Page 17 of Mafia King
Something—or someone—over my shoulder catches Scarlett’s eye.
“What?” I ask, hoping to shift the focus back to her.
“Amanjust walked into this place,” Scarlett says. “By the board games. Dark jacket. Little older. Definitely a prof or grad student.”
“Glad to see you haven’t changed,” I say, trying to do a casual stretch-and-glance so I can at least scope out this hottie.
“Right now, I am so glad you’re married, because I’d fight you for this one.”
I see him. He’s neither professor nor student. Not a hunky athlete coming back from the practice field, scruffy and sweet, or a dreamy philosophy major hoping to find answers inside inscrutable textbooks. Instead, my eyes land on broad shoulders, a wicked mouth, and a sharp suit. My pulse races, because of course.
Of course.
Santino DiLustro, who’s supposed to be in church and seething that I didn’t show up, and who employs the man who drove me here, is standing by a flyer for a one-bedroom apartment.
When he sees me, he smiles like a new husband, and he walks to our table with the confidence of a lover. I want to tell myself I’m just playing along, trying not to start drama in public, but it’s not that. He’s absolutely magnetic. Everyone’s watching him with lust, aspiration, or envy, and he’s mine.
All mine.
I stand and let him draw me into the heat radiating off of his powerful body. He kisses me tenderly on the cheek before smiling at Scarlett with the beneficence of a saint.
“Scarlett.” I hear myself saying polite words, and I’m grateful I have an autopilot function. “This is my husband, Santino. Santino, this is my best friend, Scarlett.”
She stands and offers her his hand. I can’t help marveling at the sight of this powerful man shaking hands with an American girl in cutoffs and flip-flops.
“We were just talking about how you swept Violetta off her feet,” Scarlett chirps. “I’m so sorry I missed the wedding.”
“It was a very brief engagement and a small ceremony.” Santino tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering at my neck. Though I can’t guarantee he feels my pulse pick up, I am sure his touch was meant for this purpose. “We couldn’t wait.”
“I can see that.” Scarlett is smirking at me, and it’s hard not to get lost in the fantasy of this moment: that Santino and I really did meet on some normal day, some-normal-where, had a normal series of conversations, and instantly fell in normal love. That he’s as enamored of me as his touch suggests. That there’s nothing for me to fear with him, or from him.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Santino says, “but I forgot to tell Violetta we have somewhere to be this afternoon.” I expect a subtle threat of violence, some reminder that I’ll come with him whether I like it or not, but his face stays calm. When he turns to me, he’s every inch a man besotted, who merely wants his new bride by his side as often as possible. “Do you mind?”
Do I mind? Yes, I mind, but no, I do not. Talking to Scarlett wasn’t the escape I thought it would be. I nod, because I want to go with him, even if he demands it.
“Depends where we’re going,” I flirt.
“Remember my zia Paola, from the other side?”
“How could I forget?” I try not to sound sour, but I can’t keep the tartness from my tongue.
Gia’s mother, Paola, brought Siena Orolio to the beach house long enough for me to find out Santino loved my sister first. I’m pissed off right now because of her. Paola witnessed what Siena said to me. She saw the color drain from my face because I didn’t know about Santino and Rosetta.
“Marco—my uncle—he has business here. Unexpected things… anyway, he brought his wife and they’re making a trip of it.” Typically vague reasoning for a sudden transatlantic journey. Marco and Paola just hopped on a plane from Italy and showed up for an undisclosed amount of time.
Actually, that’s only unusual for the kids strolling the grassy square by St. John’s University.
For us, it’s perfectly normal to fold space and time where family is concerned. Our houses are often split into smaller units for long-term guests from the other side.
“Where are they staying?” I hope it’s not at our place.
“Anette and Angelo’s, on Porto Street, and it’s going to be a long Italian dinner, so...” He turns to Scarlett again. “I have to steal her.”
“I could use a nap,” Scarlett says with a glance at her iced tea. “They say this has caffeine, but I think they’re lying.”
“We’ll walk you out then,” Santino says.
The arm that was around my waist slides down, and to my surprise, he laces his fingers through mine. On the sidewalk, he lets me go grudgingly so Scarlett and I can hug and kiss goodbye, making promises to see each other soon. But I’m lying to save her feelings.
