managed to actually score a goal. I clap and yell and smile at my son, who’s furiously waving at me. But somewhere deep inside me, fear settles.
I’m certain I saw something. Or someone.
I force another wide smile for my son and keep my feet planted where they are, but I can’t wait to get out of here. I need to shake this feeling.
Dom
“You’re late, Dom!” My mom’s high-pitched voice hits me with a touch of humor as she flicks a kitchen hand towel at me. “You’re lucky I’m running behind.” Ma's always running behind. Maybe it’s in our genes. The kitchen smells like her signature Sunday dinner dish of sauce and meatballs.
“Sorry, Ma,” I say and give her a kiss on the cheek as I pull the flowers in my hand around to the front. “Got you a gift though.”
She pats my cheek with her hand and smiles as she says, “Aw, you spoil me!”
“Dante! Why do you never get me any flowers! You should take notes from your son!” she screams past me to the dining hall, and I all-out grin. I love it when she does this shit. Calling my dad out in front of everyone. I chuckle as I walk to the dining room and see the family gathered around the table.
My dad made sure to build this house with a large enough dining hall for everyone. There’s at least twenty people in here. And it feels comfortable, it feels like home. I may not like everything about being a Valetti, but I fucking love Sunday night dinner.
“Pops,” I greet as I slap my hand on father’s shoulder, “looking good tonight.” Pops is getting old, but he still looks good. He’s got dark eyes, with dark hair that’s grey at the temples. I have his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. He looks exactly like a mafia boss. And that’s good, 'cause that’s exactly who he is. I take a seat on his right, across from my brother.
“What up, Dom?” Vince is two years younger, making him twenty-seven. My chest pains realizing the dead fuck in my office was four years younger than my brother. Marco whatever-the-fuck his last name was. My jaw clenches tight, knowing I gotta tell them what happened. Not here though, not at dinner. Ma doesn’t approve of that shit.
“What the hell did I do to you?” Vince looks back at me like I slapped him.
I shake my head and reply, “Not you. I got to talk to you guys later.” The room goes quiet as I reach for some butter for the roll that’s on my plate. I don’t wait till dinner’s served. Never have. Everyone else waits, but Ma doesn’t mind if I get started without her. I don’t know why Ma bothers with the rolls though. I’m the only one who eats them. Everyone else always waits for the garlic bread.
“What’s going on, Dom, everything alright?” Jack asks. Jack is like a second father to me. He’s just under my father in the business, or family, whatever you want to call it.
“Not at the table.” My mom bends down with a hot bowl of meatballs, and places it in the center of the table.
I throw her an asymmetric grin as I say, “Aw, Ma, you know I wouldn’t.” I take a bite of my roll and lean back in my chair, trying to lighten the mood for my mother. “I love the smell of your sauce, Ma.”
She smiles at me and seems to forget the cloud of tension still lingering in the room.
Jack is sitting with his wife next to my brother, but his eyes are on my father. The two have their eyes locked on one another like they’re having a silent conversation. I try to stay out of family business. Pops told me I’d take the lead one day, but I passed it on to Vince. He’s got the brains and the stomach to handle this shit. I’m more of a numbers guy. I help out with the books, but I like my side business I have going on. It’s fun. …well, most of the time.
Jack’s wife, Jessica, gives me a tight smile from across the table. She’s new. Jack divorced his wife, and then she disappeared. He wasn’t right for a while. We all knew what happened. She got pissed one day, and he didn’t keep his dick in his pants like he fucking should have. And she went blabbing about the wrong shit to the wrong people.