Chapter Six
ROCCO
When Vincent said he’d throw a party, he meant it. Not only did he invite Shay and me, but he got all the top brass of the Lombardi crime family in one room to celebrate my birthday.
After shaking hands and accepting kind words, we moved into the dining room. Four speakers hang in the corners of the dining room, blasting music nonstop. A few of the crew are singing along to Dean Martin’s Return to Me. It’s Vincent’s favorite song.
Liquor and cigarettes are distributed freely and a table laden with food stretches down the side of the room with vegetables, salads, and various meats for anyone to pick and choose from.
I’m at the foot of the dining table, with Vincent straight ahead of me. An empty place to his side is where Emilio should be, but he hasn’t arrived yet. It’s for the best. If I had any say in this, Emilio wouldn’t have gotten an invitation at all.
Twenty-one other members and their partners sit with us.
“You look beautiful tonight.” I turn to Shay.
She’s dressed in a sleek, simple cocktail dress. It’s black and matches my suit.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
So far, she’s held her own among the gangsters, and she’s displayed strength, but I can see the fear in her eyes.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. With most of the family singing off-key, it’s the perfect time to check in on Shay.
“Nervous,” she admits. “I don’t really know what to do.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing. Everyone seems to like you.”
“Is that a good thing?” she asks.
I reach a hand under the table and wrap it around one of Shay’s. She doesn’t pull away from me. A sign of progress? I like to believe so.
“It is, and with me at your side, no one’s going to try anything funny.”
The song finishes, and as though it was a cue of arrival, Emilio steps through the double door leading into the dining room. Vincent fiddles with his phone and lowers the music volume.
“Sorry, I’m late. I had to pick up the birthday boy’s gift.” Emilio’s words are coated with malice. He’s holding a small, wooden box in his hands.
“It’s fine,” Vincent says. “The fun’s only just starting.”
“You’ve got that right.” Emilio shakes hands with his father and greets a few other members of the organization as he walks down the table toward me.
He stops in front of me, but his eyes are on Shay. He stares at her, with a twitching eye as annoyance and anger build inside of him. She was supposed to be his, and seeing her at my side is getting in his head.
“Happy Birthday, Rocco,” Emilio says. He hands me the box. The lid is carved with ornate tribal patterns. It’s heavy in my hands and would make a perfect decoration for any room in my house.
“I thought I’d treat you to something nice,” he says.
“It’s very nice.”
“The box is only for display. The gift is inside,” Emilio gives me a firm slap on the back, before returning to his designated seat.
Do I even want to know what’s inside? Not really, but I feel obliged to at least look, with everyone at the table waiting to see.
I open it. A sudden wave of emotion brings tears to my eyes.
It’s a Colt 1911, with a custom varnished wood handle and flowery inlays on the slide. Time has stained the once-gray metal a tarnished copper.
My throat tightens.
I know this gun.
I know the weight of it in my hands. The smell of gun oil clinging to my father’s workshop. The sound of his voice correcting my grip while cigarette smoke curled through the air.
It’s my father’s gun.
And somehow, Emilio got his hands on it.
The realization punches straight through my chest. This is the last piece of my old life. The last thing I have left of him.
“Now that you have ’em all, how do you like your presents?” Vincent asks, distracting me from a waltz down memory lane.
“I love them.” I set the gun back in its box and turn to Shay. I hate to admit how much joy it’s brought me that she’s entered my life.
“Is that right?” Emilio asks. “How about you show us, then?”
I shift my attention from his father to him. Who knows what twisted thoughts are running through his mind as proof of my appreciation?
“Go on, then. Show us how much you love your pretty little toy,” he says.
That’s when it dawns on me, but I wish it hadn’t. I turn to Shay and lean in closer to her.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” I whisper.
She scrunches her brow.
“Trust me, it’s the only way.”
I lean in and peck her lips.
“More,” Emilio insists.
I deepen the kiss. Shay’s reluctant at first, trying to pull away, but she gives in and returns the embrace. She throws her arms over my shoulders and pulls me tighter into her.
“Come on, make it convincing,” Emilio says.
Shay breaks our kiss momentarily. “Do whatever you have to do,” she says. Relief washes through me.
I slide a hand up her stomach and cup one of her breasts. She groans into my mouth. The world around me melts away while Shay and I fall deeper into the kiss. Even with a room full of people staring at us, it’s like we’re the only two here, devouring each other.
Fuck. The attraction I feel for her is already stronger than I could’ve imagined, and it’s only been a goddamn day.
“Christ, man, do more than that,” Emilio snickers.
I rise out of my seat and Shay instinctively comes with me. Her hands slide into my hair, and mine trail the length of her body. I cup her ass and lift the dress, but only enough to give Emilio what he wants.
None of these bastards deserve to see what lies beneath it.
A heavy impact slams against the table. I snap out of my lustful pursuits of Shay, just in time to see Vincent deliver another heavy blow against the wood.
“Christ, boy, are you fucking stupid?” His attention is fixed on Emilio. “You get here late and then insist on embarrassing our guest of honor?”
“Dad, I—“
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Vincent shakes a thick finger in Emilio’s face. “I’m so disappointed in you.”
“It’s a little bit of fun,” Emilio says. “I wasn’t going to let it get fa—“
As Emilio is trying to explain his way out of it, Vincent gets up from his chair. Both hands shoot up to his chest and his face scrunches up in anguish. A painful gasp escapes him, and then he collapses to the floor.
He’s lying lifelessly on the ground. Emilio remains seated in his chair, sipping on a glass of wine.
“Somebody call an ambulance,” I shout, but one of the crew is already on it.
This isn’t good.