worked for even if they’re not part of the life. Maybe they prefer missionary under the covers with the lights off, strictly for the purpose of procreation.
But convincing Carlo De Maggio that they’re capable of being a mafioso’s queen? No, they’re not capable of that.
Not like she could do.
Soon, we’re done with the show. The table has deep gouges in it from stab after stab after stab of my letter opener into the wooden surface.
Levi drops down opposite me. “Sorry, Angelo, but can I smoke?”
I wave a hand. “Fine. But open the window.”
He lights up and shakes his head slowly. “You didn’t like a single one, did you?”
“No.”
“We’ll find more,” he says. “There are four million women in this city. How hard can it be?”
I just nod, saying nothing. It’s true. There are four million women, and yet only one who is of any interest to me. I don’t like feeling this way—not in control, like Dani has made a home in my mind against my wishes.
I shake my head and take out my cell phone.
“Who are you calling?” Levi asks.
“Are you my fucking babysitter now?” I growl. “Giuseppe.”
“Boss?” Giuseppe answers. His voice is choked.
“Something is wrong,” I mutter.
“The baby, boss, our son—he’s, he’s in critical condition and … I’m gonna make the collections. I know I’m a bit late. I know—”
“Quiet,” I say. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll have your collections handled. That’s not why I’m calling. I just … I just wanted to check how things were. Never mind that, though. Be with your wife. She needs you.”
“I’ll make this up to the Family,” Giuseppe says. “Thank you, Angelo.”
“My thoughts are with your son,” I tell him. I hang up, gritting my teeth in disgust.
I grab the letter opener and stab it into the table so hard it stays there, the handle wobbling. “I’m going to the club. I have work to do. Accounts and things.”
Levi frowns. “You hate doing that shit,” he notes.
It’s true. But I need a distraction. Something so mind-numbing that it will anesthetize me. “Are you coming?”
He drags once more on his cigarette and climbs to his feet with a wry grin. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world, fratello.”
We spend the rest of the day at the club. Levi smokes an ungodly number of cigarettes and paces around in between working sessions. I can tell that something is bothering him, but every time I broach the subject, he changes it. I assume it has something to do with a woman and just leave it alone.
We actually do get a lot of work done, too, so much that when Father calls and asks if he needs to come down to the club, I can tell him no.
“Oh,” is all he says before hanging up.
I wonder again if Mother’s absence has taken something from him, if all he has now is work.
What else would the old man do? Fish?
But then, that’s not even a joke. Father loves to fish, and to sketch, and to go to the opera with my mother on his arm. He owns several legitimate charities and businesses which he could devote himself to. Father could have a very full life, if he chose it.
Yet he clings to this one and leaves me holding onto his coattails for dear fucking life.
We work right through dinner and then into the night. Soon, the club is full. Levi stands at the window—smoking such that the room reeks—looking down at the dance floor.
“You want to go down there,” I note.
He wheels on me. “Ovviamente. Don’t you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure.”
Levi throws his hands up, scattering ash. “Angelo, what has gotten into—”
His words are cut short by the knock at the door.
“Come in,” I order, glad for the distraction. I have no interest in trying to explain how the strange girl taking up residence in my mind has made it impossible for me to enjoy the pleasures of the club.
It’s Felice, a tall man with a jet-black ponytail who always wears a leather jacket and faded jeans. It makes him look rough and violent, which is not inaccurate.
“Excuse me, Mr. De Maggio, Mr. Mancini, but there is a problem. We caught an Albanian dealing drugs without permission. In the bathrooms.”
I stand up, laying my knuckles against the desk. My whole body feels taut, ready for violence. I grit my teeth so hard they hurt. “First they sell us shit and call it gold,” I snarl. “And now this? This is a blatant show