Page 62 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince
Across the table, Eddy frowns. “She’s going to sit with us?”
Mother glares at her brother-in-law. “Why not?”
Father looks between them, with a familiar expression on his face. He’s often had to come between Eddy and my mother to avoid an argument. Sitting beside my uncle, my godfather, Rocco, gives me a look. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to get his meaning.
This could go bad fast.
“She’s not one of us,” Eddy says.
“Maybe lay off the booze, brother,” father mutters. “You’re talking too loosely.”
“She’s almost here,” my mother snaps. “None of this talk, please.”
By ‘this talk’, she means anything that could hint we’re in the mob. When Siena arrives, I stand up and pull a chair out for her. Her eyes flit to the spot on my neck; when Mother saw the hickey, she insisted I cover it with foundation. We share a secret smile.
“Thank you,” Siena says, then looks around the table. “And thank you all for letting me join you.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Father says magnanimously. “Nothing is too much for the woman who saved my wife.”
“That was nothing, really.”
“No, it was everything–really.”
When the waiter arrives, Eddy necks three glasses of wine, ignoring my father’s glare. My hand opens and closes under the table. He is doing a piss poor job of trying to reassure me I can trust him.
I take two glasses from the tray, handing one to Siena. “Thank you,” she says softly.
I clink my glass with hers. “Cheers.”
She smiles a little shyly, overwhelmed by being at our table. I want to take her hand so badly, show her that this is where shebelongs, by my side. She sees me watching, then quickly hides her shy expression.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Eddy echoes loudly.
“Edoardo,” my father snaps.
“I know, I know, I promised I wouldn’t drink. Blah blah blah. But sometimes, a man needs a drink. And sometimes, a man needs to know who he’s letting into his Family.”
The way he saysFamilycauses several of us to flinch. It’s capital-F Family, with emphasis. It’s the mafia Family.
He glares at Siena. “What’s your experience? What makes you qualified to run this event alone?”
“Uncle,” I growl, gripping the edge of the table.
I’m about to stand when Siena gently places her hand on my arm. “I’ll admit, Mr. Bianchi, that this is my first solo gig. But I’d also like to ask you, do you think I’m doing a bad job? Can you sit there and say that, sir, realistically? I’ve had several challenges thrown at me, and I believe I’ve handled them well.”
The dignity with which she speaks fills me with pride.
Eddy glares at my father. “The fact you’re allowing her to sit here, to dine with you and your wife, to slither into your inner circle, is absurd, brother.”
“Enough.”
All around us, people grow quiet, sneaking looks at our table. My father rarely raises his voice, but when he does, people listen.
“You’ve already had too much to drink,” he goes on. “It’s time for you to leave.”
Eddy stands, wavering on the spot, then plants his fists on the table and glares at Siena for a moment before looking at me. “Be careful with thiscivilian.” He turns to my father. “If I were the older brother, the heir, I’d make our Family proud.”
