Page 92 of I Would Beg For You
A once-tall man is standing there, Fedora hat in his hands, his bulky body stooped almost in two. Behind him are three younger men of various sizes, all dressed in black, hats still on.
A lick of fear runs up my spine, but I quell it. If these men wanted me dead, I’d already be riddled with bullets. Still, it’s a good thing Naomi’s not here—Luciano took her to have lunch with Francesca in New York. I have no clue what’s happening, and not having to worry about her right now is a good thing.
I slow my steps and bow solemnly before the old man.
“Don Vitale,” I say, voice low and reverent.
What is the head of one of the most prominent families of Upstate New York doing in my house?
He waves the hat at me. “None of that. Call me Giorgio.”
It can’t be terrible, then.
I nod. “Don Giorgio. Welcome to my home.”
“Can we talk?”
I want to frown, but school my features. “Sure. My study, okay? Your men want some coffee?”
He turns to them, waves the hat. “Vai, vai.”
“Carlito? Show these gentlemen to the kitchen, please?”
My dutiful soldier falls in line and takes care of the old man’s entourage. I guide Don Giorgio to my study, wave at the sitting area. He’s a revered Don—I won’t put a desk between us.
He stops by the piano, runs a hand lovingly over it.
“Do you play, Don Giorgio?”
He laughs. “Not with these old hands.”
“Please, sit.”
I wait for him to settle down before taking a seat at a ninety-degree angle from him. There’s a knock, then Ina comes in with a tray of coffee.
“Don Vitale,” she says. “I hear you like biscotti.”
I smother a chuckle. This woman’s brass balls will never stop amazing me. Any Italian man worth his salt won’t say no to biscotti with an espresso—she just used that information to win over one of the most fearsome Borgata leaders on the Northeastern coast.
The old man laughs. “You know the way to a man’s heart.”
She’s gone with a flourish after serving us, the air lighter thanks to her sassy manner.
“Ah,” he says. “A woman who won’t hesitate to smack you with a wooden spoon if you invade her kitchen. Good household help is hard to find, these days.”
I acquiesce with a nod. “It is. I’m very lucky to have her.”
Don Giorgio takes a moment to savor his espresso and biscotti, then he lifts his still-sharp grey eyes onto me.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
I smile. Is this a social call or more?
“Thank you. Our wedding was last month.”
“A very quiet affair, I hear, too.” He lets silence settle between us for a moment—I wonder what he’s getting at. “Because of your father-in-law…”
My nostrils flare. So that’s what it’s about.
