The Wrong Type: A Short Story Collection

3. Mafia

Contains: mild voyeurism

A man like Anthony Vinci didn't like getting his hands dirty. It reminded him too much of his past, but when the Don asks you a favor, you smile and nod. That's how he ended up snuggled up with the Altieri's, though at that particular moment he found it hard to stay angry.

Watching the girl from under his brows he stole furtive glances, or maybe they weren't so furtive because she caught his eye a couple times and blushed like a little girl every time.

Shaking his head once, he broke himself a piece of fresh made bread. Sal's niece was something else. He didn't know what to call it. Pretty enough to get attention, blond enough to keep him looking. Vaguely he wondered whether she was true blood relation, but he didn't much care to dwell on it.

Then there was the way she dressed. He didn't know where to look. Head to toe in pink, in something like short pyjamas racked nearly up to her ass crack and that stretchy little bra that only covered her tits. That's how she came to the dinner table with Mancini's crew, nipples poking through the pink material like a pair of pebbles. Poor old Lorenzo sat bug eyed through the whole dinner.

He glanced at Sal. They were gonna have a little talk when this was over. A couple of stolen glances and blushes later he watched her stand and leave. Once she'd gone Lorenzo couldn't keep his big mouth shut. "Where'd ya keep that pretty gal locked up, Sal?"

"I don't keep her locked up, she's welcome to come down and eat," replied Sal, coughing into his tissue.

"Doesn't come down too often, does she?"

That made him unreasonably angry.

He wondered what the hell Sal was thinking letting her come down at all. Yeah, they called each other family but they wouldn't hesitate to have each other whacked if push came to shove. Contrary to what some people thought la famiglia wasn't always off limits.

He gave himself another couple minutes before thanking Maria and excusing himself.

"Leaving already, Tony?" Asked Sal, still chewing on a mouthful of Carbonara as he got up and followed Anthony down the hall.

Once they were out of earshot, Anthony turned to face him.

"You should stay for desert. I don't know if you've noticed but Maria's -"

"Your niece," said Anthony. "How old is she?"

If Sal was surprised by the question he could get in the fucking line. "My - Bella?"

"That her name?"

Sal nodded, then shook his head. Anthony frowned, waiting for him to explain. "No, no, her name's Connie. Reminds of my little sister, that's her nickname, little Bella, Maria and I call her."

"Alright, how old is Connie?"

"Graduated this summer," said Sal, eyeing him.

Anthony grunted, raking one hand through his gelled hair, making a mess of it. Too young, he thought, and by the looks of it Sal probably thought the same, those little pig eyes glaring up at him. A look Anthony chose to overlook.

"Still set for the barbecue next week, Sal?" Asked Anthony, checking his watch.

"If you can't make it, Tony-"

"Wouldn't miss it," said Anthony, moving to the door, his mind already made up.

Maybe once, a long time ago he would've felt some shame, a stroke of conscience pricking the back of his mind, reminding him to stay human, be good, but that was just it - Anthony Vinci was not a good man.