8. Elio
Elio
C urse and I find out pretty quick that we’re both shit at trying to write this kind of stuff. After squinting and squabbling over examples of engagement announcements online and nearly wearing out the delete key on my keyboard, we give up on trying to get this done by ourselves.
He’s a hitman and I’m a mafia underboss. Not exactly prime examples of excellent wedding industry copywriters.
“We need Valentina,” I say, and though my brother doesn’t show emotion much I swear that he looks relieved.
I grab my phone off my desk and use voice command to call our cousin.
She answers on the first ring.
“Where are you? Where the hell have you been?” her high voice squawks into my ear.
Oh. Right. I disappeared up north to deal with Deirdre’s ex Brian and then got stuck there due to the snow.
When I came back, I was completely focused on Deirdre and then the chaos that unfolded at her mamma’s grave.
Meanwhile Valentina had been calling and texting me most of that time, asking me where I’d disappeared to.
Uncle Vinny didn’t call me, but he didn’t need to.
I know he doesn’t like when Curse and I jet off without telling him what’s what and he’ll be waiting for an update.
Well, he’s going to get one, alright. Soon as we get this announcement out to the media outlets.
But we need to actually write it first.
Since Valentina is one of approximately three females alive on this planet that I actually give a fuck about, and more like a little sister to me than a cousin, I let the rudeness of her greeting slide.
“I’m at home with Curse. Get over here,” I tell her.
I hang up and toss the phone down. I know she’s going to want to complain or ask questions or argue and I have no patience for that right now.
I also know that if I tell her to come, she’ll come.
Curse disappears for a bit to chat with Enzo, my head of security, and update him on what’s going on with the letter we received and how we’re handling it.
While I wait for Valentina, I occupy myself by watching Deirdre sleep.
I open the security app on my computer instead of just my phone this time, blowing up the image of her snoozing away on the bigger screen.
It's getting close to 10am now. But after everything that happened to my Songbird last night and the adrenaline that’s likely left her rung out like a rag, I wouldn’t be surprised if she sleeps well past noon today. Maybe even later.
She’s still curled into the place I left behind. I wonder if, at least in sleep, she misses me.
About twenty minutes after I make the phone call, the door bursts open and Valentina sweeps in, followed by Curse.
For somebody so damn short, she sure does have presence, our cousin.
Must be a Titone thing. While Curse and I got height from our papà’s side, Uncle Vinny is our maternal uncle, and like his daughter he isn’t necessarily blessed in the height department.
But it doesn’t matter one iota, because Vincenzo Titone fills a fucking room like you’ve stuffed a bull into a custom Italian suit and unleashed him on civilized society.
Valentina comes to a moody stop in front of my desk and starts yanking at a ridiculous number of shiny metal fasteners and buttons on a long, army-green coat.
Once it’s off she tosses it down onto one of the leather armchairs on the other side of my desk, revealing leggings and a bright pink sweater.
“What’s going on with your hair?” I ask her.
It’s wet and clipped messily on the top of her head.
I wouldn’t normally care, but that’s very unusual for Valentina, whose hair is always perfectly coiffed.
Going out in public, or even just to my place with kind of fucked-up hair means something’s off with her, and I need her on her A game to get this engagement announcement just right.
“You tell me,” she says, blowing out a harsh sigh through glossy lips and planting her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who dragged me out of the salon before Antonio could start blow-drying it.”
“Well, I needed you for something more important than salon shit.” I click out of the security all on my computer and re-open the page of engagement announcement examples.
The cupcake-sweet fonts swirl in front of my eyes, incomprehensible in their flourishes.
“I need you to help me write an engagement announcement.”
She tenses, but is quick to relax and not let it show. I see it, though.
“I thought we weren’t announcing anything until after my birthday in the summer,” she says. “When did that change?”
Oh. Right. Her engagement to that slimeball Dario Fabbri.
“Not your engagement,” I clarify. “Mine.”
She doesn’t try to hide her reaction this time. Her shiny lips part in surprise, her eyes going so wide that I can see white all around the cat-like golden brown of her irises.
“What the fuck?” she breathes. “Papà hasn’t mentioned anything! When did this happen?”
“Last night,” I reply. “And he didn’t mention anything because he doesn’t know yet.”
An oh, shit kind of look comes over her face.
“You’re engaged to someone and he doesn’t know about it,” she repeats, and I can practically hear the panicky grinding of the gears in her head. “Is it at least someone he’d approve of?”
I shrug my good shoulder.
“Unlikely. But I approve and that’s all that fucking matters.”
She takes out the clip on the top of her head, letting down hair made a much darker blonde by the moisture in it. She shakes her head while finger-combing the wet waves.
“You’re so fucking hard-headed, Elio,” she says.
“You know as well as I do the marriage part means shit and a man like you can have whoever he actually wants outside of that. Just marry somebody Papà approves of and then have your goomah on the side. The way God intended,” she adds with a sardonic lift of her eyes heavenward.
A fucking goomah ? She wants me to marry someone proper and then keep Deirdre on the side as my mistress?
Not happening.
There’s only one woman who could get me to stand at the end of that aisle and wait for her to walk down it.
The thought of marrying someone else and keeping my Songbird as some sidepiece in a house I don’t even live in full-time makes my skin crawl and my stomach seize and, honestly, just fuck every possible version of that scenario.
“No.” The word comes out of my throat sounding kind of charred. Valentina must be able to see how pissed-the-fuck-off I am, because she immediately backs down.
“It’s OK. You don’t have to give me that look. I’m going to help you,” she says. “At least one of us is going to get to marry who we want, I guess.”
I know she doesn’t want to marry Dario. I wouldn’t either, in her alarmingly high-heeled shoes. But for the first time it occurs to me that there may actually be somebody else she’d had in mind.
“You got a boyfriend?” I ask. Curse cocks his head and peers closely at her from his place by the office door.
“Nope. Just a fiancé,” she retorts, rolling her eyes and flashing the garish pink diamond ring on her left hand. “You know Papà never let me date anybody. There’s no one else.”
I nod. As much as she may not show it with her sailor’s mouth, I know that she respects me. She wouldn’t lie to me.
“So, how about you, then? Who’s the lucky lady?” she asks, seating herself across from me. “Anyone I know?”
“Oh, you know her,” I say with a smirk. “Prettiest little Songbird you ever did see.”
She collapses against the back of the chair in astonishment, like my words have physically shoved her.
“No fucking way. Deirdre?” she breathes. “You seriously weren’t kidding when you said Papà wouldn’t approve!”
But Valentina’s always been one quick to recover. She sits up straight again, then leans forward.
“She’s got nothing, Elio. No money, no alliances, no assets. Nothing .”
“She won’t need any of that shit. She’s got me.”
“No, no, I know.” She raises her hands in a placating sort of gesture. “I’m not saying that in a disparaging way. I actually really like Deirdre and I’d way rather it be her than somebody like Nat Rizzo. I’m just kind of… examining the situation out loud.”
She goes quiet for a moment, then says, “Isn’t Darragh Gowan still trying to get to her?”
“Yup.” I say.
“Some of his soldiers caused a scene last night. We dropped their bodies off to Darragh early this morning,” Curse adds from behind her. He leaves his station by the door and sits down in the other chair across from my desk.
“Shit,” Valentina whispers. It’s hard to tell with the makeup, but I’m pretty sure I can see some of the blood drain out of her face. “I guess she doesn’t really have nothing , then. Because she’s got one hell of an enemy.”
I already know what she’s thinking. It’s the same shit I’m going to hear from Uncle Vinny when he finds out about all this. That Deirdre isn’t worth it, that no amount of tight Irish pussy is worth risking a fucking war with Mad Darragh.
But when Valentina speaks again, her voice firm with conviction, her words surprise me.
And I have to admit, they kind of make me proud, too.
“Good,” she says with a decisive nod. “You’ll marry her and in doing so can give her the protection of our resources, our name. She’ll be a Titone and nobody will wanna fuck with her.”
I give her a crooked smile.
“Anybody ever tell you that you’re real fucking smart?” I ask her.
She snorts.
“Only Mamma every damn day of my life.” She frowns prissily in an imitation of my Zizi, Aunt Carlotta. “‘A man doesn’t need a wife with a clever mind and a filthy mouth, Valentina! He needs one who knows how to make decent pasta alla norma! ’”
“ Pasta alla norma is pretty fucking good,” I reply.
“Well, maybe if I ever learn how to make it, I can teach your wife to make it too,” she says sourly.
Your wife.