Married With Malice: An Arranged Marriage Romance

Unreal. It’s like I’ve been cast in the role of Cranky Dad in a road trip movie while the other occupants of the car do their best to run me into a ditch with their squabbling.

“I never said your clothes were ugly,” Monte says from the backseat. “Where do you get this shit from?”

Sabrina turns around to fire back. “You said I look like an amusement park beggar.”

Monte cracks up. “I don’t think I used those exact words.”

“That’s how I remember it.”

“Put your seatbelt back on,” I say to Sabrina.

She sulks but clicks her seatbelt back into place. “It’s rotten karma to be mean on Valentine’s Day.”

“Telling you to wear a seatbelt for your own good isn’t mean.”

“I was talking to the swaggering anti-hero in the backseat.”

“Ah Sabrina,” Monte says, “I’m sure somewhere in the world there’s a manic pixie fanboy just awaiting the chance to do your bidding.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Sabrina says, undeterred.

“What are your plans tonight, Monte?” I ask, mostly to change the subject. “Are you going out?”

“Yeah, I’ve got something lined up.” he says, being abnormally evasive.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Later. I can’t be specific in front of the kid.”

Sabrina makes a face. “Dude. You are, like, five minutes older than me.”

“I’m not talking years. I’m referring to life experience.”

“Showing everyone your dick doesn’t translate to life experience. It is impressive though. Your dick, I mean.”

“Whoa.” I swivel and give Monte a dirty look.

He throws his hands up. “I swear I did NOT show that girl my dick.”

“True,” Sabrina says with good cheer. “I saw a picture. You should be more judicious with your sexting. Girls talk.”

“Fuck,” Monte says.

“Oh, you’ve done that plenty,” Sabrina says. “But you can still hold your head up. I’ve heard only good things.”

“Stop it,” I growl and feel the pulse of a headache starting. “Both of you, don’t make me threaten to turn the car around.”

“As if you’re Mr. Maturity,” says Monte.

“Yeah, who are you kidding, Luca?” Sabrina laughs. “Here you are, fresh from screwing my sister in the pantry. Very undignified. Really, I should be offended.”

“Would you like to walk to the library?” I ask her.

She sticks her tongue out and then grins. “No. And more importantly, Anni doesn’t want me to walk to the library either.”

Can’t argue with that. She’s Anni’s little sister so she’s now my little sister too.

When we finally wade through city traffic to reach the library, Monte climbs out of the backseat. I ask Sabrina how she’s getting home later and she shrugs, saying she might take the train. I’d rather not consider what calamities might befall her on public transportation and make a mental note to arrange for a car to escort her back to her father’s house on Long Island.

Monte lingers at the curb to watch her meander up the steps and into the building. A horn honks behind us and that jerks him out of his trance. He ducks into the car and throws on a seatbelt.

After I pull away from the curb I say, “I hope you weren’t looking at what I think you were looking at.”

He scoffs with a head shake. “Of course not.”

Monte Castelli is an excellent friend but he’s not the kind of guy you’d want dating your sister. I don’t even need to tell him this. He knows.

A glance at the dashboard clock confirms I’m already ten minutes late for the meeting and I’m nowhere near the destination.

Maybe I ought to feel more of a sense of urgency but I’m too busy planning ahead for a romantic night with my wife. We’ll go to dinner and the show first. Then she’ll find a delivery of chocolate covered strawberries and champagne waiting in the hotel room, where I intend to worship her all night long.

I’m still feeling kind of dazed after she surprised me at the house with our pantry quickie. That’s an episode we’ll be repeating in the future.

Damn, I fucking love that girl.

But before I get to see my wife again I’ve got to take a trip to Queens and play nice. The meeting is just a formality to check one of Richie’s boxes of tradition. Nothing important will be discussed but I’m expected to appear, along with the rest of the lineup of capos and underbosses and foot soldiers. Kind of a mob team-building exercise.

Greasy Vito’s is a vintage establishment in a struggling Queens neighborhood not far from where Richie grew up. Neither their menu nor their décor has changed in decades but they have the best fettuccine alfredo in the tri-state area.

Monte checks his phone and grunts as he reads the screen. “Nico says your uncle is throwing a tantrum because you’re late.”

This is no shock. I’ve been able to feel my phone blowing up in my pocket for a while.

“I’ll deal with him when we get there,” I say.

Monte doesn’t answer and I look over to catch him giving me a frank, troubled stare.

“Say what you need to say,” I tell him and turn back to watch the road.

“You know I’ve got your back, right? And I’m speaking for Nico too. We both do.”

“I appreciate that. But where’s this coming from?”

“Look, I don’t need to know everything. But if shit ever goes sideways and a choice needs to be made, I’m standing with you, pal. So is my brother.”

Those words are far from frivolous. And dangerous. Even hinting that his ultimate loyalty doesn’t lie with Richie is a risk.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “Don’t think I’m not grateful but don’t say that out loud again.”

He nods. “I get it. But I still wanted you to know.”

There’s not much of a parking lot at Greasy Vito’s and all the spaces are already occupied. We end up parking in front of a corner bar and need to walk down the street.

There are some entry level members of the network hanging around out front. One of them is Nico. His face is tight with apprehension as he walks our way.

“Hold on,” he says. “Richie said to come get him when you showed up.”

Great. I’m not in the mood for a public lecture from my uncle. To be honest, I’m not in the mood for any of this bullshit. My tolerance level for all things mafia has taken a nosedive. There are deep cracks in my mask and soon even Richie will notice that I’ll never be the ruthless heir he wants me to be. Every day I find it tougher to keep my temper in check.

More and more, the only thing that keeps me sane is going home to my Anni every night.

Monte shifts his weight, looking nervous. “You want me to go in or stick around out here?”

“You should probably stay here. I’m sure he just wants to bawl us out for being late. I’ll smooth it over.”

From the way the other guys are casting furtive glances this way, it’s clear we’re the family pariahs at the moment. Maybe I shouldn’t have treated this event so carelessly. Two things Richie is a stickler for are respect and punctuality. I’ve just failed at both.

Nico holds the door for my uncle, who moves slower and slower with each passing month. His long list of health issues just seems to get longer. The fact that he never deprives himself of a full plate of sausage and peppers or Aunt Donna’s lasagna doesn’t make him any healthier.

The spot of tomato sauce under the neck of his white shirt looks comically like a blood stain. His face is red and swollen. The stark glare he sends my way has made plenty of men crap themselves in fear.

With my arms folded and a carefully neutral expression, I await his approach. Monte stands beside me. Nico, with no clear instructions, trails behind Richie and looks to his big brother for reassurance.

Richie stops walking. He won’t come any closer because he doesn’t enjoy looking up to men who are taller than him.

“You’re late,” he says and his tone is thick with venom.

“Sorry about that. I had an errand to run. I’m here now.”

His face turns even redder. “An errand? A FUCKING ERRAND? Just who the FUCK do you think you are?”

My uncle didn’t often raise his voice to me, not even when I was a kid. This is likely just a humiliation ritual to show off that even his favored nephew, the so-called future of the family, needs to obey orders without exception. The best course of action is to be humble and say little.

“Again, I’m very sorry. It’s my fault. I sure hope that I didn’t ruin the meeting.”

His eyes narrow. His jaw clenches and veins pop out on his neck. But he lowers the volume. “You listen to me and you listen good. There’s one boss around here. Your brother made it a point to forget this. He threw everything I’d given him back in my face. I see you heading down the same path and I won’t have it. I just won’t fucking have it. You’re my sister’s son and the way you honor your mother is by honoring me. You got that?”

I would have just let the moment go by.

He could have had his triumph of being the king and making everyone squirm. I would have apologized again and put on a charming front for the whole gang waiting inside the restaurant.

But that fucking prick had to go and mention my mother.

The memories I have of her aren’t nearly as vivid as Cale’s. They’re more like watercolor paintings seen from a distance.

But I remember the gentle tenor of her voice as she read from one of my big storybooks. I remember picnics in a local park and how she picked me up after I once fell from a swing. She kissed my tear-streaked cheek and pointed to a family of Canadian geese that were waddling over to a tiny pond.

If I smiled, my mother smiled. If I cried, she would do anything to make me laugh again.

She loved her boys. She loved us so very much.

Richie doesn’t get to shit on that, not today or any other day.

He takes my silence to mean that I’m properly chastised and starts to turn away. “Come on. It’s over. Lesson learned.”

“When is it enough, Richie?”

He turns his head and glowers. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“WHEN IS IT ENOUGH? What’ll you do if I walk away today? If I disobey? If I fail some other fucking purity test? Will you cut off some of my fingers? Will you take it out on my brother? My baby niece? My wife? When the FUCK is it enough?”

His mouth opens and closes like a flounder. Few things truly astonish him but right now he’s speechless.

I’ve already overstepped. I might as well make the full leap and hope that some glimmer of the truth penetrates.

“I barely remember my own father but I always loved you like a father. It’s taken a hell of a lot for you to wreck that, Richie. And what’s worse is that I used to believe you loved me like a son. Now I know I was wrong. To you I’m just a tool, like Cale was just a tool. And you happily threw him away when he no longer served you. You dared to speak of my mother just now. Be honest. What would your sister say if she could see what you’ve done to her boys?”

The words are a blow, no matter how he tries to pretend otherwise. Richie sways and swallows hard. His eyes lose their calculating glint. I think this is the first time in a long while that he’s really looked at me.

“Luca,” he croaks in a soft, mournful voice and takes a step in my direction.

Then the whole fucking world goes up in a ball of fire and I can’t hear a thing.