Chapter 3 - Without a second Thought

Salvatore Russo had a tattoo covering his arm, but he seemed to be pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He caught my eye from across the table, and his gaze made me feel uneasy. The way he said my name kept echoing in my mind, making me want to avoid him.

My Uncle Thomas broke the silence by asking me about my upcoming dance recital. I felt guilt wash over me, thinking about our past. When everyone turned to look at me, I forced a smile and confirmed the recital was on Saturday.

Rina, sitting nearby, asked if I danced and seemed surprised to learn I did tap. I admitted I wasn’t very good at it, and my mom mumbled something in disagreement.

The atmosphere was tense, even as everyone chatted and enjoyed the food. Rina played with her broccoli while her husband laughed at nothing. My brother casually spun his wine glass, and Adriana ate as if she didn’t notice the man next to her.

My dad talked about buying an old shooting range, and the conversation shifted, but I still felt that uncomfortable tension in the air, especially as dessert was served and I wished for the lunch to end.

Unfortunately, the awkward tension was about to break out in an unexpected way.

It started with a simple idea from the men to go to a racing event. I felt like I was in a bad dream as I watched what happened next. The guy next to me, Stefan, made a sarcastic sound. I learned his name but he hadn’t really spoken much.

The sound of my brother’s wine glass faded away as Tony focused on Stefan. “I didn’t get the joke, Russo,” he said.

Stefan shook his head. “I just have better things to do than watch you guys lose "

“Uh-oh,” Rina whispered quietly.

I shut my eyes, thinking that if my brother let this slide without a fight, it would be a huge surprise. “Tony, don’t…” Benito said from his seat next to my brother. He was usually the calm one, but Tony didn’t even look at him. He just smiled at Stefan Russo, and it didn’t seem friendly at all.

My heart raced, and I tried to get my dad’s attention, but he was busy talking to Nicolas and my uncles.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony said slowly. “Are you talking about cars? I heard Piero said something about my Mustang. I know I left him behind.” Tony’s eyes lit up with a dark enjoyment. Then everything got quiet. It felt like time stopped, and everyone at the table could feel the tension. I was totally caught off guard.

My heart raced as someone grabbed me around the waist and pulled me up. I had to duck just in time to avoid a flying plate. People started shouting in Italian, and chairs crashed to the ground as everyone jumped up in a panic.I could hear my father giving orders. I had seen my dad lose his temper with his men before. A chill ran through me.Then, Salvatore’s calm voice broke through the chaos. I clung to it like it was a lifeline. Eventually, Tony and Stefan stopped arguing, and the others went back to eating. The tension in the room was louder than silverware hitting plates. The Abellis looked at me with caution while my family stared at their desserts, sitting stiffly like their chairs.

I leaned back and rested my arm on the table, focusing on the cigarette I rolled between my fingers. I felt a strong anger bubbling inside me, making it hard to breathe. It burned in my throat and chest, blurring my vision with a red haze.

I glanced over to Sergio, my underboss and only trustworthy cousin. He was trying to hide his laughter by wiping his mouth. I shot him a dark look, thinking I might just start yelling at my two cousins today. He leaned back in his chair, his amusement fading. He had just won a bet that we’d get through today without any fights, and he made extra because anything involving the Sweet Abelli was a bonus. My family bet on everything—they were always looking for a way to make a quick buck.

Now, I owed him five thousand dollars, and I was blaming a little black-haired diva for it. If I thought about her brother right now, I’d want to punch him.

Some relatives annoy you, but you still love them.

My dad had a habit of kicking me when I acted without thinking.

My mom used to smoke at the kitchen table in her nightgown after she and my dad fought loudly.

With my ribs aching and a cigarette in hand, I realized I was just like my parents. Anyone who knew Leonardo Russo—even my own family—would think that was unfortunate.

I was a product of my father and the Cosa Nostra. My mom tried to fill in the gaps where my dad fell short in raising me. She did her best, even with her dilated pupils and bloody noses. The late Cassandra Russo taught me to respect women, but it didn’t really stick. It was hard to respect a mother you had to lift off the floor some nights. Plus, I had everything I wanted handed to me since I was old enough to ask. I didn’t need charm to attract women—my money and status had done that for me since I was thirteen.

Milene’s mom was the first to give me a small scowl. My family could be angry all they wanted, but I just wanted a simple thank-you for stopping a fight that could have ruined our Sunday. The truth is, not every guy can handle being a Russo. My grandmother used to say our blood was hotter than most. Maybe that was just her way of explaining why all her sons were spoiled, greedy, and protective of what wasn’t theirs. A Russo goes after what he wants, and once he does, it’s practically his—often through some shady means. But maybe she had a point because I could really feel that heat right now.

The song “I’ll wait for You” by Ari Bella played softly in the backyard, the gentle piano notes cutting through the tense mood, filled with awkward coughs and shifting eyes. I rolled the cigarette between my fingers, trying to calm the itch. I only smoked when I was too angry to think straight or, on rare occasions, when I felt uneasy.

Ricardo got up from the table to send the servants home. They all knew who paid them and were somehow connected to the Cosa Nostra. I only caught part of the conversation that led to this moment, but it was clear Tony had been bragging about beating Piero, another foolish cousin of mine. I dealt with Piero’s loss the same way I would with a Zanetti’s—by pouring two fingers of whiskey. You play dumb games, you win dumb prizes. That’s how life works, and my cousin had done more than enough of that.