Page 104 of Mafia Queen
This is not acceptable. They will not defer to a piece of metal, and I will not accept such a hollow victory. Violetta’s and my partnership was earned in blood, but it won’t be recognized by our subjects with a simple statement.
“There will be changes,” I repeat, taking my wife’s hand. Our rings click against each other. “Neither my wife nor I will bless another‘mbasciata.”
I preside over a confused silence of glances and knotted brows. The end of arranged marriages is one thing, but the thought that my wife could even bless an ‘mbasciatain the first place is another.
Sweat gathers on her palm.
I lean down to whisper in her ear, “You wanted a bike, now pedal.”
She nods decisively and stands. “That is not to be petitioned or questioned. Your daughters are not for sale.”
Now the resistance is audible.
Tommy from Lasertopia stands. “I’m sorry, Re Santino, not to question you, but the Lanzonis and us already have a thing you blessed back in April. It cost us a tribute so…uh, I’m wondering if you’re gonna honor it?”
“Your tribute will be returned,” she says. I know her. She’s nervous. She shouldn’t be. “And no. Your‘mbasciatais no longer valid.”
“I’d like the money back as much as the next guy,” Giulio Lanzoni says over the ensuing murmurs. “But Joe and his girl?” He jerks his thumb at Tommy. “They kinda like each other.”
“Have them come to me,” she says.
The murmuring turns to shouts about profanity and blasphemy, as if God himself recoils from my leadership.
“All marriages,” I add, and the noise dies down into shock. “Every single one, if you want to remain here, will be blessed by Violetta. So you aren’t making any under-the-table deals. I know my people.” I let my gaze sweep over the most stubbornly traditional, then I raise my glass. “She is the queen, and you will go to her the same way you come to me. Now, drink to it.”
Some make sidelong glances, and some take false sips like men crossing their fingers behind their backs.
“What about the crown?” a voice rises from the noise. It’s Violetta’s Zio Guglielmo. Suddenly, there’s silence, and all eyes are on him. “Show it to them, so they believe.”
Violetta predicted this would happen, but she did not predict her own uncle would demand a viewing of the crown to protect her.
“No,” she says.
“No,” I repeat. “That isn’t necessary.”
I squeeze her hand and look at her, asking if she’s ready, because this is it. There’s only one way to prove her power isn’t contingent on a crown.
She meets my stare and lets go of my hand. I sit, leaving her alone on her feet.
“Dr. Martino Farina,” she calls. “Show yourself.”
Heads turn. Gennaro and Carmine get into position, in case anything goes wrong.
Farina stands, buttoning his jacket. He’s been laying low. Vito delivered the invitation to come here, with the message that the morphine hadn’t harmed Violetta. There was no mention of the drug that ended her pregnancy, so he assumed we didn’t know.
That was my idea. The math of whether to come or not had to be hard enough to think about, but Farina’s equation had to reach the conclusion that forgiveness was possible.
Now, standing at his table while everyone else is seated, he looks like a man who wishes he’d checked his work with a calculator.
“At Damiano Orolio’s order,” Violetta says, “you gave me morphine.”
“Signorina,” he says with his hands out in a kind of half-shrug, “I knew—”
“Regina,” I demand, gently but firmly.
“Regina,” he says more loudly, his chin up. He doesn’t fear Violetta. He should. “It was known that Re Santino was dead. You had no husband, so when Capo Orolio called from the other side and ordered the marriage with his son, it was my duty to make sure you complied.”
“You were told I was pregnant.”
