Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
He hadn’t changed, though it seemed like everyone else was dressed casually.
Not really a reception then.
And I couldn’t shake the feeling as I stood there spying on their gathering, that I wasn’t invited.
I slunk back into the room, my nerves now mixing with a sick, sour feeling of being excluded.
Tears threatened again, and I took myself into the bathroom to wipe away my eye makeup before I could smudge it with the silly, but seemingly uncontrollable emotion.
I was overwrought. Overtired.
I needed to get myself together.
Luckily for me, though, the party seemed to rage endlessly, no one seeming concerned with my absence, least of all my husband. So I had plenty of time to pull myself together.
I got into the bed.
Then out.
Paced the room.
Sat on the chair shoved in the corner, not knowing what to do with myself.
Until, finally, I plopped myself down on the edge of the bed.
And waited.
And waited.
I’d all but lost hope as the party noise continued to swell.
Until, suddenly, the door was opening.
And there he was.
CHAPTER FOUR
Renzo
Rico came back with the first round of food just a minute or two before everyone started to shuffle into the apartment, making a beeline for the bar, then the food. In that order.
Parties were a somewhat regular thing around here.
I liked keeping my crew close.
I wasn’t the kind of boss who enjoyed the power trip of calling formal meetings to discuss shit all the time.
I’d rather hear about it in a casual conversation over a couple of drinks, some pizza, and peppered between other stories.
The place had a pretty open-door policy after a certain time of night, and as soon as everyone got word that someone was at my apartment, they all flocked to it. For food, for drinks, for company, and a little bit for work.
It took no time at all for someone to head over to the stereo, putting on some music, and for the sound of pool balls cracking together to fill the air, mingling with the sounds of conversation and laughter.
Nothing like the stuffy-ass gathering at the church.
Everyone had shed their sour moods along with their formal clothes before they’d come through the door.
“Got you another,” Rico said, handing me a fresh glass of whiskey.
I was already feeling the several drinks I’d had before everyone had shown up. It was an ease in my shoulders and a quietness in my mind that I hadn’t felt in weeks. Months, even.
“No signs of the Costas out there?” I asked, nodding toward the front of the building.
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “As far as our guys can tell… everyone went home.”
“Good,” I said, tipping back my drink, hoping it would chase away any lingering concerns of someone going back on the deal.
“I wouldn’t count out those brothers of hers, though,” he said.
“Which ones are hers again?” I asked. The Costas seemed to breed like fucking rabbits, everyone having five-plus kids each, making it hard to keep their damn family tree even halfway straight.
“Fuck, even I can’t remember them all. But I know one of ‘em is Cesare,” he said, and the name had a more familiar ring than most.
Because that fucker had once slept with the wife of one of my capos, leading to my allowing the man to put a hit out on Cesare, who was quickly hightailed it out of the state to avoid that fate.
One of the many rifts between our families.
“But it’s not him I’d be worried about. It’s the older brother. Nico? Heard through our channels that he was the one who was ready to come here and take us all out by himself when he heard you were going to marry his baby sister.”
“Put someone on him then,” I said. “Until we are sure he’s going to abide by the alliance,” I added. “Alright, enough of this,” I told him, moving over toward a small crowd who was listening as one of my capos, Dav, seemed like he was in the middle of another of his stories.
“And this fucker is looking at me like I’d grown another fucking head,” he was saying as I joined the group. “Like, buddy, the Fish Market is in the fucking Bronx, not Brooklyn. Then he’s all ‘I just want some tail, man.’ And I’m all: ‘Tail? The fuck you wanna eat the tail for?’ I mean, I’m starting to think he’s out of his fucking mind. One of those people screaming at the skies and shit. What I get, right, for offering to actually fucking help one of these goddamn tourists who can’t figure out how fucking Google works.
“Anyway, he fucking growls at me, then stabs a finger toward a woman across the street. And I finally get that the motherfucker isn’t talking about fish at all. He wants to know where to find a fucking brothel for the night,” he concludes, getting a laugh out of the men gathered around. “Fish market,” Dav said, shaking his head. “Dunno what kind of women he’s fucking, but I think pussy is sweet as candy, right, Cinna?” he asked as one of my female capos walked nearby.