Page 10 of My Solemn Vow
“Oh my goodness!” Leticia clasps her hands in front of her chest, looking over my shoulder.
I’m mounting the images of the little hands to glue the leaves to while Leticia fawns over the pile of the finished pieces.
“Ooooh, look at this one. I could take her home.” Leticia holds up a picture of an adorable blonde-haired little girl, pulling off the sticky note on the front with her name to give me an unobstructed view.
“They’re not for adoption, Leticia. It’s not a pound. You can’t bring a child home.” I laugh, teasing my younger cousin while searching my brain, trying to practice my students’ names. “That’s Emma?”
“Yes.” Leticia sets down Emma’s photo and picks up another, repeating the process. “Oh my goodness. He looks like a little Berto.”
The little boy in question has dark hair and olive skin, like a more modern version of Leticia’s brother, my cousin, Berto.Huh, he really does look strikingly like him when he was that age. But I have no idea what the boy’s name is, and I make a wild guess, remembering some names on the list. “Liam?”
Leticia shakes her head. “Noah.”
“What are you two squealing about now?” Berto, the man whose ears must be burning, struts into the dining room. Laid-back swagger, hands tucked into his pockets, he looks across the table with more of a grimace than a smile. “Aaah, that time of the year already? You’ve started making your little art projects.”
Get fucked, Berto. You’re not ruining this for me.I narrow my gaze at him. “Yes, you knew I’d have art projects. You act like it’s been so long since I was making projects over Christmas break.”
“Look at how cute they are, Berto.” Leticia, ever the peacemaker, draws his attention back to the photo of Noah, stopping any argument we might get into. “This one looks just like you did.”
“I never had a haircut that bad.” Berto has a single defense, mock outrage, and he loosens up a little bit. “Now, if his parents got him a real haircut, then yes. He could possibly be cool enough to be a mini me.” Apparently remembering that he’s decided to constantly be a frigid bastard, Berto straightens his stance and squares up to where I sit at the table. “Well, you better clean up. We’re having family dinner tonight, and we’re expecting guests.”
Oh joy.I fake smile at him. “Yes, cousin dearest.”
He walks away without further comment.
Once he’s gone, Leticia mutters, “Our guests aren’t even arriving for three more hours. It’s not like I’m in the middle of setting the table.”
“He likes to think he’s the boss.” I scoff and keep working on my project. “He’ll remember soon enough that he’ll never truly be the boss of me, and he’ll chill the fuck out.”
“God, I hope so. But he’s been this way for a while. Something must be going on.” Leticia sighs.
“When I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.” I reassure her.
After school starts and I adjust to the new schedule, I’ll start worming my way back into the business.I’m not nosy. I’m concerned.I smile at that distinction my roommate in college taught me. I’m totally being nosy, but ‘concerned’ sounds so much nicer when someone asks why you want to know.
There’s more than enough time to spare to finish my art project, for Leticia to set the table, and for us to both get freshened up before our dinner guests arrive. I come down the stairs in a little black dress. Some battles aren’t worth fighting, and a dress to family dinner is one of them.
Aunt Francesca is waiting at the bottom of the staircase. Her long raven-black hair is in a bun, her designer dress is tailored to fit her like a glove, and as always, her diamonds showcase the money and status Gregorio has accumulated, or not squandered... whichever. She’s ready to entertain whoever is coming to dinner.
Her presence is purposeful. It’s to scrutinize me and stop mefrom coming down wearing something not to her liking. Which is most of my current wardrobe.
She eyes me from top to bottom, then top to bottom again. “Toni, would it have killed you to wear something other than black?”
“Probably.” I give her a saccharine smile. “It has long sleeves and hides my tattoos.”
“At least there is that. Though, that skirt is a little short.”
She approves enough to walk away, and I look down, checking the hem length.
It’s above my knees but barely. I pull my long brown hair over my shoulder. The curls I purposefully styled a little tightly, naturally relax a bit. My straight hair doesn’t always hold them well, but I do my best. She’d rather it be up, but I try to do at least two things that annoy her at every family dinner. I have several options since most things I wear, do, or say frustrate her.
With no demands from Francesca to go and change, I continue down the stairs until my heels are clicking on the terrazzo floors.
Following the sounds of voices, I start analyzing and trying to determine our guests. Uncle Eduardo, the loudest of our already loud family, is telling a story and garnering laughs from the group. Nothing gives away who we may be entertaining.
Leticia, however, hears me coming and meets me at the door to the sitting space with a glass of wine.Oh, it’ll be one of those nights.
Stepping into the room, I see why Leticia brought me wine right away. Our guests are four gentlemen, two seated, two standing, and a single woman, seated between the two men on the sofa. Of the entire party, the only one I recognize is Igor Popov, head of the Bratva. He’s... well, unique looking to say the least. Where la famiglia hands down their reign from oldest son to oldest son, the Bratva fight for it, and in his fight to bePakhan, he took a gruesome attack to the head, leaving him scarred across one eye.
