Filed to story: The Mafia Boss’s Regret (Ava & Dante)
I felt like a fish out of water, and by the way my two cousins stood by me, eyeing the place with their hands in their pockets, I imagined they felt the same way.
I’d met a few of the women who occupied the booths, but not enough to feel comfortable sitting near them, and I wouldn’t go join the men at the corner of the bar for anything. I noticed Dante among them; it wasn’t just his height that made him stand out, but his mere presence.
Warmth spread through me when his eyes landed on mine. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel like I was indecently dressed. He glanced away, responding to the man he was speaking to, and I let out a breath.
“What are you doing blocking the doorway?” Nonna muttered, pushing her way through me, Dominic, and Benito. “Kids these days. Typing on those phones all the time their brains have rot…” Her voice trailed off as she headed to a table to sit down.
Warm air brushed my skin as the door opened. Lydia stomped in, her eyes a dark storm. I stared at her attire-she wore a yellow t-shirt dress with black Converses. It was a cute ensemble, but this was a black-tie dinner, no matter the low-key Italian restaurant. I wore a black glitter maxi, and I wasn’t even the bride.
Her expression was equal parts fury, equal parts despair.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then waltzed to the bar and pulled her petite frame onto a stool. Mamma had a glass of wine to her lips when she saw Lydia. Her eyes widened, her face darkened, but then she shook her head like she couldn’t deal with it at the moment and headed in the opposite direction.
Walking up to the bar, I met gazes with the young male bartender in a white shirt and black waistcoat and ordered a beer. He raised a brow at my choice of drink.
Benito was four years older than me and had always had the downstairs fridge stocked with beer. I drank with him secretly in my teen years when Mamma would’ve scolded me about it. I’d grown to like it more than the tartness of wine. At the time, I thought it would be the most scandalous thing I’d ever do. Boy, did I wish that were true.
“Why did the turkey cross the road?” I asked without looking at my brooding sister, who was sipping on a shot of what looked like vodka. I had no idea how she did that, and briefly wondered if my mamma had had an affair with a Russian. He would’ve quickly been a dead Russian if so.
“To prove it’s not chicken.” Her response was dry.
Crap. I must have used that one before. I used to tell her silly jokes when she got upset about something, though it didn’t look like it would work this time.
“Okay.” I tried to up my game. “Why do bananas use suntan lotion?”
She didn’t answer, only sipped her vodka.
“So they won’t peel!” I exclaimed it with so much cheer it hurt my own ears.
The bartender chuckled and slid my beer across the lacquered wooden bar to me. My sister, though-she didn’t blink.
I sighed. “Oh, come on. He thinks it’s funny.”
“He doesn’t. He just wants to sleep with you,” she deadpanned.
My eyes widened and then shot to the bartender who was within earshot. I expected a blatant refusal, but he only lifted a shoulder with a smirk before helping another customer.
He was either the bravest man in the room or the most idiotic to hit on a don’s daughter.
I blushed, shook my head at my sister, then brought the bottle to my lips and took a drink. It was cold, refreshing, with a hint of bitterness. “Do you want to share what the problem is, or try to drink it away?” I leaned against the bar and settled in, because I already knew her response.
“Drink it away.”
And so, we drank.
MY HEAD FELT LIGHT AS my second beer settled into a warm puddle in my stomach.
I was only tipsy and had already exchanged alcohol for water. I never drank too much in public; it loosened my tongue, to the point I feared what I would say or do. What if I told everyone what I was thinking? The Candy Voss and alcohol didn’t mix. I wasn’t ready to jump headfirst into the world as myself, didn’t know if I’d ever be. When you’re groomed and praised for being a certain way your entire childhood, sometimes there’s no escape.
Lydia didn’t share the same opinions on the matter. She was drunk, very much so. Thankfully, she was usually quiet while intoxicated, and appeared to only be eating much more and with less decorum than she did sober.
More family had shown up and filled most of the restaurant. Morettis sat with Morettis and Vosses with Vosses. Though, Lydia sat next to Dante and his uncles and their wives. I knew his mamma had passed when he was a teen, and his papà had been killed when the Zanettis shot up one of his nightclubs. Unsurprisingly, it was because Dante’s father had cheated them on a business deal.
It was strange not having Lydia at our table, but I guessed she was going to be a Moretti in less than two weeks. A discomfort tightened in my throat.
I sat next to Tony, who seemed to be in good spirits. He had a bandage on his right hand, though, and kept asking me to get his drinks for him, to pass this or that, and to cut his steak. He always asked with too much enthusiasm, as if he liked his new condition. I was feeling for Jenny, cheater or not.
My parents, Nonna, Dominic, and Benito also sat with us. The men kept the conversation monotonous with talk about work-Papà owned many different establishments, from strip clubs to laundromats, though the latter was probably a cover-up for the packaging and distribution of drugs-or about their bets on men in their illegal fights.
Gianna ran the conversation in the room, making Vosses converse with Morettis and vice versa. She looked like Barbie today. Thin-strapped pink dress, high ponytail, and light pink makeup. She was charismatic, independent, and now that I believed she’d slept with Dante, I watched her more than I should have. I was fascinated with the idea that she knew what it was like to sleep with him. Though, the more I thought about it, a foreign feeling-a wave of something unpleasant-slithered through my veins.
Envy.
That’s what it was.
I wasn’t only attracted to the man, I was jealous of the women he’d been with.
I groaned out loud.
All eyes at our round table came my way, forks of dessert halfway to their lips.
“Indigestion?” Nonna questioned.
“Yeah,” I responded without thinking, and pushed my chair back. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
I didn’t even realize what I had said until I was walking away from the table and heard my brother and cousins’ soft laughter behind my back. Men.
I had the bathroom door open three inches when I heard my name between the sound of the running faucet and toilet flushing.
“Look, all I’m saying is that she’s known to be this Candy Voss, but really it’s only because she gets sweet with a lot of men.”
A bitter taste filled my mouth.
The voice belonged to a Moretti woman. Valentina. Married to one of Dante’s cousins, though I didn’t know which. She was tall, statuesque, with strong Sicilian features. Hard to miss or forget.
“You’re just jealous because Ricardo’s been staring at her all night,” another woman replied. It sounded like Jemma, Dante’s cousin. She was close to my age, maybe a little younger, with light brown hair and eyes. I’d only spoken to her once, but she’d seemed like a nice girl.
“I don’t care what Ricardo does. I have Eddie,” Valentina replied. I heard a rustle like someone was digging through their purse, then silence, maybe reapplying makeup. “They killed her lover, don’t you know? Some man from Staten Island.”
“They’re going to kill yours too if you don’t shut up about it,” Jemma said.
Valentina scoffed. “Ricardo and I hardly sleep together anymore. What does he expect me to do?”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear about you, my brother, and sex in one sentence.”