But still no apology.
Then again, they were Italian. Controlling. Managing. Temperamental. Shoot. I was going to have to fix it myself. If I didn’t do the breaking up, I would end up married to a stranger that most likely had a unibrow and liked his women in the kitchen — where they “belonged.” Blah! I knew the type. And I refused to be tied down to it. Besides, had they missed the point that I was nineteen? Who got married at nineteen?
They had.
All three uncles.
Who survived their wives.
And now had nothing better to do than meddle in my life and drive me insane!
I ran across the street and pulled open the door, thankful that my twin worked so close by.
Then again, my family basically owned the entire block. We had a cleaners, where two cousins worked, a bar, and the flower shop.
Though it had always seemed strange to me that, besides the bar, we weren’t ever really busy yet were able to completely stay afloat in a down economy.
My uncles said they were fantastic at investing.
And I left it at that, besides, it wasn’t my place to ask questions.
“Whoa, there.” Dante smirked as I made a beeline for the bar and pulled out a seat then, in dramatic fashion, threw half of my body against the bar top and let out a huff.
Dante leaned over so we were nearly nose to nose and whispered, “Rough day, sis?” His knuckles were taped — they were always taped, because he was always getting in fights, but I was too exhausted to argue with him about the blood currently dripping down on the wood bar.
“They’re driving me insane!” I threw my hands into the air and stood. And then decided the only thing left to do was pace back and forth.
Dante chuckled and rapped his knuckles against the bar like he was knocking. “I take it you found out about Nico?”
I stopped walking and shot daggers in his direction. “You traitor! You knew?”
“Hah, they told me last night. Laughed my ass off, told them that maybe they should ask you first, and you know what they said?”
“No, what?”
“They said, ‘We know what is best for our niece.’” Dante used his best Italian accent as he pressed his thumb and forefinger together in the same gesture Gio was known for.
“Of course they did. Of course.” I crossed my arms. “Do you know Nico?”
“Oh, I think you know Nico, too. You just don’t, you know, know Nico.”
“Huh?”I wrinkled my nose and stared at him.
Dante smirked. “Third pew at mass. Wears enough cologne to actually render someone devoid of the ability to smell for at least three hours after contact, and last Sunday his suit was purple. Head to toe. I think his jacket was velvet.”
I sucked in a breath. “Nooooo. That’s him? Gross! He shook my hand after church! Dante, his palms were sweaty.”
The bell on the door jingled. We both turned to see an elderly gentleman make his way toward us. He looked around Gio’s age, maybe seventy-two? But he wore it well. His three-piece suit was clearly Italian. Thick, wavy gray hair was styled perfectly. He screamed money.
Old New York money, the type you get illegally, if you know what I mean. I took a cautious step toward Dante even though he was on the other side of the bar. I don’t even know why I was intimidated other than the stranger’s clear blue eyes seemed to see right through me.
Did I know this man?
“Hello,” he said in a lightly accented voice, and then he smiled, instantly transforming his face into friendlier territory. “I was looking for Sal Alfero?”
“Alfero?” I repeated, sharing a look with Dante who’d suddenly appeared to have swallowed something sour. His face was completely white, his jaw tense as he flexed his fingers into a tight fist. “I don’t know—”
“No Alferos here,” Dante said in a completely detached and hollow voice. “Sorry.” His fists tightened even more as fresh blood slid down his wrist.
The man’s smile turned to a scowl. “Are you sure?”
“My uncle,” I interrupted. “His name is Sal but his last name is Grecco.”
The man turned his full attention to me. “Grecco.” His laugh was deep, intoxicating, warm. “Interesting, thank you, my dear.”
With a tilt of his head, he politely excused himself and left.
“Huh, that was weird,” I muttered to myself.
Dante swallowed. “Yeah. Weird.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He recovered quickly as if he hadn’t just looked ready to kill someone. A mixture of sorrow, confusion, and anger crossed his features again, before he grabbed a cup filled it with ice, and added in some Coke. “Drink up, sis. It’s going to be a long day. You’ve got a man to break up with.”
“I hate you.”
“You know, that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me?”
I made a face.
“Hey, that’s a compliment! You’re nice. It’s a good thing.”