The Mafia King My Sister Threw Away novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: The Hall

By Monday morning the post had four thousand likes, and half of them were from women I went to high school with.

"I can have it taken down," Raf said, from the doorway of the office.

"No."

"It says you stole from your sister."

"It says I'm a thief," I said, and kept typing.

"If I make her delete it, she gets to play the victim. Let it sit."

"Then what do you want?"

I stopped typing.

"Saturday night," I said. "The Knights of Columbus dinner. Craig's bank bought a table. She'll be on his arm."

"You want to go."

"I want her to watch me walk in with you."

His mouth curved.

"I'd call that spite," he said.

"I'd call it accounting."

On Saturday I wore a long, plain green dress.

Raf's mother had taken it in herself, with six pins in her mouth and a lot of opinions.

My hair was down.

When I came out of the apartment, Raf was waiting on the stairs in a black suit and no tie.

He looked at me from my shoes to my hair, and he didn't say a word.

Then he held out his arm.

The hall was all gold light and round tables, with a band at one end.

Two hundred people from Federal Hill stopped talking when we came through the doors.

I felt every one of them.

I kept my chin level and my hand on his sleeve.

My sister sat at table nine in a silver dress.

She saw me, and the champagne glass in her hand stopped halfway to her mouth.

Craig, beside her, looked pale and miserable.

"Don't look at them," Raf said, quietly. "Look at me."

"I'm trying."

"You're doing it very well."

He led me to the head table, pulled my chair, and sat so close his knee pressed mine.

Pio saluted from across the room with a dinner roll.

When the band started something slow, Raf stood and put out his hand.

"I don't dance," I said.

"Neither do I."

"Then why..."

"Because she's looking."

I took his hand.

The floor was crowded, and still it parted for him.

He put one hand low on my back and took mine in the other.

The scar was warm against my knuckles.

He drew me in until my whole front touched his.

I forgot the room.

I could feel his heartbeat through his shirt and his breath against my ear.

"She's watching," he said into my hair.

"Is she angry?"

"She's furious. Craig is trying to hold her hand and she's pulled it away."

"Good."

"Carla."

"Yes."

"I'm not thinking about her."

His hand slid a little lower, and I closed my eyes.

When the song ended, I looked across the floor.

Paola had stood up, white to the lips.

Craig tried to stop her, and she shook him off so hard that his red wine went down his shirt.

His boss was sitting right beside him.

She marched across the hall toward our table.

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