Chapter 25
VALENTINO’S, LITTLE ITALY
His mamma had wanted him to sit at the head of the table, like some kind of replacement for his father, but Luca had declined and, instead, insisted that the position was for the woman whose birthday it was.
He’d smiled and said all the right things to cousins and ‘friends’ who had all had blood on their hands – literally in most cases – and he’d laughed at Steffi’s jokes and eaten as much of the food as he could stomach.
It wasn’t that it wasn’t great cuisine – it was – but when you were dining with people who should be locked up inside a penitentiary it was difficult to have the appetite…
He checked his phone. Still nothing from Errol. And it had been two hours since he arrived. Could he make his excuses and leave yet? The meal was over and next it would descend into loud conversation about times gone by and he could digest that even less than the pasta pomodoro.
‘Luca, have some cake.’ It was his mother standing next to him now, a crumb and icing covered knife in one hand, a plate in the other containing one tier of her four-tier birthday cake.
‘Mamma, I have had some cake. Steffi got me a slice. It was delicious.’
‘You lie to me! You have had no cake and only half of your pasta. I’ve been watching you the whole night!’
Luca swallowed. Nothing like feeling under scrutiny and finding out you were actually under more than you even realised. ‘Mamma, you know Valentino’s portions are challenges to face and they’re not always capable of being conquered.’
‘I do know that. That is why we come here. So why are you not up for the challenge? You are sick?’ She put the plate and the knife down on the table, almost knocking over a candle, and slapped a hand to his forehead.
‘Stop, Mamma,’ he begged, shifting back in his seat. ‘I’m fine. Just busy with work and…’
‘And?’
There was nothing else. Work was everything. ‘Just work.’
‘That French woman, she works you too hard. There is never enough time for you to visit your own mother. I see less of you than your father and the government tells me how often I get to do that!’
Luca took a breath. He wasn’t going to be drawn in by the subject of his father. Couldn’t be. ‘Did you get the flowers I sent? And your gift?’
‘Both beautiful, Luca. But don’t think I don’t know when you are changing the subject.’
‘Sybille does not work me too hard. I work me too hard. You know my job is important to me,’ he answered.
‘And you know I was talking about you visiting me and, if you visit me, you can come with me to visit your father.’
Luca was already shaking his head. He got to his feet. ‘So, he’s trying to get to you too? Mamma, I told you, when Babbo went into that place, I was never going to visit him.’
‘I know, Luca, but so many years have gone by now. He is doing everything right. He—’
Luca scoffed. ‘He’s doing everything right? Like what, Mamma? Keeping his cell tidy? Eating all his vegetables like a good little murderer?’
‘Keep your voice down, Luca,’ she ordered. ‘He is not in prison for murder.’
‘No. But he should be,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘And, as I’ve said my entire life, I want no part of that and—’
Firm hands were slapped to his shoulders and a familiar scent of meatballs, garlic and cigar smoke gave Luca the knowledge of who this was. Ronnie.
‘Hey, little prince, you’re getting rowdy at your mom’s party. Why don’t we take this somewhere a bit quieter?’
‘Get your hands off me,’ Luca ordered, shaking himself loose.
‘Ronnie, it’s OK, we’re just talking. Mother to son,’ his mom said.
‘That’s OK, Vittoria. But tonight you should be celebrating your birthday. Maybe let me do the talking, huh?’ Ronnie suggested.
‘I was just leaving,’ Luca said, picking his coat off the back of the chair. He looked at his mother. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mamma. I’ll call you.’ He looked across the restaurant, saw his sister chatting to some of their cousins. ‘Will you tell Steffi I said goodbye?’
His mother nodded but there were unshed tears in her eyes that he felt some degree of guilt about.
He headed out of the trattoria and didn’t take another breath until he was outside on the street meeting the cold air.
He slipped on his coat but before his shoulders could relax they were met by another firm slap.
‘You are not going anywhere, kid, until we’ve had a little chat,’ Ronnie stated, his grip harder than before.
‘Leave the theatre alone, Ronnie. All this mafioso bullshit does nothing for me, remember?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. But how about the people you work with? How do they respond to it? That’s really the question you should be asking yourself.’
‘What?’ But as he asked that question his mind was working to get up to the speed Ronnie’s was travelling at.
‘No one needs to get hurt, Luca. But you need to go and see your father.’
No one needs to get hurt. The metal in Gabriella’s outfit? No. It couldn’t be. It was too far-fetched, too 1980s movie, wasn’t it?
‘I told you I’m not going to see him,’ Luca stated.
‘And I told you, you need a rethink,’ Ronnie said. ‘And if you can’t rethink it, then the decision will be taken out of your hands.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Luca asked.
‘It means I’m not fucking around,’ Ronnie yelled right in Luca’s face.
As hard as he had tried to maintain his composure, Luca flinched at the bully’s close proximity and threatening body language.
But he held his stance, mentally regrouped, stood firm as Ronnie all but bared his teeth.
And then the hard man’s demeanour switched up.
He smiled and brushed imaginary dust from the shoulders of Luca’s coat.
‘All I’m saying is, kid, you’re gonna be getting an invitation to meet your father in a few days and you will need to confirm that you will be there.’
Luca said nothing.
‘Because,’ Ronnie continued, ‘if you don’t confirm and if you don’t show up, then things will have to escalate. Capeesh?’
Again, Luca said nothing.
‘And it would be a shame to have to visit one of your little friends or… your sister again. Maybe this time I’ll bring something very different to tiramisu.’
Luca balled his hands into fists. This thug would hurt Steffi to make him comply to something? Under his father’s direction? He didn’t really know why he was surprised.
‘Attaboy,’ Ronnie said, patting his shoulder again. ‘Now, you run along and I will head back in and eat your share of that delicious cake your mother has. And… take care getting home, kid.’
Luca watched Ronnie leave, re-enter the restaurant and start conversing with the group like nothing had even happened.
But Luca’s eyes then went to Steffi, all bold and confident in that boiler suit but, he knew, when it came down to it, she was still just his dorky, anxious kid sister. What the fuck was he going to do?