Corrado finally broke eye contact with Carmine to look at her. “I’m not throwing my weight around.”
“Yes, you are,” she said. “You’re just a big bully. You act like he blatantly ignored what time to be here. It was just a few minutes, no harm done.”
“This time,” Corrado retorted. “It might not mean anything right now, but five minutes can be a matter of life and death in other situations.”
“Yes, other situations. Meaning not this one, so give the boy a break.”
“He’s not a boy, Celia,” Corrado said, his expression darkening a bit.
“He is,” she argued. “He’s my nephew.”
“He’s my soldato.”
“He was my nephew first.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s mine forever.”
Carmine froze when Corrado spoke those words, a sickness brewing in the pit of his stomach. He had witnessed a lot of ridiculous conversations in his life but having them argue over him was surreal.
Celia pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m going to the ladies room.”
Corrado shook his head when she stormed away and the underboss, sitting to his left, clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, chi non ha moglie non ha padrone.”
Carmine smirked at his words and Corrado smiled, but it was forced. He was furious that Celia had challenged him in front of his men. He reached for his glass on the table in front of him, taking a drink as Haven leaned toward Carmine.
“What did that guy say?” she whispered, trying to be quiet, but Corrado overheard her.
He set his glass back down and answered before Carmine had a chance. “He said a man without a wife is a man without a master.”
She tensed. “Oh.”
“I forgot you don’t speak Italian,” he said. “Have you ever thought to learn?”
The color drained from her face at being put on the spot, the eyes of everyone nearby going straight to her. Most people within the organization knew by now she was a Principessa by birth, even though few of them ever had any actual contact with her. They were intrigued, naturally. Carmine understood their curiosity, but that didn’t mean it annoyed him any less.
“Uh, yes,” she said. “I’ve learned a little bit.”
“From Carmine?”
She glanced at Carmine and he immediately felt bad, seeing the panic in her eyes. She was trying her best to stay cool on the surface, but he could tell she was a mess inside. “He’s taught me some, yes.”
“So I assume you know the bad words, then,” Corrado said.
She nodded. “I know other things, too, though.”
“Like?”
She looked at Carmine again, like she expected him to rescue her, but he couldn’t. Even if he tried, Corrado would stop him.
She realized after a second that he wasn’t going to say anything. She turned back to Corrado, picking at her fingernails under the table. “Like ti amo and sempre.”
“And?”
“And ciao. Buongiorno. Grazie. Prego.” Her pronunciation was spot on. It was simple, but it was better than nothing. “And uh, Vaffanculo?”
They all just stared at her, the silence managing to grow even more awkward.
After what felt like an hour, Corrado’s expression softened and a smile tugged at his lips. He let out a laugh—a genuine fucking laugh. “That was a curse.”
“Oh.” She turned bright red. “Carmine uses it a lot.”
“Doesn’t surprise me a bit.”
There was quiet chatter as everyone relaxed, the Boss’s demeanor influencing the others. The tension receded from the room and Haven loosened up, her posture no longer stiff. Celia returned, she and Corrado both relaxing as they whispered to each other. Carmine watched them, their natural chemistry obvious. Despite everything, the fighting and violence and outright bullshit their lives could sometimes be, they were happy together. They loved each other and it was the love that got them through everything else. As long as they had that, nothing would tear them apart.
Carmine glanced at Haven, reaching under the table and taking her hand. He squeezed it and she smiled softly, gazing back at him. He saw that same type of love in her eyes, the kind of love that was damn near unbreakable.
There was food and drinks, conversation and laughter. Time passed swiftly and Carmine found he actually enjoyed himself. A smile continuously graced Haven’s lips as she talked to people, not seeming at all nervous to be around his kind.
His kind. He hated saying it, but it was true. La Cosa Nostra was his family. And like a real dysfunctional family, he fucking hated them most of the time.
He looked around the restaurant, seeing all types of people having dinner. There were couples and families, friends and business associates. All seemed content and relaxed, completely oblivious to the danger in the room with them. It was strange to Carmine how people didn’t even flinch from their presence, like they were desensitized to violence and pain. They seemed ignorant to the fact that lifelong criminals surrounded them, their children and wives breathing the same air as cold, calculating murderers.
Well, most seemed oblivious. His gaze fell upon a man in the corner by himself, his attention focused on the tables surrounding them. His eyes locked with Carmine’s after a moment, and even across the room he could see the coldness. The man certainly wasn’t what he would call a friendly face.
Carmine stared him down for a while before the man stood, tossing some money on the table and walking out.
The night continued on, as did the food and drinks. The crowd thinned, thoughts of that man going right out along with the others.