Page 32 of Creed

I wait on the steps for Vito to park. He unfolds himself from the car and stretches to his height of six-five. He wears a black shirt, leather jacket, jeans, and boots—it’s like wrestling a rabid lion to get him to wear a suit, but his casual attire fits the nature of his work.

His hair isn’t as dark as Massimo’s and mine and is close-cropped. He’s the tallest of us all but isn’t quite as broad; however, he’s chiseled with muscle, complete with an eight-pack and the sharpest Adonis belt I’ve ever seen that isn’t photoshopped. And scars… His hands are scarred, as is his body. He only has one tattoo, which is of our family crest on his chest, right over his heart. Massimo isn’t like me with the ink; however, he has several tattoos, which are only visible when he takes his shirt off.

Vito grins as he climbs the stairs to join me. “Baby brother.”

“I didn’t expect you here yet.”

He adjusts his jeans. “I was parked outside Lexa’s when we were texting, and like I said, she’s a Champion Hoover.”

The door opens, and Adolfo, the ancient head of the household staff, greets us with a nod. He’s been with our family sincePapàwas a child. His eyes are lively, though, as Vito and I greet him.

“Your parents, brother, and guests are in the dining room.” He nods toward the large dining room.

As we walk through the house, Vito mutters, “Fuck, my gym bag is still in the car.”

“You think Adolfo won’t suspect anything with you carrying in a gym bag and not rat you out toMamma?”

He grins. “We could go out now for shots.”

I clasp his shoulder, the leather of his jacket creaking under my grip. “Shooting back bourbon, no matter how expensive, isn’t my idea of fun.” He groans as I pull him along with me toward the dining room. “Butit’s not off the table if this dinner takes a turn for the worse.”

“Fuck, yeah.” He claps me on the back as we enter the large dining room. It has a long, wide table comfortable for twelve people, which extends to seat up to thirty. Like elsewhere throughout the house, this room has paintings and sculptures and an ornate crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling.

Papàis elegantly dressed as always in a black-pinstriped suit; his smoothed-back dark hair is salt and pepper at the sides. He and Massimo usually look like twins in terms of body width and musculature, butPapàhas lost a some muscle mass with his declining health. He’s tall and scarred like Vito. While I’m only slightly smaller than Massimo andPapà, he and I share his sharp, attractive looks and unique, light blue eyes.

Mammais smaller, with medium-brown hair and dark-brown eyes. She’s a classic, elegant beauty dressed to the nines in a cream Dior dress. Her smile is friendly, but her eyes are always sharp and shrewd.

“My good boys.” She reaches up to kiss each of us. “So glad you could join us.”

Vito bends down to kiss her cheek with an affectionate smile and a cocked brow. “Did we have a choice,Mamma? I seemed to have missed that memo.”

She’s all smiles. “Behave,” she warns and reaches up to pat Vito’s cheek.

“I’ll keep him in line. Promise.” I hug her to my side. “It’s good to see you. You look beautiful, as always.”

Vito scowls, grumbling, “Suck up.”

Mammalaughs before leaving to rejoinPapàand the hopeful bride’s parents.

Regardless of how much we hate her match-making efforts, we love any time spent together as a family. We’re like the fuckingBrady Bunch—only mafia style.

Glancing atPapà,sitting and drinking a brandy with the girl’s father, only reaffirms my gratitude for the time with my family. His coloring isn’t as pale as it has been in the past; however, it isn’t the robust ruddiness he’s always had.

I nod at Massimo, who stands cool and aloof with a petite blonde who looks like a doll. She gazes up at him, her hand on his arm as she chats animatedly.

I’m quiet and introspective, a people observer, and have learned to read people well, which is a large reason for my success in my career. Two things I notice as the woman chats to Massimo: her incessant chatter is a direct turn-off for my eldest brother, and her baby blue eyes; while they are looking with adoration at Massimo, there is a cunning hidden within. This is a woman used to using her innocent, doll-like features to lead men around by their dicks.

My eldest brother isn’t an idiot, though, and the look he flashes at me says he sees right through this one. He’s calm—another trait he and our father share—and polite, letting her chatter so as not to insult or embarrassMamma.

My father nods at Vito and me and stands. “Boys, I’d like to introduce you to Bartolo and Rosina Insigne, and their daughter, Lalia.”

Bartolo is a short man who’s nearly as round as he is tall. His wife is so gaunt, she looks like she lives on air and celery sticks. Lalia turns her rapt attention away from Massimo and flashes me a smile, then Vito. Vito licks his lower lip, and her smile falters slightly and turns dazed.

Oh shit, this should be fun.

Fighting a smirk, I move to a chair at the table asMammainvites us all to sit. I catch Massimo’s small smirk and knowhe’s thinking the same thing. There won’t be any marriage arrangements with this woman. However, Vito is probably going to screw Lalia. That bastard always thinks with his cock.

Adolfo and Etta bring out theantipastoto start the meal—bruschetta, bread, dried salami, cheese, and salad.Mammacarries the conversation as a seasoned hostess while pulling out details about Lalia through her questions. The questions are innocuous—her hobbies, favorite things to do, and plans for her future. However, our mother is as analytical as I am and will psychoanalyze those responses. Not that she has the final say in who Massimo or any of us marry, though; however, it keeps her happy, so we got along with it.

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