Page 73 of Mafia Bride
And they take her. Pluck her up like a hawk. Whoever “they” were, there would be more of them, and she’d be easier to seize in the chaos, but I can’t tell them that she’s more than my wife. They can’t know she’s the priority of not just my house, but my heart. Once I show them that truth, I’m vulnerable.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Si!” I call out. Gia pokes her head in. “Rom—” Roman bursts in with a little paper bag in his hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. I nod to Gia and she closes the door behind her.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I ask, keeping my voice level and calm, but something about his whore in Green Springs is bugging me.
“I got the rings, boss. Had to go to all different engravers, just like you asked, and…” He stops when he notices Vito’s bloody face, then turns back to me with the grin wiped off. “…that ain’t easy finding guys who won’t talk. They’re industrial engravers instead of jewelers so no one’s gonna think to ask. The guy in Wallings took 24 hours because he’s a dumbfuck but the guy in Green Springs only took an hour this afternoon.”
Green Springs. Of course.
“Sorry I couldn’t check the work.” He hands me the bag. “If they’re wrong I’ll take ‘em back. Rough ‘em up, too.”
I take the box from the paper bag and flip it open. Three rings shine at me. On the right, a thick one sized for my finger. On the left, Violetta’s diamond set.
When I married Violetta, these rings were already heavy with meaning, but now they carry a weight I’ll never describe to these sorry excuses for men.
“Did you tell anyone what you were doing?” I ask, plucking out my ring and checking the new engraving before putting it on my finger.
“Not a soul.” Roman swears. Is that sweat on his brow? It certainly is.
“No one? Not a soul?”
“Not one,Re.”
“Tell me, Roman.” I take extra care to examine Violetta’s rings. “Where did you go while you were waiting an hour in Green Springs?”
Roman shrugs and looks away.
The room’s gone very quiet. The other men won’t look at Roman. Maybe they weren’t supposed to tell me about his tricky whore, or maybe they just know how much I don’t like lies.
“You know who lives in Green Springs?” I ask, and answer before they have a chance to. “Theresa Rubino.”
“So?” Roman still won’t look at me. I can smell his guilt like a dog smells a bitch in heat.
“Theresa Rubino is Damiano Irolio’s niece.” I approach Roman, who looks at his feet. Damiano was a Cavallo in the old country, but now? There was no way to know. “Acting like a big shot get you laid, Romey?”
“I ain’t a big shot.”
“Is that what you told Theresa?” I put my hand on the back of the young man’s neck and squeeze my thumb and middle finger into him. I know it hurts, but to his credit, he barely flinches. “Told her all about how much I trusted you, how you were running a top secret mission.”
“It’s not like that, I swear.”
Still gripping his neck, I whisper in his ear. “I bet your dick smells like Theresa Rubino.” He’s white as the Pope’s cassock. “What if I get Vito here to take a whiff? Bet he can smell her cunt through a busted nose.”
I shake him a little. His eyes flick back and forth, looking for an exit or help from his buddies. He will find neither.
“Did you tell her what you were up to?”
“I didn’t tell her nothing.”
“Except.” I say it as if I know exactly what he said and I’m giving him an opportunity to come clean. It’s the same technique the police use, and I learned it from them in Italy.
“Don’t everybody get their wedding rings engraved?” he says.
I press my forehead to his as if I feel a tender affection for him, which I do, and don’t.
“I can smell her cunt on your breath,” I say. “Did you mention you had a little extra time because your boss was out shopping with his wife?”
