluttered about the subject. “Well, after what happened yesterday,” I could tell she was trying to be diplomatic when she said, “she was a little… mad.”
From behind us came a much more forward explanation, “She went around to the uncles looking for a gun.” The tall, sturdy man placed a platter of thinly sliced prosciutto and provolone cheese onto the table, wiped his hand on his pants then took my own without asking and pumped it once. “How are ya? I’m Sammy.”