Page 102 of Mafia King
I stamp out his cigar.
“My wife misspoke,” I repeat the agreed-upon lie. “But I’m not going to turn her into a liar. I will pay your debt, and in return, you will not sell Gia into marriage.”
“You know your chickens,” he says without seeming to have a single reservation. “Look at how you came to marry your own wife?”
Calmly, I wedge my cigarette between my lips as the skin under my collar runs hot, and my blood carries instructions to my body faster than a thought. In less than the blink of an eye, my fingers grip his throat.
“I came to marry her out of duty, Marco.”
Marco gags, gripping my sleeve. I didn’t realize how many years I’ve wanted to choke him, because it feels better than anything I’ve ever done.
“Do you understand?” I squeeze tighter, sucking on my cigarette and exhaling out my nose.
He nods against my fingers.
“Liar.” I squeeze until his knees buckle. “You don’t understand duty.”
My uncle’s face is bright red. He’s choking out something that could be apology or curse, and I let him go to hear which it is. He drops back, hand to his throat, landing on the patio couch.
Behind me, someone coughs. All of the men are outside, staring at Marco gasping for air. No one runs to his aid.
Bene.They need to see this.
I turn to address the men gathered behind me. “Any of you. When I speak, I speak one time. You do not question me. And when my wife says I’m paying thiscavolo’s debt, you assume it’s the truth.”
I start back inside, where the women have set up the table for cards and the TV for the children. I can hear their chatter and coins clinking as if everything is back to normal. Violetta waves me in. I want to be on the other side of that glass with her more than anything.
“Santino,” Marco calls timidly, so I stop and look back. “When my daughter returns…”
The last part of his sentence falls into silence, but I know it ends with him telling me what I already know. That the wedding is happening as soon as Gia gets back, and if I want to change the arrangement, I have to tell Damiano and Cosimo Orolio. They can—and will—refuse.
“Do not ask me another thing. Your job isn’t questions. It’s obedience. You’ll know when you know.”
I go inside to play cards, and the men follow.
27
VIOLETTA
“It was a lovely evening.” Zia kisses my cheeks and cups my chin. “You make me so proud, Violetta.”
My cheeks flush red—in part because I have missed the connection with my zia in person, in part because her compliments always make me wonder what my mother would say, but mostly because I took a risk today and it paid off. That threshold between adolescence and adulthood was not only crossed but eviscerated, and my family got to witness it firsthand.
Violetta Moretti is not a plaything. Violetta Moretti is not a toy. Violetta Moretti is a dangerous bitch who will move mountains to save people she loves.
Violetta Moretti is going to be a good mother.
“Thank you for coming. I have missed you so much.” I squeeze her in a tight hug.
Zio comes from behind Zia and the three of us stand there for a moment, savoring this. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see them again, not after what I just did. I changed the rules.
I would do it again in a heartbeat. The power I felt commanding that room, laying the groundwork for a plan I concocted? Intoxicating. And there was never a better cause. I swear on my life. These bastards aren’t going to steal another girl over money or territory or a few chunks of old metal ever again.
“It was lovely tonight, Santino.” Zia nods politely to him.
“You’ll come again,” he says.
We stand outside, Santino and me, arms around each other, as these last guests climb into their Buick and drive away. I have so many memories of my aunt and uncle, but now I don’t feel grief when I think about them. Maybe I really have finally grown up.
