Dario 12.
The ceremonies were blessedly brief, but no less impactful.
My eyes drifted to Sophie as much as my mind drifted to the dichotomy of the mafia and cartels I’m used to and the Kosher Nostra.
It makes sense watching them interact with each other, the obvious and palpable love they feel for their spouses, children, and extended family, and how easy it is for their enemies to underestimate them.
Ernest and Bailey were first and the most entertaining. He kept trying to kiss her and she had to put her hand on his forehead to stop him, much to the guests amusement.
Tevye and Vandy were subdued in comparison, with Tevye grunting most of the time and Vandy grinning at his discomfort. Their son Arlo was precious and adorable, shifting from one to the other, eager to be a part of the proceedings.
And then Ezra and Dorothy. If I thought the differences in the Kosher Nostra and the rest of the mafia world were startling, knowing Hiram Goldman and the utter destruction he left in his wake, I cannot begin to fathom how he sired four beautiful, competent, and compassionate women as his daughters.
Knowing Dottie’s history…I can admit I was a bit “verklempt” as the natives say as she and Ezra pledged their life and love to one another.
They are armed to the teeth, security roaming the grounds, with a violent and occasionally disturbing reputation.
And yet, their capacity for the good things in life is astounding.
My father was never affectionate, patient, or kind.
He didn’t teach us how to throw a baseball or ride a bike; his lessons came at the end of his fists leaving scars so thick I can never hope to excise them.
But I want to. I have always believed that having a family of my own would be the stupidest, most selfish, and dangerous thing I could ever do. I told Sophie that announcing to the world how much she mattered to me is tantamount to a death sentence for us both.
Except watching the Kosher Nostra, I’m not sure how accurate that is anymore.
Florida is a hot bed of organized crime, and it is a delicate juggling act sometimes navigating the different factions.
From my understanding, Moshe’s dominion over his territory is absolute, as opposed to so many of us down south vying for our bite of ropa vieja.
I’ve done my best to separate El Fuego from my father’s old school thinking…
but I aligned myself with him and didn’t realize it.
Looking around the tasteful and understatedly elegant grand estate, listening to merriment and laughter, the bonds they have forged not because of blood but respect and unconditional love, I have fucked myself over.
The couples, not just the brides and grooms, the entirety of the Kosher Nostra…
wives and children are not a liability, they are a deep well of strength to draw from.
I thought my brother, uncle, sister and her family were all that I ever needed.
I was wrong.
I push myself up from my chair and head toward one of the tables where the women have gathered, my eyes on Sophie as I approach. Tovah nudges her none too gently and she looks up at me with a wide, uncertain expression.
“Ladies.” I greet the others, then hold out my hand to Sophie. She stares at it like a snake about to strike and while it disappoints me, it’s a fair reaction given how I’ve behaved. “May I have this dance, mi tentación?”
Tovah snaps her fingers and draws my attention away from Sophie. “I heard you’ve got more dick in your personality than you do in your pants. Why the fuck should she dance with you?”
Smirking, I grab Sophie’s hand and haul her to her feet.
“Because we both know that’s not true.” Tovah opens her mouth to retort, but I hold up my other hand.
“The ratio is even, I assure you.” I don’t wait for permission, and I don’t engage in the dick measuring contest Tovah is itching for.
Rumor has it that even if she wasn’t married to The Pharoah…
her dick is still bigger than just about anyone else’s.
Sliding my left arm around Sophie’s trim waist, I rest my hand just above the swell of her tight little ass, my other curling around her hand and resting them against my chest between us.
We sway to the music, and I allow myself to indulge in the feel of her in my arms once more.
The way her subtle sweet scent coats my lungs and the thrum of her heartbeat beneath our joined hands.
Can a person feel like home?
Dipping my head, I run my nose along her neck, nibbling on her jaw, then whisper in her ear, “I have missed you, mi corazón (my heart).” Slowly, Sophie leans back until she is staring me in the eye, her delicate brows slanting in confusion.
She shakes her head without a word, and steps back, turning on her heel and walks away.
I watch her go, frozen to the spot long after the song ends.
As couples get into their groove around me, the weight of my mistakes crashes down on me until I feel like I can’t breathe. At the edge of the dance floor, I pull out my phone and text Desi.
Dario: All female staff at the compound needs to be transferred to another El Fuego business. New staff needs to be hired, preferably male…or lesbians.
Desi: I honestly don’t know how to respond to any of that.
Dario: Can you do it or not?
Desi: Get rid of all the catty, back-stabbing, bitches you’ve fucked and replace them with people who possess skills that don’t involve Kegeling? Yes, I can do it…with a smile.
Desi: Why?
Dario: I just learned another of father’s lessons.
Desi: You’re bringing our girl back home?
My beloved sister, my astute twin; she knows me so well.
Dario: What’s this “our” shit?
Desi: Oleg and I knew from the beginning that she belongs here with us. We’ve always been the smarter ones in our family. Even Uncle Beli knows who she is and he spent less than 10 minutes with her.
Dario: And who is she?
Desi: Yours.
Damn right she is. Next, I open my text thread with Uncle Beli.
Dario: I have instructed Desi to relocate all female staff at the compound to other businesses. Assist her as needed, I do not imagine that all of them will go willingly.
Beli: Gladly, but why?
I smirk thinking of the glass that Blanche had gifted me yesterday.
Dario: I’m lighting my candle.
Beli: WTF?
Dario: Old man, I’ve told you not to use the hip lingo, it’s just sad.
Beli: Fine.
Beli: By what ungodly sequence of events hath this calamity transpired?
Dario: You’ll see.
I spot Morris and Moshe at the bar and walk over to them. They both lift a glass to me. “Diaz. Enjoying the festivities?”
“Yes, I am, Moshe.” He jerks his chin across the dance floor, and I look over my shoulder to see Sophie staring at me while talking heatedly with Tovah and Ruthie. Forcing myself to turn back around, I focus on Moshe. “I am calling in your debt.”
A dark eyebrow rises in challenge. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” I shift to give Morris my full attention. “Sophie is mine.” I notice Moshe smirking out of the corner of my eye, but my eyes stay trained on the man in front of me puffing up his chest and glaring at me.
“My daughter isn’t a whore and she’s nobody’s mistress.”
“She isn’t. She is a God damned gift.”
Morris makes a strangled noise before slumping. “Uh, yes. She is. I was expecting a different response.”
“Here, she has lived as a mafia princess, but with me she will be a queen. We leave in three days.”
“She’s going back with you?” I nod once. Morris’ expression shifts into something amused. “Does she know that?”
“No, why does that matter?”
He and Moshe both chuckle and pat my shoulders. Moshe’s condescending, “Good luck with that” is not appreciated.