Page 67 of Single Malt Drama
Marco
Why isit errands take six times longer when you have something to do after they’re done? Any other day, I would have been in and out of the drugstore in five minutes tops. But you know what they say about plans. The best ones get laid, or something like that.
It’d taken two hours to reach the marina after I’d taken a wrong turn that put me on the scenic route to the freaking Gulf. By the time I’d gotten my bearings, I’d invented new and creative uses of the English language. Needless to say, I added a compass to my list.
The visit to the superstore felt more like a sociology project than a shopping trip. This far south, it was more of a community center to catch up with neighbors than a mere grocery, and everything-else-under-the-sun, store. I’d never seen such a diverse cross section of the population, nor did I care to again.
On the way back to the marina, Leo called.
“Hey, bro.” I figured by now my family, if not the entire island of Sicily, knew about my marriage. “Calling to congratulate me?”
“Where are you right now?”
Ah, it’s going to be one of those calls.“I’m driving. What’s up?”
“Do me a favor and pull off the road.”
Easing the SUV onto the shoulder, I couldn’t decide if he sounded more stressed, angry, or upset. My mind immediately went to our father’s failing health. “How’s Pops?”
“He’s better today. Sitting outside with Gabe and Maggie’s bunch.”
I’d never get used to people referring to Joe and Rebecca’s kids as Gabe and Maggie’s. It seemed disrespectful somehow, even if they were raising them. “Good to hear. I’m parked.”
Leo drew a deep breath. “Is it true? You married Nico?”
“It’s true.”
“I was able to find the marriage license online, but not the certificate signed by the priest.” The lift in the last word made the statement sound like a question.
“He’s holding the paperwork until the thirty-day deadline to keep it quiet.”
“Good, then there’s time.” Leo’s voice deepened. “Get the certificate back and burn it.”
“What? No.” What the hell is wrong with him? “This isn’t a game. We’re in love.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but you two went about this the wrong way. Pietro Lazio is making noise that you disrespected him and his family by not asking his permission to marry his daughter.”
“So I’ll send him a card or something, but I’m not going to pretend we aren’t married.” I couldn’t do that to either of us. “I love her.”
“Grow the fuck up,” he shouted. “You don’t think I love Dahlia? You don’t think it kills me to pretend I don’t want her every second of every day? To watch her struggle to raise our—”
Whoa. The truth finally comes out. Leo and Dahlia had danced the just-friends dance for as long as I could remember, but they’d always insisted there was nothing more between them. “Raise your what?”
“Nothing.”
My throat went dry. Dahlia had a little boy, but I couldn’t remember her ever mentioning the kid’s father. Holy shit. “Is Gunnar yours?”
Leo growled. “No. He’s hers. You want to know why?”
Not really. I want you to answer the damned question.“Why?”
“Because being a Marchionni means we don’t get to make decisions like the rest of the world. We have to think three-steps ahead of our enemies. We can’t afford to be sentimental or follow our goddamned hearts.” He took a breath. When he spoke again, he lowered his voice, “This marriage has put you, Nico, and everyone you love in danger. You need to end it before there’s bloodshed.”
Gripping the phone hard enough to crack the case, I said, “Lazio had no problem selling her into marriage with Enzo.”
Leo scoffed. “Because he thought he’d get something out of it.”
And so did the rest of you. I ground my teeth. “Is this really about me pissing off Lazio or is it about me messing up Gabe’s plans to get us out of the mob?”