Frangio’s, a little Italian bistro in Long Beach, Long Island, was a place where someone with my complexion was not really welcome, no matter how nicely dressed. I would never have come here, except for the fact that this was where Vinnie Dash said he wanted to meet. I was there to speak to him on behalf of LC. With any luck, Vinnie would agree to talk to his father about joining forces in our fight with Alejandro. Unfortunately, it was starting to look like Vinnie was a no-show.
I was beginning to feel a little antsy. The guidos milling about weren’t making me feel all that welcome, and with all the drama happening, there was no use in tempting fate. If Vinnie wasn’t here in the next few minutes, I was leaving. I was picking up my phone to send him a text when suddenly I noticed someone at a table across the room. It was Sal Dash, the head of the family.
I hadn’t noticed him earlier, probably because he was without his signature suit. He was dressed simply in a golf shirt and a pair of slacks, looking nothing like the violent crime boss he was. He was sitting alone, eating a bowl of soup. I guess this was him in his environment, free from threats.
I knew this to be an illusion, though. Someone like Sal never traveled alone. From the look of the hulking goons seated at tables around him, he’d obviously come with protection. I was beginning to second-guess my own decision to arrive at the restaurant without security, especially with the news of Uncle Lou’s death still so fresh in my mind. Nevertheless, I was here now, and Sal had turned and looked me dead in the eye. There was no turning back.
As I approached his table, he dabbed his mouth with a napkin and gestured for me to take a seat. I remained standing.
“Where’s Vinnie?” I asked.
“Indisposed. Come. Sit down,” Sal said with a grin. Actually, it was more like a smirk—the same arrogant look I remembered from our first meeting, all those years ago at Georgetown. “You don’t like meeting with me, do you?” Sal said when I declined to sit for a second time. “Not many get to break bread with a man like me on a regular basis. You’re lucky, son. Soon the Dashes are going to have a seat on the commission, and then there will no longer be five families running New York, but six.”
“I’m not your son.” I felt my blood pressure rising as I realized that I’d been set up. Vinnie had never intended to meet me here. It was Sal all along.
My phone began to vibrate on my hip. I checked it quickly, then hit IGNORE. It was London, but she’d have to wait until my impromptu meeting with Sal was over. As much as I hated being in this man’s presence, I was there to do a job for LC. It was not going to be easy to convince Sal to join forces against Alejandro, and I didn’t need any distractions making it even harder.
Sal rose up out of his chair. If I wouldn’t sit, then he would stand up to meet me face-to-face. “No, you’re not my son,” he hissed. He was close enough that I could smell the minestrone on his breath. “But you are my brother’s bastard son, which makes you a part of my family. In my world, we treat even our nephews like sons.” His words spoke of family bonds, but his expression revealed the truth: it pained him to think that his family’s blood was running through my veins beneath my black skin. The feeling was mutual.
“That man fucked my mother and left her with a child. He is a coward, not a father, and I am not part of your family.”
He laughed. “Oh, you have it so wrong, Harris. He loved your mother. He was going to leave his life—this life—for her.” He shook his head. “We can fuck niggers, but we can never really be with them. I tried to explain it to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He would have shamed my family. He had to be taken care of.”