Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“I am. Jesus, relax, will ya? Of course I’m sober.” He stifles a belch. I roll my eyes as the door opens and my mother enters.
“Why did you move up the wedding?”
“Because I want to.” I owe her no explanation. I want this over with so I can move on to bigger and better things. “It’s not like people have had fuckin’ save the date postcards on their fridges. They can either make it, or not.” I’ve already checked that Romeo Rossi could get here in time. It matters that he’s here to witness our vows. It matters that word gets out that I’m married and to whom.
“She’s insane, son,” my mother hisses out. “You picked a goddamn insane woman to marry, did you? Of all the—”
But I’ve already heard enough. I slap my palm up into the air to signal for her to stop. Her gripe with the Rossis isn’t mine.
“Your opinion isn’t welcome here. I’m marrying her for reasons I have no interest in sharing with you. But soon,” I glance at my watch, “in ten minutes, to be exact, we will take our vows to each other. And you will not, under any circumstance, say anything against my wife. Am I clear?”
As of last week, I should’ve been the acting Don of the Capo family. As of today, I am.
She’ll defer to my authority whether she likes it or not. It isn’t my fault she hasn’t accepted our roles yet, but she will. I know exactly how she behaves, and she won’t pull her bullshit on me.
I watch as the color drains from her face and she pulls one of her lips into her mouth. I don’t feel bad for her. It might be impossible for anyone to feel sympathy for a woman who punished me, her only son, when I was eight years old by putting my favorite dog down and pulling me out of bed so I could watch one of my uncles bleed out on the kitchen floor.
“This is your life, Salvatore,” she said. “Watch.”
The dog incident was because I “should’ve known” enough to tattle on my uncle when he knocked up our housekeeper.
Fun times.
Many take it for granted that an acting Don is a brutal sadist. I’m not sure I’ve ever met one that isn’t. His wife, however, is a crap shoot. “Salvatore,” she whispers, her fingers at her neck. “You can’t—you don’t mean—”
It’s rare to see my mother at a loss for words.
“Can’t what? Pull rank? I can. I don’t mean what? To forbid you to disrespect my wife? I can and will.”
“What do you see in her?” she demands, her eyes narrowed like a raptor’s. “She’s got wide hips, vapid eyes, and—”
Then I realize what I should’ve realized the minute she came in here. I turn my gaze to my mother and advance on her.
“Did you go to see her? Without my permission?” I’ve learned to keep my anger simmering just below the surface. I’ve seen men like my uncle be incapable of keeping their tempers under control and decided long ago that a man in control of his temper was a much better leader than one who wasn’t. No one respects a man who flies off the goddamn handle.
My mother’s eyes widen.
“I brought her breakfast. The breakfast you made!”
“The breakfast I instructed my staff to bring her with my permission,” I correct. My mother backpedals until she sits in a chair.
“I wanted to see her.”
“You wanted your way.”
She opens her mouth as if to say something, then slams it shut with a sigh.
“I don’t know why you picked this woman. Have you ever even heard of earthing?”
I shake my head. “No. What does that have to do with anything?”
“She said she likes to earth every day. Like take her shoes off and become one with nature.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “She’s insane!”
I want to slap her. I keep my hands in fists by my sides.
I don’t even know Marialena, yet I feel the need to protect her from this woman. And I won’t allow a show of disrespect.
“Wanting to be some green, earthy-crunchy palm reader has nothing to do with insanity. And even if she was insane, that has nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me?” Her voice rises an octave, and I know what happens next. I don’t fucking care about her tantrums, though. She continues, “As if I have nothing to say for my grandchildren?”
I turn and give her an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”
“What if I don’t want a crazy woman bearing and raising my grandchildren?”
I need a full minute to compose myself this time. I breathe in deeply through my nose and exhale through my mouth and my mother takes the opportunity to spout more bullshit.
“She’s unpredictable. Does she even have any manners?”
As if she should talk about manners. “She was raised properly by Tosca Rossi. She’s been taught what’s expected of her by her large, extended family. So yes, she knows manners.” And I fully plan on teaching her the ones she hasn’t learned yet.