Chapter 1 Tricks #2
Lucio and Angelo have their arms crossed, looking like bouncers at a swanky club in their polished suits and big muscles, with absolutely no smiles.
“Don’t be that way,” my father says and waves his hand in the air. He steps forward and throws his arms around my older brothers at the same time, hugging them. “I’m home now. Don’t worry about anything. I have everything covered.”
Those are the words we most fear. My dad’s idea of having everything covered always involves shady shit and a trip to the police precinct.
“Let’s get this party started,” my father says, pointing toward the DJ. My father takes my mother under his arm and wraps the other arm around Lucio. “Let’s celebrate. This is a big day.”
Lucio doesn’t even grumble. Maybe the happiness of the day is too big to let my father’s presence cast a shadow over everything. The wedding guests start to chatter again as the shock of my father’s presence starts to wear off.
“I’m changing my bet to three months,” Angelo tells me as we watch them saunter up to the bar. “He hasn’t changed a bit.”
I know Angelo’s right.
Santino Gallo’s the same proud, charismatic, law-skirting man he was five years ago when he was arrested.
How he convinced the parole board to let him out nearly two years early, I’ll never understand.
I’m sure he charmed them with his promises of being a changed man.
Hopefully this time, he doesn’t land on every television news station in the city for whatever crap he pulls because he can’t seem to fit into society and be normal.
I crave normal.
I want simple.
But somehow, I never seem to take the easy road…a trait I clearly inherited from my parents.
No one says anything as my father hands out glasses of champagne.
We’re all staring at each other, trying to pretend we’re happy to have him back.
We know our mother expects us to act like we’re excited, but it’s not so easy to pull off.
Deep down, we are happy to have him home and safe.
How could we not feel that way? He’s our father, after all.
But that doesn’t mean there isn’t hurt and anger there too.
“To Lucio, Delilah, and new beginnings.” Papa lifts his glass, waiting for each of us to do the same.
“Cincin,” my brothers say in unison, finally caving when my mother’s eyes narrow.
I chug the champagne, wishing I were buzzed already. Alcohol always seems to make awkward situations like this a little easier to swallow. Right now, I could use a little liquid courage, or as I like to call it, liquid amnesia.
“Santino.” Uncle Sal’s voice is unmistakable as he comes up behind me.
I turn toward my uncle with the champagne flute still against my lips and lift my eyebrows. I know this is about to get good.
Salvatore Gallo has very little patience for his brother…
my father. They are complete opposites except for their faces.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were twins with their salt-and-pepper hair and devilish good looks.
But everything else about them is totally different.
Uncle Sal is a dedicated family man, where my father cares more about his business.
There was bad blood for years. They didn’t speak after a falling-out. Tempers have cooled over time, maybe because they’re getting older.
Just before my father went back to prison, they had made amends and put the past behind them.
But then things changed, and the Gallo name was dragged through the mud, chilling the relationship again.
But my uncle Sal didn’t let that affect how he treated the rest of us.
He knew we were nothing like our father.
“Sal.” My father’s smiling from ear to ear. “I’ve missed you, brother.”
Somehow, I avoid spitting my mouthful of champagne all over everyone at my father’s bald-faced lie.
“You’ve always had great timing,” Uncle Sal says, and his voice is oozing attitude. Standing behind Sal are his children—Joseph, Michael, Anthony, Thomas, and Izzy—waiting for fireworks just like I am.
My father has always called his brother Sal “elitist.” He thinks Sal not only snubbed his nose at his roots, but the entire family, when he moved away to Tampa.
He did, but not because he was too good for us.
My dad was the biggest problem, and the pressure pushing down on Uncle Sal by association was tremendous.
I don’t blame him for leaving. I probably would’ve too if I could have. For years, I thought about changing my name, but I knew it wouldn’t help. In my neighborhood, everyone knew my father and our illustrious past, so there was no reason to go through the hassle.
I like my uncle Sal and my cousins too. I only wished they’d stuck around a little longer and been part of my life instead of setting off for the warm sand of Florida when I was young.
My father’s attention doesn’t linger too long on his brother before turning to Aunt Maria, Sal’s wife. “Mar, you’re looking better than ever.” Papa winks at her in a playful way. No doubt trying to piss off his brother.
“Tino,” Aunt Maria says at her husband’s side, but she’s not amused or feeling the same playfulness as my dad.
The funny thing is, Aunt Mar is so much like my mother, it’s not even funny. They look entirely different, but goddamn, they’re both bossy and nosy as hell.
My father’s sister looks him up and down. “Hello, Santino.” Aunt Fran crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You’re looking…” Her voice trails off and her top lip curls.
Her husband, Bear, wraps his arm around her waist like he’s trying to hold her back and whispers something in her ear.
In the short amount of time I’ve spent with Bear, I’ve found him oddly fascinating. Looking at him, you’d think he’d be all badass, but he’s just a giant teddy bear—and a complete pervert too. He has my aunt Fran all tied up in knots, which is something I thought I’d never see again.
After a bad breakup with her first husband, I never thought she’d fall in love again. She was way too fond of track suits and tennis shoes to get much more than a sideways glance from another man. But now, she’s like a different person, showing more skin than I’d ever seen her do before.
“Fran, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Papa doesn’t dare try to touch her.
No other woman, besides my mother, scares the crap out of him quite like his sister. She’s a tiny thing, but man, the mouth on her gives me life goals.
“I need a drink,” Fran says, glancing over her shoulder at her silver fox husband. “Something stiff.”
Bear smirks, brushing his lips against her cheek. “Baby, I got…”
“Don’t say it,” Fran warns as her top lip flattens.
“What’s your poison, Aunt Fran?” I ask.
I want nothing more than to drown the insanity that is my family in the bottom of a few shots of whatever she thinks is stiff.
“Whiskey, baby.” She smiles.
“I like it when you drink tequila,” Bear whines.
I bite back my laughter. If she’s anything like me, I lose all common sense and control when I’ve had even a moderate amount of tequila. It’s not pretty, and I am never proud of the way I behave after I’ve spent the night with Mr. Cuervo.
“That’s why I want whiskey,” she tells him and cocks an eyebrow, but he doesn’t argue.
“I’ll grab a few bottles.” I place my empty glass on the bar, ready to go back to the harder stuff.
“My kinda girl,” Bear says with a wink.
Izzy, my cousin and Uncle Sal’s only daughter, catches up with me as I walk to the other end of the bar, needing a break from my family.
“You okay?” She touches my arm as I lean over the bar and realize my tits are almost spilling out of my dress.
“I’m great. Just fucking peachy.” I adjust my strapless bra which is digging into my skin and silently curse Delilah for her ugly-ass choices in dresses.
“I’m here if you want to talk,” Izzy says.
My cousin is nothing short of perfect. Her skin is flawless, her hair is spot-on, and her outfit is to die for. But all my cousins are perfect, especially Sal’s kids.
Meanwhile, I’m in a hideous strapless chiffon nightmare with so many ruffles on the front, I might as well not have tits because no one can see through the layers anyway.
“Thanks, Izzy. I’d rather not talk about him. Let’s talk about you instead. I’ve heard some pretty interesting rumors.”
“Rumors?” She raises her perfectly shaped brown eyebrow and smirks. “Like, what kind of rumors?”
“I hear you have quite the man on your hands. I don’t know how you do it. I mean, if some guy bossed me around, I’d probably knee him square in his junk.”
I keep my response tame so as not to hurt her feelings. I don’t know how much she wants to share, and honestly, what she does in the bedroom is none of my damn business.
Izzy laughs, covering her lipstick-stained mouth with her hand. “It’s not what you think.”
“He doesn’t boss you around and tell you what to do?”
She waves me off. “Only in the bedroom. But everywhere else, I’m the boss.”
The bartender walks over and glances at us, perking up a little even though he’s got one foot in the grave. “What can I get you, ladies?”
“Three bottles of whiskey. Top-shelf.”
“Three?” He leans forward like he didn’t quite hear me right. “You sure?”
I nod and hold up three fingers. “Three.”
“It’ll be a moment,” he says before disappearing.
“A man better give me a whole lot of pleasure for him to tell me what to do in the sack.”
“He does.” She’s beaming, and part of me hates her just a little bit more. “And it’s not as bad as you think.”
It’s my turn to raise my eyebrows and stare. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”
“You haven’t known pleasure until you completely surrender. You should try it sometime.”
I want to tell her to fuck off, but I can’t. She looks entirely too happy, and her husband is a fine specimen of a man. He could probably make me drop to my knees and beg for an ass-whoopin’ too. He’s that good-looking. They make a perfect couple with all their perfectness.
It’s irritating.
“Here you go,” the bartender says, saving me from saying something I’m almost sure I’ll totally regret.
“Ready?” I ask her, grabbing the bottles, and dip my head toward the two stacks of glasses the bartender slides across the bar.
She scoops the glasses into her arms and follows me toward the tables where my cousins have already made themselves comfortable.
Our parents aren’t there. They’re on the dance floor, putting Fred and Ginger to shame.
“We’re not waiting for them,” Morgan, Fran’s son, says as he grabs a bottle as soon as I set the whiskey down on the table.
“Never thought I’d see the day when they’d all be in the same room again.” Joe, my cousin, ticks his chin toward the dance floor as he kicks back and takes the glass of whiskey Morgan hands to him. Suzy, Joe’s wife, is at his side, curling into her husband but not drinking.
“It’s crazy.” Michael, Joe’s brother, leans back and shakes his head.
I stare at my cousins, wondering what life must have been like for them. Here, there’s only us, but there in Florida, they have each other. We used to have Morgan, but that was before my cousins lured him away from us with promises of warm winters and an amazing job.
I hate them all just a little. I shouldn’t, though, because they’re family. But it’s hard not to feel that way. They’re all happy and tanned, not looking as pale or miserable as my brothers and me.
“It’s weird, right?” Morgan holds a glass in front of his lips and pauses. “But the night’s early. There’s plenty of time for bloodshed.”