Making Her His

by Lexy Timms

  Chrissy crossed the marble-lined atrium, graced with twin curving staircases, and waved to some of the guests crowded in the great room that spread through half of the first floor. To avoid the vapid conversations about ‘what she was doing with her life,’ she crossed into the long dining room. A long mahogany table graced the center of the room, stretching the length of it. She entered the kitchen.

  There she found her mother, directing a gaggle of aunts and female cousins in putting out the upcoming feast. She kissed her mother on the cheek as her mother waved her troops towards the dining room to place the food on the table. A custom-cut glass protected the precious lace tablecloth handmade by some distant Serafina ancestor. This last only graced the table only on special occasions.

  “Christina,” said her mother primly, “so nice of you to show.”

  “And you’ve been up before the chickens, cooking. No wonder you’re cranky.”

  “You should’ve been here to help.”

  “I would have,” said Chrissy, casting an eye toward Gloria, “but someone didn’t come home last night to help clean the apartment.”

  Gloria, standing behind their mother, stuck her tongue out at Chrissy, which brought a smile to Chrissy’s lips. One point to big sister.

  “Well,” her mother said, “Gloria has every right to spend time with her fiancé.”

  “Fiancé?” said Chrissy with surprise. “When did this happen?”

  “Mom,” protested Gloria. “I don’t have a ring yet.” Her face flushed with mortification at their mother’s remark.

  “No, but you two have been talking, haven’t you? No, no, Marla,” said her mother to a cousin, “put the bread in that basket there, yes.”

  Chrissy watched the exchange between her mother and sister with rapt interest. This was a shift, and a huge one. Marcus had held out against marriage, hoping to leverage his relationship with the Dom’s granddaughter as a career move. Everyone knew that, except Gloria, who was over-the-moon in love with the lug. Marcus must be ready to make a move up in the organization. And that was interesting. Pandolfo Serafina never acted warmly toward Marcus, precisely because the man mixed his professional ambitions with his private ones. What had changed?

  “Come,” said her mother. “Grandpa Pandolfo’s been waiting for you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  GOOD AND FUCKED.

  That summed it up perfectly.

  Saks wanted to leave the dinner table even if it meant showing a massive lack of respect toward his grand-uncle. But he had a score to settle, so he sat through dinner as Uncle Vits chatted happily about the benefits of merging the Serafina family with the Roccos. At any other time, Vits spit what vipers the Serafina were and how you couldn't trust a single one.

  His hypocrisy sickened Saks, and the fried calamari soured in his stomach, which was a shame. He liked calamari, especially his mother’s.

  Vits joked with Saks’ father, while Saks’ mother did the Italian thing and didn’t speak a word except to exhort the men to eat. She was superb at playing the perfect Italian wife here in front of Vits. But Marie Parks, née Rocco, didn’t hold back within the confines of her immediate family.

  Saks’ sister smirked at him through the whole meal. He’d talk to Terri later. First, he just had to bide his time with Uncle Vits.

  Finally, Vits left after giving the men hugs and the women kisses on their cheeks. “We’ll set up a meeting, eh? With the Serafina girl. You’ll take her to a nice restaurant; Vincente’s, eh?” Before Saks could protest that the restaurant was out of his price range, Vits quickly continued. “I’ll pay. No problem. And when it comes time for the ring, I’ll cover that, too. My wedding present.”

  Saks’ father gave his son a warning look. Maybe that was because of the murder forming in Saks’ own eyes. He glimpsed his face in the hallway mirror by the front door. Even he wouldn’t want to face someone with an expression that fierce on his mug.

  “That’s generous, Uncle Vits,” Saks said between gritted teeth.

  Vits nodded as if their meeting was concluded in agreement, and left. When the door shut behind him, the shit hit the fan.

  “What the hell was that about!” snapped Saks. “Is this what I’m supposed to expect at Sunday dinner now?”

  His mother and father stared at him, shock plastered on their faces. Terri scampered up the stairs, ostensibly to her room. But Saks knew she’d listen at the head of the staircase, just as she had through her teen years.

  “Anthony,” said his mother. “Settle down.”

  “Settle down! How am I supposed to do that? This is outrageous! I expect behavior like this from you, old man,” he said to his father, “but Mom? What the hell were you two thinking?”

  “You’ll not talk to you mother like that,” his father said with a scowl, as if Saks hadn’t addressed him, too.

  “What? After what you two have done? Bull fuckin’ shit!”

  “Anthony!” protested his mother.

  “You talk to him, Marie,” snapped his father. His face twisted in scowl as he pushed his way past Saks, his body taut. Insufferably, his father often handed off heavy emotional scenes to his wife. But today Saks couldn’t agree with him more. If the old man stayed a single minute longer, Saks might hit him.

  “Come, Anthony,” his mother said. “Come have another cannoli.”

  “I don’t want another cannoli! What I want is an explanation.”

  His mother’s eyes peered up at him in appeal, and tears formed along the edges.

  Saks sighed. His mother had always claimed a soft spot in his heart, and he’d never gotten angry with her in his entire adult life. “Okay, okay. I’ll have another cannoli.”

  Marie Parks wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “Come to the kitchen,” she said, casting a knowing gaze toward the stairs where Terri was eavesdropping.

  Saks followed his mother to the kitchen, though his whole meal was roiling in his stomach. She motioned for him to sit at the long table which sat center in the long room. Bright white cabinets lined the kitchen on either side. Black granite counter tops and gray marble tile set off the upper cabinets, with plain glass windows from the more utilitarian bottom cabinets. His mother quickly filled another cannoli and set it before her son. She nodded her head toward the confection and waited until he took a bite to speak.

  “We worry about you with that motorcycle club of yours.”

  She’s a devious woman, thought Saks. There was no way to reply while he navigated a mouthful of cream and crunchy outer shell. And it was too good not to eat.

  “I had always hoped you’d enter the priesthood. It was a stupid hope, I suppose, but considering the family... Well, you’ve always been a good boy.”

  “Thanks, Ma,” he got out around a mouthful of sweetened ricotta cheese.

  “But now you’re hanging out with people who aren’t worthy of you, Anthony. And if... well, if you aren’t a priest you might as well work more with the family.”

  “Gee, Mom, way to dance around our family’s criminal involvement. Priest or life of crime. No in between, eh?”

  “We have legitimate businesses, too. Uncle Vits thought you might work in one of those.”

  “I have a job, Ma.”

  “With the nephew of a Mexican drug lord.”

  “Luke isn’t like that, Ma. He wants nothing to do with his uncle.”

  “Yet Icherra showed up here, causing trouble.”

  “And what do you know, Ma? You always told me that dad doesn’t talk to you about business.”

  “He tells me what I need to know. And I don’t like one bit that Icherra’s associates kidnapped you.”

  “Now, Ma, that’s not true at all.”

  “Oh, so you weren’t kidnapped?”

  “I was...” Saks admitted. “But Luke got me out.”

  “That’s the least he could do.”

  “The Rojos aren’t involved with Icherra.”

  “Wake up, Anthony! Dogs always sniff around money.”


  “Ma, I love you, but both you and Dad are out of line. I’m not marrying a Serafina woman to smooth over whatever troubles Uncle Vits stirred up with them. And I want nothing to do with any of the family’s businesses, legit or not.” He stood and put on his leather jacket. When he turned back, his mother had a wooden spoon in her hand and shook it at Saks.

  “You’ll at least meet with the Serafina girl. Uncle Vits went to a lot of trouble to set this up, and you will satisfy the family honor.” His mother, at least a head shorter than him, looked at him with such fierceness he shuddered. Even his father didn’t elicit the fear that Marie Parks did when she angry.

  He dropped his head and relented because he couldn’t fight his mother. “Okay, Ma. One date. But that’s it.”

  She lowered the spoon, though the fierce look only relaxed. “If you wear that nasty jacket, she’ll drop you on the spot and you won’t have to worry about marrying her.”

  “Good plan, Ma.” He kissed her cheek as she rolled her eyes. “Dinner was great. I’ll see you later.” He headed for the door but didn’t get far before she hurled her last words.

  “Call your mother sometime.

  Family. You can’t live with them, and you can’t murder them without getting at least twenty years. He grinned as he turned the key to his bike, igniting the engine. As it roared to warm up, Saks wondered how to get out of this mess. It was clear through his mother that not only she, but his father and Uncle Vits also considered the Spawn a corrupting influence in his life. Nothing was further from the truth. Though the club had its troubles, it was one place he could be himself.

  Perhaps that was the corrupting influence. His mother called him a good boy, but the truth was he saw a life dodging the law a low percentage shot. Law enforcement had too many surveillance tools and was too good at infiltrating crime family ranks to make it a winning lifestyle choice. The FBI had decimated the ranks of many families such as his, sending whoever survived into the shadows, hiding within their legitimate businesses. With that and the rise of the Hispanic gangs in Connecticut, it was difficult to move with the flexibility and profitability they once had.

  Saks didn’t have the sadism needed to crack knuckles or knees for a numbers racket. Nor did he relish the prospect of pimping girls into prostitution or have the desire to sell drugs. Each of those things had a human cost even if, as his uncle said, people did those things to themselves. He didn’t have to aid and abet other people’s self-destruction. The money made in such enterprises was akin to crack. Gained by guile instead of hard work and sweat, that cash often found its way to girls, gambling, or booze.

  His father had a penchant for girls, of which he was sure his mother knew, but pointedly ignored. When Saks found out his father cheated on his mother, he lost respect for him. He could barely stand it when his father acted the proud patriarch at family functions. Other times he wondered if he had any other siblings out there, unacknowledged and ignored. Perhaps that was the biggest legacy his family passed on, an uncertainty of what consequences they’d suffer from a family member’s past actions.

  The Rojos kidnapped and beat him. The ostensible reason was his connection to Luke, but he didn’t forget the insults that Hispanics hurled at him while they beat him. Those insults had nothing to do with Luke, and everything to do with his connection to the Rocco crime family.

  And now his uncle wanted him to marry into the Serafina family? He was fucking nuts. Being connected to one crime family was awful enough. He didn’t need ties to another one.

  The road slid under him as he drove in the gathering gloom of dusk. What was he going to do now? Go home? No. What waited for him there was another stunning evening with Netflix and a six-pack. Luke kept the Hades’ Spawn clubhouse closed on Sundays to give him, Emily, and Robbie family time. There was just only one place to go, so he wasn’t alone.

  Saks sighed. First, he stopped at his apartment and changed his clothes. Then he pulled into the parking lot of the Red Bull.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHRISSY’S mother looked her up and down critically, which forced Chrissy to glance down at her clothing. She wasn’t stupid enough to show up at her grandpa’s birthday party in jeans and a button-down shirt. She wore an expensive gray Armani sheath in a broken chevron pattern that she bought on sale at the end of the season.

  Her mother’s lips drew tight in disapproval. “Don’t you own something more festive than a work dress?”

  It was true. Chrissy paired this dress with a dark blazer for work, but she also bought it intending to wear it on her all-too-infrequent dates after work. “Mom, I’m not a pink ruffles and bows girl. You know that.”

  Her mother nervously fussed with her hair. This extra care, and her mother’s tension, signaled to Chrissy that something important was about to happen.

  “Mom?” Vague questions swirled in her mind, but she couldn’t form one to ask her mother. But the elder Serafina woman turned and walked ahead of her. Chrissy stared at the back of her mother’s head as the Serafinashe led her to the library at the other side of the great room.

  It was her own house, but her mother knocked on the door. “Papa,” she said, for she always called her father-in-law ‘Papa’ at his request, “Chrissy has arrived. She wants to wish you a happy birthday.”

  Her mother opened the door wide, letting out a miasma of cigar smoke. The other men in the room, uncles and cousins who formed Pandolfo Serafina’s inner circle, rose from their leather chairs. The only one who remained seated was her father, Vincenzo Serafina, who family and friends called Vince.

  “Is the food on the table, Rose?” one uncle asked.

  “Yes, it’s waiting for you.”

  “Lead on,” he said, with a wave of his whiskey glass in his hand.

  It was unusual for the men to give up their places sitting with the Dom, and this raised the hackles on Chrissy’s neck. For sure something was up, something she wouldn’t like.

  The other men agreed, except for her father; he sat in his usual place, the chair to the right of the massive mahogany carved desk behind which her grandfather sat.

  “Come in, Chrissy. You look beautiful today,” her grandfather said.

  “Thank you, and happy birthday, Grandpa.”

  “Sit down. I’ve not talked with you in a while.”

  Chrissy sat and glanced at her father, who gave her a tight smile. Great. What did she do now? She knew she was in trouble; she just didn’t know what or why.

  “So, how’s your job in the city? You like it?”

  “It’s a great job, Grandpa. It’s a stepping stone to other things.”

  “I see,” he said gravely. He stroked his chin. “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem, for a while at least.” He looked to her father, who nodded seriously.

  “Grandpa,” Chrissy said cautiously, “what’re you talking about?”

  Pandolfo Serafina made a dismissive motion with his hands. “Your sister wants to get married.”

  “And?” She failed to see what that had to do with this conversation.

  “And,” her father finally spoke, “in this family the younger daughter doesn’t marry before the older one.”

  Chrissy scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. She can marry before me. Waiting for me to marry is old- fashioned. Believe me, it won’t offend me at all if she goes to the altar first.”

  Her grandfather slapped his hand on the desk sharply, startling both her and her father. “It’s tradition!” he said. “Plus,” he murmured more softly, “I don’t want that stunad Mario to get any ideas of where he’s heading in this family.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Chrissy,” her father said in a subdued tone. “We’ve been having our troubles with the Roccos.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s time that stopped,” her grandfather admonished. “I’ve been talking with Vittorio Rocco.”

  “What?” Chrissy said, surprised. Pandolfo Serafina would rather stick a knife in a Rocco than speak to him.


  “His nephew is near your age, and a hardworking man. Your type. Very respectable. I even understand he goes to church.”

  “That’s nice, but I fail to see what that has to do with me.”

  “Christina,” her father said, “we want you to meet him.”

  “Why?” Chrissy replied with suspicion in her voice. Matchmaking hadn’t happened in the family for at least two generations. It sounded like this was where these two were heading, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  “He has a full-time job,” her grandfather said. “He earns fifty grand a year. Substantial.”

  “Give the man a medal,” Chrissy responded sarcastically. She earned seventy grand, so fifty didn’t sound impressive to her.

  Her father cleared his throat, warning her to watch her tongue. “We think you’d be a good match.”

  “Excuse me?” she said cautiously. “Match, in what way?” This conversation had better not be heading where she was pretty sure it was going.

  “He’d be a good husband for you,” her grandfather said, staring her in the eyes, warning her not to talk back.

  Chrissy jumped from her chair. “Unacceptable! Not! Happening!” In her indignation, she stuttered one-word answers. She couldn’t believe this was happening. This was old-fashioned, patriarchal, ridiculous!

  As these words ran through her head, her grandfather shook his finger at her. “You’ll show respect, young lady.”

  “Or what?” she hissed. This was her life. They had no right thinking they could arrange a marriage or plan love.

  “Chrissy,” her father said tiredly. “Don’t go there.”

  “Don’t go there? Don’t go where?” she spat. “You’d whore me out to the Roccos because you men can’t manage your business affairs properly? What is it this time? Someone overstepped in the Roccos’ territory? Sold drugs on one of their street corners? Ran a numbers racket in one of their towns?”

  Now her father got to his feet, his complexion flushing with anger.

  “That’s enough, young lady!” he snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”