Chapter 10 – Gabriella
“Will you stop trying to take the drinks over there,” I snapped, stepping to intercept Maria.
My eighteen-year-old sister scowled. “It’s my job. And! We’re slammed tonight.”
I wrenched the plastic black tray from her hands. The glasses wobbled, and a martini splashed over the rim.
“Gabby,” she moped. “They’re harmless.”
That was all she knew. Lucky her. She hadn’t seen the disgusting side of the Made Men. Right now, they were honey, sweet and attractive.
Her lip stuck out in a pout. “Have it your way. It’s not like you’ll be able to stop me serving them after tonight.”
What a vicious little traitor. Sisters were the worst. One minute, they were your best friends, but then….
“You know what?” I shoved the tray back at her. “Fine. You want to go to their table. Listen to how they plan to fuck and fight the rest of the night? It’s poker night. That means they’ll be out with whores the rest of the evening while you snooze in your frilly pink bed.”
Maria gasped. Her mouth fell open. “Gabby!”
“They’re mobsters, sis. What did you expect?” I brushed past her.
I hated to be so blunt. But who was I kidding?
After tonight, the restaurant was open season.
Wedding bells rang in the future, calling me to the altar.
I wasn’t allowed to work another shift. No!
I had to stand around, pretend to be bubbling with joy, all while knowing that my sisters got to work and earn money.
Not that Papa let them spend it.
He told them the same thing he’d told me. That he was opening savings accounts with his buddy. High yielding, their money would grow. When in reality, it was just another way for him to control us.
At least the girls got to spend a portion of their tips for fun. Mine were taken to keep me from falling into temptation.
Dio sacro, I loathed the Made Men hogging the tables near the back wall. At least they paid for their suppers. The don didn’t give them a reduced cost. Maria twirled her hair, leaning against the table, hip propped.
She’s going to get in trouble.
It wasn’t like I could tell her the truth.
My hard-earned lesson was buried rather than passed down to my sisters.
I blew out a breath, turned sharply, and hurried into the kitchen.
If I was being honest, I wouldn’t have listened to a warning at her age either.
Not that I was much older than she was. Still, life could age someone far beyond their years.
No, Maria would hear my story, think that I screwed up—which I had—and she was far too smart to let that happen. She wasn’t. If a disgusting sonofabitch set his sights on her, she wasn’t safe.
Saints-damned underworld and the scum it allowed to fester.
“Why the long face, Gabby Girl?” Sully boomed.
I schooled my face, flashing the cook a big, bright, fake smile. “I’m not sad.”
He slapped his fat, thick paw over his chest. “You wound me, cara mia!”
When the cook was in a good mood, he sang his words rather than spoke them. He could have given Dean Martin a run for his money back in the day. Instead, he worked seven days a week for the underworld kingpin who’d saved his life ages ago.
“Salvatore, you know I won’t forget to visit,” I teased.
He pointed a stumped finger at me—the tip lost in a pot of soup years ago. “Use my Christian name again, ragazza, and see if I don’t stew you.”
I fluttered my eyes as I passed him on the way to one of the computers.
Alright, so I didn’t hate all the Made Men.
Sully was one of the good ones. A rare breed.
The point-of-sale screen showed the number from tonight.
It was a solid evening. A suspicion that I couldn’t shake itched the back of my neck.
That sixth sense was never wrong. I tapped into my sister’s portfolio.
Looking at the tab for the back tables, my jaw worked back and forth.
Maria was comping drinks.
She just couldn’t wait until I was gone to start pulling that shit.
I drummed my finger against the edge of the screen. Part of me wanted to call it a day. I could leave early, and no one would say I didn’t earn it.
But I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Printing a slip and logging out, I flashed the head cook a smile. “Wish me luck.”
“With what?” he snapped my way, mid rant at one of his underlings. His dark chocolate eyes blinked, and then he repeated a bit more kindly, “Cara mia? What is it?”
“I’m going to make a little girl cry.” I raised both brows, pulled my eyes wide, and shrugged.
He laughed.
He thought I was joking.
But I had one chance to do this, and I would sleep easier knowing I’d done everything I could. Going to the hostess stand where Maria loitered, whispering with Giana, another sister, who’d started working here as a hostess a month ago, I pulled up short.
“Here’s your tab, Maria.” The slip of paper dangled from my fingers.
She looked at it, looked back at me, and frowned in confusion. “I didn’t order anything.”
“Yeah, well, technically you did.” When she snatched it, I added, “Hope you made enough tips to cover all those beers.”
Giana gasped. She was sixteen. To her alcohol was a forbidden fruit that adults had at mealtime, and teens only sipped at Christmas.
“What the hell?” Maria hissed.
“You have three choices: Make them pay for their drinks.” I lifted my fingers to count. “Pay for them yourself. Or keep them comped like this, and I’ll make sure to mention it to Don Morelli when I give my nightly report.”
My sister blanched. “Gabby, you can’t be serious.”
Deadly. “They’re using you. Can’t you see that?”
Her eyes began to melt. The black pupil bleeding into the chocolate iris. Her lip stuck out in a big, fat pout. “Please, don’t do this. Can’t we just—can’t we just sweep it under the rug this once?”
“No.”
“What’s the matter?” Carmela, the next oldest sister to me glided up to the stand.
While Maria began to blubber, I explained in clipped words.
“Yeah, no, Maria.” Carmela shook her head. “We don’t give out freebies unless it is an anniversary or a birthday.”
“But I can’t tell them that,” she moaned, lines of water ruining her perfectly applied makeup. “I’d rather die.”
I should have made her. We might be the capo’s daughters, but we weren’t fragile princesses. We needed to stand up for ourselves.
I snatched the crumpled, tearstained ticket. “I’ll fix it. But don’t let it happen again.”
Instead of looking grateful or thanking me, Maria stuck out her lip. “It’s not like you’ll be around to catch me next time.”
Carmela gasped. “How dare you?”
I held up my hand. “Maria is right. Her actions have consequences. Don’t any of you—” I pointed my fingers at each in turn “—forget that.”
Marching to the back of the restaurant, through the busy tables full of locals, tourists, and even an influencer, who was more interested in filming himself eat than actually consuming the food, I planted myself in the center of the four far tables.
There was a crew of ten soldiers, having supper and shooting the breeze.
“Question about the drinks, guys.” I held up the ticket. “Your waitress forgot to split them under with your meals. Is someone taking care of all the beers? Or how should I divide them?”
Not one man spoke up. Brown, black, and grey eyes shifted as they looked at each other for answers.
“Puttana Irlandese,” someone whispered in back.
My stomach flipped. I was a girl from the neighborhood. My house was a block from his mother’s. And yet, that was how he saw me.
“If you don’t want me to tell Don Morelli that you tried to flirt with my sister for free drinks, you’ll decide now who’s paying,” I snapped.
“I’ll take it,” Tommy piped up. “I told them not to.”
I wanted to tell him he shouldn’t have to, but I handed it over. I wasn’t here to police everyone.
“Felicitations on your marriage, Gabby.” Tommy grinned. “We’re looking forward to the wedding.”
My stomach flipped again. The black dress shirt was suddenly too tight, and I couldn’t breathe.
“Thanks.” The word was flat.
As I walked away, I heard them murmur that it would serve the Irish right if they turned my wedding into a bloodbath.
“You’d really start a war with the Irish?” Maria asked, stopping by their table. Her hushed whisper wasn’t as quiet as she thought it was.
“Sure would!” Tommy puffed up his chest.
“Gosh,” she breathed, and a look over my shoulder showed the excitement in her eyes.
So young. So freaking young and stupid, mistaking their brutality for heroism.
Disgust slid through me. But I’d done everything I could.
Their lives were in their hands, and if my parents wouldn’t take measures to protect them, then I wasn’t the black sheep, I was the trendsetter for the Deluca girls.
***
It isn’t forever….
I tried to keep a cheerful appearance as I said a final goodnight to the cook and his grizzly pack of kitchen boys.
They offered to take me out for a drink, and when I declined, they suggested we go to the bar and at least toast to my future.
Even if they spat on the names of the Irish, they wanted to send me off in style, to bless my marriage even while cursing my husband. I put them off gently but firmly.
Hurrying into the dark, I finally let the emotions swirling in my chest free.
The final shift at Mama Ana’s was harder than I expected.
The whole night, I’d lied to myself that I’d be back.
As a guest. This place had been my sanctuary since I was a fourteen-year-old with pimples, hostessing and bussing tables on weekends.
“I’m never actually going back,” I reminded myself firmly.
There was always going to be a goodbye in my future. One that I didn’t plan on announcing. If things had worked out, I would have slipped away. This was harder, telling the crew I’d worked with for eight years farewell without the brighter hope of a better future.
I hadn’t saved enough money to enact my plan. Hanging my head, I scurried down the street.
Something in the night brushed against my wet cheeks.