“Yes, but that’s because he’s like, a hundred. You’re young, hot, and you look like a fucking store manager when you wear a tie.”
It took some bargaining, including the promise of the world’s best blow job that night, but Luca finally agreed, and went down without a tie.
“Should I set the table?” he calls.
I laugh, until I realize he’s serious. “No, baby; it’s all organized,” I call back from the living room.
“But nothing’s set up,” he says anxiously. I follow his voice to the kitchen, where he’s staring around wildly, and take his hand.
“We’re in the formal dining room tonight,” I tell him gently.
Luca frowned at me. “But the kitchen is much nicer. That dining room is so dark and…the kitchen is friendly. Homey.”
Something squeezes my heart to hear him say that. “We don’t want homey tonight, babe. We want formal.”
“We do?”
“We do,” I confirm, leading him across the foyer and into the formal dining area. It’s already been dressed with damask and fine china.
“The table’s not very big.”
“It’s an intimate setting,” I agree.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to bring the food over from the kitchen okay? Shouldn’t we just eat in there?”
It takes everything in me not to sigh or roll my eyes at him. This husband of mine has a lot to learn. “We can’t entertain Tino Morelli at the kitchen table, baby. We need to show him respect first. We can show him familiarity at his next visit.”
“But are you sure—”
“Luca,” I say, taking his hand. “Trust me on this one. And sit down with me now, so I can show you what silverware to use with each course.”
He hesitates, but then nods. “And tell me what I should say about the wines?”
“And tell you what you should say about the wines.”
Tino and Connie arrive right on time, and Luca jumps at the sound of the doorbell. “He’s here! I’ll get the door. Do we go straight to the dining room or—”
“Bring him in here.” We’ve been waiting in the living room, standing by the fireplace. “Drinks in here first, small talk, a few honeymoon photos. Then dinner.”
One day, I think to myself as Luca goes off to answer the door, and please God, let it be soon, we will have staff who can open the door for us, cook for us, do our laundry and take care of those pesky, petty, everyday needs.
They are the kinds of things Luca doesn’t even consider, the things he does by rote, because he’s never lived a real life of luxury.
But I have lived that kind of life. And I intend to again. When I’m done with him, Luciano D’Amato will rule this City.
I hear Luca open the door and greet our guests. Their conversation floats through and I smile to myself when Tino says, in genuine surprise, “Luciano! You look wonderful!”
When Luca brings them into the sitting room, I’m standing to attention, ready to greet them in my own Armani suit. Hey, Luca’s not the only one who likes a bit of Giorgio.
My mouth is immediately full of Connie’s black, curly hair, as she flings herself into my arms, and kisses my cheeks three times. I know Luca thinks she’s just another of Tino’s flings and as stupid as the rest apparently have been—to hear Luca tell it, anyway. But I can see that Connie is a player, and I know she’s aiming for the big league. I have to respect that. And if she ends up where she wants to, Luca will have to respect her as well.
Luca takes Tino’s coat for him and I take Connie’s and we go together to put them in the coat closet under the staircase. While there, I give Luca a quick kiss on the cheek, just to make him smile. There. He looks less like a brooding bad boy when he smiles, and more like a pleasant dinner partner.
When we go back into the living room, where Connie is exclaiming about how beautiful everything is, Tino opens his arms for me to step into them. He hugs me close, kissing me three times, and then takes my hands. “Finch, is it?”
I nod. “That’s what they call me.”
“It is good to see you looking so well, eh? No more of these terrible drugs. No, you look after yourself now, for the sake of your husband. And Luca is treating you well?”
Luckily for Luca, I can honestly say that he is right now. “He’s everything I could ever want in a man,” I say. It’s the plain truth. Tino can see that, I think, because he just about tears up, and pulls me in for another hug, holding me close so I can smell the cigar smoke caught in his hair.
“We are so happy to have you in our Famiglia,” he says, pulling back, but holding me by the biceps. “I have much respect for your father, and I knew your mother when she was a girl. We grew up in the same neighborhood, if you believe it. She was a very pretty young girl, such beautiful hair. She had her pick of the men, and she chose well with your father.”
“Thank you,” I say to Tino, because I don’t know what else to say. I knew Mom grew up in New York. It’s one reason I love this city. But I’m not sure why Morelli has brought it up. I give Luca a significant look when Tino and Connie turn away to sit on the couch to remind him.
I want to know the truth. I don’t know what I’ll do if Tino Morelli really did order that hit, but I need to know.
Everything goes perfectly. From the aperitifs to dessert, the meal runs smoothly. Luca sounds knowledgeable about the wines I’ve chosen, although Connie sticks to mineral water. Tino is delighted that I’ve ordered his favorite courses from his favorite restaurant. And then the pièce de résistance: after-dinner Romeo y Julieta cigars for Tino and Luca to enjoy upstairs in the study.
“Us girls can look at more of your honeymoon snaps,” Connie squeaks to me, utterly without sarcasm.
“That sounds great!” I squeak back, and give Luca a wink at his warning glance.
And so Luca and Tino tramp slowly upstairs, and Connie and I hole up in the sitting room again, but rather than look at any more boring photos of the open sea from the deck of the Maddalena, I get Connie to let me scroll through her Instagram feed. It is truly astonishing to me how easy she’s making it for any interested person to track her movements and—more importantly—Tino Morelli’s.
I resolve to do everything in my power to keep my face off social media, not to mention out of the papers.
I’ve been stifling yawns for about half an hour when Connie grabs my hand and looks wistfully at my ring. “Must feel nice to belong to someone like Luca.”
“It does.”
“Safe.”
“Yes.”
She squeezes my hand and leans in sharply. “Can I tell you something personal? Something secret? About me and Tino?” she whispers, eyes imploring.
I resolve that I will never confide in anyone about me and Luca.
“Sure!” I say, with my wide, friendly smile.
“I’m pregnant!” She slaps her hands across her mouth afterwards, and then drops them to give me a beaming smile. “Only six weeks. Tino told me not to tell anyone, but I figured I could tell you, since he wants you and Luca as godparents.”
“He—does? And wow, uh, congratulations!”
“But it gets so much better than that,” she rushes on. “We’re getting married!” She claps her hands silently, bouncing on the sofa. “We’re just waiting for the right time to announce it, and I don’t even have an engagement ring yet. But soon. I can’t wait. Oh, God, Finch, I love him so much, and can you believe it? I’ll belong to the most powerful man in New York City!”
Talk about overselling it. It’s not that Tino’s not powerful; but the Morelli Family might not have much of a future if the fractures continue to grow. Connie obviously doesn’t listen much at the Wife gatherings—and that means Tino is missing information as well.
But while I’m thinking all this, my mouth is saying something different. “Oh my Gawwwd,” I whisper-squeal. “Connie, that’s amazing! Does anyone else know?”
“Oh, hell, no,” she says at once. “All those Wives hate me—except you
and Celia.”
I feign astonishment. “That’s not true. Surely.”
She nods her head so hard I fear it’ll drop off. “It is, I swear to God. They pretend to like me, but they know if—when Tino and I get married, I’ll be top bitch. It’ll shake ’em up.” She chatters on, and I watch the clock.
They’ve been up there three quarters of an hour now. I’m itching to know if Luca’s asked about Mom.
I can’t stand it any longer. I break into Connie’s long monologue. “I think I’ll go see if the boys need anything.”
“Oh, they’re fine. Like I was saying—”
“I’ll just run up and check. And you know, use the bathroom. I’ll be right back, Connie.”
“Ooh, I could use a visit to the little girl’s room—”
“There,” I say bluntly, pointing to the downstairs bathroom. The last thing I want is Connie shadowing me around the house when I do what I’m about to do. “And Connie, sweetheart—you need to fix the face a little.” I make a motion around my face and she looks horrified.
“Oh my God, this is a new foundation. I just knew I should’ve stuck to my usual!”
I wait until Connie is safely locked into the bathroom along with her handbag and makeup fixings, and then I sneak upstairs as quietly as I can and make my way down the hall to the study. The door is ajar to let out the smoke of the cigars, so I flatten myself against the wall and listen hard.
Tino’s rumbling voice is easy to discern, easy to understand. I have to creep even closer, though, to hear Luca’s lighter, quieter words.
“…and I can see this husband of yours is making something of you, Luciano.”
“He is, Don Morelli,” I hear Luca reply, a hint of rueful laughter. “It’s past time, perhaps.”
Tino laughs at that, a deep chuckle that ends in a wheeze. I hope Connie has plans to get herself written into the will along with that ring on her finger, because Tino doesn’t sound like the healthiest guy. “I always knew you had it in you. But tell me—Finch—what is he like?” Tino is eager. Interested.
Luca, when he replies, sounds a little taken aback. “He is…wild. Crazy. Lonely. Lost. But he’s also someone who learned how to survive, despite all the money he grew up with. I think this life with me—with us, in the Family—will suit him.”
“That is good to hear. Very good to hear. And are you making him happy, Luca? When we talked about keeping him, you assured me you would make him happy. Is that still the case?”
There’s a long pause, and I picture Luca’s face, still and calm as he always is—except for when I get under his skin.
“I believe he is as happy as he can be, given the circumstances.”
Tino gives a long, grumbling murmur. “You promised me, Luciano. You promised me. You said he would be happy. I would not have agreed to this if I thought he would not be happy.”
Whaddya know, Tino Morelli’s a big old softie.
“I did promise you, sir, and I’m doing my best. He’s off the drugs. He’s made at least one friend—Celia, she adores him.”
“Celia’s a fine woman,” Tino agrees.
“But nothing I do can change the fact that he’s a hostage—political, marital. He did not come to our Family of his own accord. He only married me because he had no choice.”
I want so bad to burst into that room and shout That’s not true!
I don’t.
Tino asks, “Has he tried to run?”
Another pause. “You know about the overdose incident. I believe now that it was an accident. He hasn’t tried to run from me. In fact…”
There’s another long pause, and for a moment, I think Luca is going to skate over Maggie, the phone, Pops’ phone call. But then he gives it up; tells Tino all about it.
There’s silence after Luca has finished telling tales on me. “I had hoped he would be useful to us…” Tino sighs.
“He knows nothing about his father’s business,” Luca says regretfully. “Beyond his father’s direction for him to kill me. But his father has kept him out of the family business. I’m not sure why.” I wonder if Luca is about to segue into asking what I want him to, about the hit on Mom, but then Tino replies.
“His father has his reasons. As I have mine for the things I do. You keep him happy, Luciano. Do you hear me? I don’t want him running off, going back to Boston. He is too important to me…to our Family.”
“I’m doing my best, sir.”
Tino made an explosive noise. “Fah! Your best? Have you told him you love him?”
“Certainly not,” Luca says, sounding as cold as I’ve ever heard him.
“And why are you holding back? Let him know he is loved, and let him love you—because he does, yes, Luciano, he does. It’s clear in his face every time he looks at you.”
This time when Luca speaks, it’s stilted, almost angry. “I can assure you, Don Morelli, he doesn’t love me. Nor I him. And—and I never will. I’m not a man who loves. It’s an emotion I decided to put aside at a very young age.”
Tino makes a wheezing, gasping noise, which I realize after a minute is him laughing. “Alright, Luciano. You might fool yourself, but you cannot fool me.”
I’m glad Tino finds it funny. I don’t. And I don’t bother to hang around any longer to hear Luca’s response.
I’m so fucking tired of his bullshit.
Maybe I should just get the hell out of here and take care of myself for a while, like I’ve been doing for years.
Chapter Thirty-Five
LUCA
Someone is shaking me.
“Bro! Bro!”
I’m swimming through syrup, and I can’t break the surface.
“Georgie!”
With a snarl, I lash out, and force my eyes open.
“Fuckin’ finally,” Frank chokes. He grabs my wrist to pull my hand off his throat. He’s leaning over me. Where am I? “What the fuck is going on, Georgie? Marco called me soon as he arrived this morning. Guards out the front like sleeping beauties, you snoring away in here like you ain’t got a care in the world—and where the hell is Finch? You two have a fight or something? He make you sleep on the couch?”
I sit up at once, grabbing at the sofa arm to steady myself as my stomach lurches. My mouth tastes bitter and cottony, my head is stuffy. Bright sunlight is streaming through the curtains.
“Where’s Finch?” I rasp.
“Marco’s looking around for him…”
I’m trying to remember what happened last night. Dinner. Cigars. Tino and Connie left late. After that, things are murky.
I try to stand, but my legs won’t cooperate. “Where. Is. Finch?” I ask again.
Frank helps me up. “Marco and I didn’t wanna go up and bust into your bedroom or anything. But maybe he’s in there?”
I take a deep breath, willing my body to respond, and I start towards the foyer. Frank has to help me up the stairs, and for once I let him, because I need to get there fast.
Upstairs, the house is silent. I feel the beginnings of something in my stomach, building up. It’s not an emotion I’m used to: terror. With Frank by my side I make for the bedroom, although I know there’s no one in there—no one living, anyway. I can’t feel the presence of a human being on the other side of the door.
My heart is beating faster and faster. I call Finch’s name outside the bedroom, my voice hoarse. There’s no response. As I open the door I don’t know what would be worse—to find Finch in there, or not. Because if he is in there, he might have…
But Finch is not in there. The bed is still made from the day before—or today—I can’t tell.
“What time is it?” I demand.
“It’s six-thirty,” Frank tells me. “Seriously, bro, what’s going on?”
“If I fucking knew I’d tell you!” I shout, my voice breaking. I’m overcome with a coughing fit, and Frank takes a step back, blinking at me.
“I’ll text Celia,” he mutters. “She might have heard from him.”
&n
bsp; While Frank contacts his wife, I stumble around from room to room upstairs, checking each room as methodically as I can in my sluggish state. There’s no sign of him anywhere, but his toiletries are still there, along with the burner phone his father gave him, which should tell me something if only I could get my brain to figure it out. I slap the heel of my hand at my forehead, trying to wake myself up, and then drench my head under the cold tap.
God. It’s freezing, but it helps.
I think things through again. Finch’s belongings are still here, so either he’s leaving everything behind him, or he’s coming back. Or something else might have happened. Someone might have…
I need to find my phone. Where the hell is it?
I half-stumble back downstairs, the night before coming back to me now in fits and starts, and my heart squeezes tighter and tighter as I remember.
Tino and I were in the study. I could have sworn I heard footsteps outside in the hallway, but when I went to check, no one was there. I’d hoped I was wrong about it. I wouldn’t have wanted Finch to hear what I’d said about not loving him.
Because it wasn’t true. I realized that the moment I said it. Despite my best intentions and all the walls I built up, Finch just frog-leaped right over them.
I just didn’t want to admit it to myself or to anyone else, not while we were still in danger. Not even to Tino, who told me I was being paranoid for checking the hallway, and then he’d told me…he’d told me something else.
Something important.
Something right at the edge of my memory.
After Tino and Connie left, I followed Finch into the kitchen, where he’d taken the dirty dishes after dessert. So I go there now, and more memories come back to me. I’d never felt happier in my whole fucking life. Everything was finally coming together for me. Tino had told me something, taken me into his confidence…
“You did it,” I’d said, and I came up behind Finch and wrapped my arms around him.
Was it my faulty memory or had Finch paused before he turned around in my arms with a bright smile?
“We did it,” he’d said.
Married to the Mobster Page 22