Page 28 of Fight Me Little Pearl
“Nothing as it happens. He should count himself lucky.”
She’s about to respond when the car pulls into the driveway ofCastillo Dimora. We descend, and I slip my arms around Francesca, a picture of romance. Federico is there with Serena, and so are Giuseppe and Isabella. I don’t see Roberto yet, but no doubt he’s somewhere around. I exchanged a handshake with Giuseppe back at the house, but Federico and I haven’t seen each other until now.
“Ciao, Fra Valentino.” Federico walks toward me with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He holds out his hand in front of me, and I know he’s not greeting me because I’m his blood cousin, but because I am the Boss. He would rather drive a wooden spike through my heart. When I don’t take his hand, he nods stiffly and walks away from me with Serena following behind him.
As we walk into the house, Francesca whispers, “Why didn’t you shake his hand? Where I come from, that’s just rude.”
“It was either that or socking him in the jaw,la mia perla.”
That shuts her up fast, but I feel her slipping away from me again. We’re nearing Nonna Isadora’s room, and I stop her at the top of the hallway.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Nonna Isadora is fierce, but fair. Don’t flatter her and don’t show fear.”
She nods, and I show her into my great-grandmother’s parlor. The huge room is full of lilies and their strong perfume fills the air. At least a dozen uniformed servants are swarming around like ants, but when we enter, they part to reveal their Queen, a tiny, scrawny, ancient woman seated on a throne-like intricately carved, but extremely hard and uncomfortable mahogany armchair.
She is dressed wholly in black. Even though it is the middle of summer she is wearing thick black tights. Her small feet are encased in black crocodile leather shoes and her wrinkled face is partially obscured by a small black lace veil. On the exceptionally large coffee table in front of her many Sicilian desserts and sweets are laid out on pretty porcelain platters. I have never seen her so much as nibble on these treats, but the table is always full of them.
You can never tell by looking at her, but this frail ninety-seven-year-old woman is the real head of the Italian side of our family. From behind the scenes, she commands her large clanwith an iron hand. Hardly ever leaving this room, she executes her role of family Matriarch and she does a fucking great job as well. Hell, I respect her more than any of the men in this family.
If Francesca is surprised to see Nonna Isadora, she doesn’t show it.
Nonna Isadora waves the monogrammed white handkerchief in her hand and all the servants quickly stream out of the room. When we are alone with her Nonna Isadora’s eagle gaze narrows on me.
I move forward and lightly kiss her veiled powdered cheeks. Ever since I can remember she has smelled the same. A special lavender and rose fragrance that she orders four times a year from Tuscany.
“Ciao, Nonna.”
“You raised a gun to Matteo?” Her voice is a husky whisper.
“Yes. He disrespected me.”
From the corner of my eyes, I see Francesca looking at me with shock, but the shriveled woman in the hard chair nods.
“That boy is as senseless as a rampaging bull, and I’m sometimes tempted to shoot him myself, but I detest attending the funerals of my own family.”
Her tone is mild, but the message is clear. We are blood, and our very survival depends on our unbreakable bond of trust and loyalty to each other. It is the iron-clad rule that made our family the undisputable winner in this business. No one outside the family is allowed in, and we don’t cultivate made men. My great-grandfather understood that they were always the first ones to turn and bite the hand that feeds.
Even spouses were only given positions of lesser importance. Their children were considered blood, but they themselves were not blood and hence could never be fully trusted. It is the rule by which I used to operate too, but where Francesca is concerned, it is I who have become the senseless rampaging bull. Even nowmy blood boils at the thought of that little prick thinking he could use my wife as bait. Fool.
Having made her point, Nonna turns her attention to Francesca and scrutinizes her.
“You’re too small, child,” she grumbles. “How will you manage my great-grandson and bear him many sons?”
“You of all people, should know that you can’t judge a person by their appearance,” Francesca quips sweetly.
I almost laugh at the flare in Nonna’s eyes, but a moment later, she laughs, a dry hoarse sound. People shiver at that sound, but Francesca smiles innocently at her.
“Come and kiss me,” she commands.
Francesca hesitates, then walks up to her, and tentatively kisses her cheeks. Nonna Isadora’s thin claw-like hand reaches out of her voluminous black sleeve and closes over Francesca’s hand. “I like you.”
Francesca’s eyes widen with surprise, and she glances at me uncertainly.
I shrug, masking my smile.
“That’s good,” she murmurs. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to meet you finally.”
