I asked if it was the type where we used guns.
And he only winced.
Which really couldn’t be a good sign.
“How long has it been?” I asked once we parked across the street, our black Mercedes blended in quite well with the rest of the Lincolns and Audis.
Frank frowned. “A while.”
“Well, that’s descriptive, thanks.”
He let out a low chuckle. “Just, don’t pull your gun. They’ll be offended.”
My eyes widened. “No shit? So if I pull a gun, I’m going to offend them, but they’re more than welcome to pull a gun on me?”
“You’ve been shot before.” He shrugged. “Just duck.”
“Wow.” I let out a low whistle. “For a loving grandfather, you kind of suck with the sentimental stuff.”
He chuckled as I got out of the car and then abruptly pulled me into his arms for a hug, slapping the shit out of my back at least three times before kissing both of my cheeks.
“What the hell was that?” I whispered, not sure if I was more amused or uncomfortable.
“That—” he pointed back at the house “—was for the men that I know without a doubt are watching us. They need not know of your identity just yet… but mine? They will know me. They do not need to know your name. Listen very carefully. Here you are not Abandonato. Here you are a business man.”
Well that was easy. I was a businessman. I owned several businesses, but they were all Abandonato businesses.
“Do I have a different name too?”
“Sergio.” He grinned as the wind picked up blowing his thick wavy grey hair away from his face, it made him look younger. “Just Sergio.”
“Yeah, I give them five seconds to see through that.”
“Eh, people see what you want them to see. You know that as well as I.”
I gulped and looked away as his point aimed straight for my heart and dug in. I’d been feeling guilty about putting on a good show for my family back home in Chicago. Frank was the only one who knew it was all complete bullshit.
That I was lost.
That I felt like I would be lost forever.
And the fear that came along with it — the fear that I’d found my home, only to lose it, along with the comfort that I’d never feel that way again.
Ever.
“Let’s go.” He slapped my back one last time as we walked across the street and made our way up the stairs to a neat brownstone. It was old, but well kept. The brick clean, the door displaying a nice knocker, and the mat in front of the door said Welcome.
Hah, if they only knew…
Frank raised his hand to knock.
But it wasn’t needed.
I knew it wasn’t needed, he knew it wasn’t needed, but for appearances, he did it anyway.
The door swung open.
A tall man with dark hair stood blocking our view. He had shots of gray woven through his hair, and he was holding a glass of wine, his lips pressed together in a tight frown.
I stood my ground. Ready to take a bullet for the Alfero boss if need be — the last thing I wanted was to be held partially responsible for the killing of the last of the legends.
Because that’s what Frank was.
A legend.
“You.” The man seethed.
Frank’s cold stare had me wanting to chuckle. Damn the man was a bastard when he wanted to be. He tilted his head to the side and said. “Aren’t you going to invite me in, Gio?”
“Go to hell,” Gio whispered. “They are safe. I have kept them safe.”
Another stare down took place.
We really didn’t want to be standing in the street, our backs exposed, our necks popping out like a dart board just waiting for the darts to come flying.
“Gio,” I repeated the name and held out my hand. “I’m Sergio, Frank’s… grandson.”
He stared down at my hand then narrowed his eyes. “You’re no more his grandson then I’m his aunt.”
I took his half outstretched hand and squeezed. “And you have a very odd way of welcoming your family into your home…” I peered around him. “Roast pig? Sounds delicious.” I shoved past him and entered the house, as he cursed behind me.
I expected a party.
Something small.
Like a birthday party.
I might come from a big family, but the bosses and wives, we mainly kept to ourselves, because we couldn’t trust anyone.
So a party would include, what? Twelve of us?
Though I remembered years when I was younger, when parties occurred every night, when the entire neighborhood would drink wine and laugh.
Suddenly I was transported back to my childhood.
Back to a simpler time, when Andi would have been alive.
When I was a child and innocent in the ways of the world.
In the ways of the mafia.
Women laughed loudly while they piled plates of food, men smoked cigars in the corner, their gestures big and loud.
And then, as if an announcement was made.
All talking and laughter stopped.
I was used to people staring.
So I straightened my shoulders and glared through every face, armor firmly in place. Just try it; seriously, my finger was itching to pull a trigger. I needed to get the aggression out somehow.
Frank’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Allow me to introduce… my grandson, Sergio.”
Men literally parted like water as we walked through the house, some ducked their heads, others nervously looked away while cursing under their breath.