I’m pissed. Beyond fucking pissed. My father decided that our ‘family dinner’ should include his fucking consigliere Pauly. The entire night the two bastards have been making comments about Makenna, I’m barely holding onto my temper. I’ve been able to restrain from slamming my father’s head down onto the table.
Dad’s at the top of the table, Pauly to his right and I’m to his left. The way it always is. Kenna’s sitting beside me, Romero is seated beside Pauly and Alessio is at the bottom of the table. We’re getting more than a few looks, it’s not every day that the head of the Italian mafia shows up at the restaurant with his family.
“So, Makenna…” my father begins and I watch as my wife smiles sweetly at him. “How are you liking being married to my son?”
Makenna glances at me and smiles. “I love it. Your son is the best man I have ever known. I’m a lucky woman.” She means the words she says. She really does think she’s the lucky one in this marriage but she’s wrong. I am. I found my soulmate when I wasn’t even looking.
Pauly grins widely as he gives Makenna an appreciative glance and I want to knock that look off his fucking face.
The server brings out Makenna’s dessert. I had to stifle my laughter at that. My father hates desserts but Makenna insisted on having one and I wasn’t going to tell her no, especially when it was an added bonus of pissing my father off.
She wraps her lips around the spoon as she eats her chocolate cake. I’ve come to learn that you don’t ever come between Makenna and chocolate; she’d gut you where you stand if she found you in her stash. She lets out a moan and her eyes roll back as she eats.
I glare at Pauly who adjusts his pants under the table. Bastard. Makenna gently touches my arm, that’s my cue. “You should try some, it’s amazing.”
I smile as I reach into my pocket, my fingers clasp the syringe. I uncap it just as Makenna feeds me a spoon of chocolate cake, to anyone in the restaurant we’re a loving couple, but in fact it is an act. I lift the syringe and shove it into my father’s thigh quickly injecting him with the Potassium. His sharp intake of breath is all that I hear as I quickly pocket the syringe again.
“Mm, delicious, babe,” I murmur and nip at her lip. Her eyes flare with lust.
She grins at me and turns to face Pauly, “I bet you have a lot of stories you can tell me about my husband.”
Pauly throws his head back and laughs, I take this moment to look at my father. His face is pale, he’s clutching his left side as though he’s in pain and the motherfucker is glaring at Kenna like he wants to kill her. He’s unable to say anything as he’s struggling to breathe. The potassium is working perfectly.
“So?” Makenna prompts and Pauly laughs harder. “I need you to dish the dirt. I’m guessing he was one of those kids that ran around naked all the time.”
Romero and Alessio chuckle at her words, I throw my arm around the back of her chair and my fingers massage her nape. Pauly’s looking at us with envy.
“Dante was a very composed child,” he begins, throwing a grin in my direction. “He was always sombre except when he was around knives. I knew from the time he was two that he would be a fucking expert at carving people.”
Just as a docile wife would, Makenna blanches at his words.
“Pauly,” I growl in warning.
Neither Makenna or I give a shit about anything Pauly is saying, we’re keeping him occupied enough that he won’t glance in my father’s direction. Right now, he’s sweating and trying to breathe. I’ve never seen my father look as weak as he does right now.
“It’s okay, Dante.” Makenna responds to my reprimand of Pauly. “It’s your way of life.” She frowns. “Oh, Mr Bianchi, are you okay?” The worry in her voice makes me want to chuckle. Instead, I get to my feet, Romero and Alessio right behind me.
“Father?” I question and the asshole helps us by trying to get to his feet and collapsing onto the floor.
“Oh my God. Help us. Please, someone help us,” Makenna cries and fuck me, she’s putting on a good performance; I’m pretty sure she’s got tears in her eyes.
Pauly and I crouch down to my father and Pauly takes my father’s pulse. His face pales as he glances up at me and gives me one sharp shake of his head. My father’s gone. Makenna’s plan worked.
Someone tells us that they’ve called the EMT’s and they’re on route. Makenna burrows into my body when I stand up and I pull her into my arms. She’s playing her part perfectly. Romero and Alessio are standing on watching, both of their faces etched with worry. Anyone looking on would think that we’re a loving family who are worried about their father.
“Dante…” Pauly says, his voice tight. “We can’t have them take him to the emergency room. If they get word that he’s dead, it could start a fucking war.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
He sighs, “We call our doctor, and have both him and the EMT’s confirm his death and then we lay him to rest. You’re in charge now, Dante. You have to lead.”
“Call the doctor,” I demand as I push Makenna into Romero and watch as both of them bristle. She’s okay being in my arms but not Romero’s. I’m not sure why that makes me happy but it fucking does.
The manager moves over to me. “Sir, the EMT’s are here,” he says quietly.
“Clear the restaurant and let them in,” I tell him. He knows us, knows who we are.
“Right away, sir.”
Three hours later, we’re walking into our home, each one of us sombre as we reflect on the past couple of hours. The EMT’s arrived and Pauly informed them of what was happening and they told him it looked like my father had suffered a heart attack. The doctor arrived shortly after and took over, pronouncing him dead and agreeing with the paramedics that it was a heart attack that took him.
Pauly and I had contacted the funeral home and we had his body moved there. His funeral will be in a few days. We’ve also spread the word of my father’s death and that I’ll be the one taking his place. The Capo dei Capi has agreed after Pauly spoke to him. My grandfather hated my father and is probably as happy that the bastard’s gone as we are.
“It worked,” Alessio says as soon as we enter the kitchen.
Makenna nods, “For now, there’s still a few days before we can bury him. Until then, we keep vigilant and make sure no one has any reason to doubt that the arsehole had a heart attack.”
“We get it, no celebrating until he’s six feet under,” Romero says, but he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I just want to say, Boss. That was a fucking good plan. Not only that, you actually fucking shed a tear. I was impressed.”
She grins. “It all works toward the facade. If we look like a grieving, shocked family, no one is going to look at this as anything other than a tragic accident. Having Dante and I be lovey dovey wasn’t a hardship. It put everyone’s attention on us and what I was doing with the spoon rather than what Dante was doing with his hands.”
I nod, “We keep quiet, act like we’re fucking grieving the loss of our father and then when he’s six feet under, we can congratulate each other. Until then. No more is said about it.”