The Price of Honor: The Making of a Man Read online

“My Angelina said you wanted to speak to me. Yet you’re not speaking.”

  The large man behind me joined Carmine in laughing softly in amusement of his joke.

  I sat forward and forgetting all my preparation, blurted out my intentions. “Sir, I’d like to ask you for Angelina’s hand in marriage.”

  He nodded slowly as my intent hung in the air. Finally, he leaned forward and said, “Then do it, son. Ask.”

  It’s a strange sensation as the blood that is necessary for life suddenly drains from your face, shooting to your feet. Perhaps that’s why they call it lightheaded. How much does blood weigh?

  “Mr. Costello, may I have your permission to marry Angelina?”

  “Have you spoken to my niece about this?”

  I’d anticipated this question. It’s one that someday I plan to ask when a young man asks for our daughter’s hand—assuming we have a daughter. The question was double-edged. If I didn’t talk to Angelina, I wasn’t showing her the respect she deserved in taking part in this marriage. After all, we weren’t back in the old country. Marriages weren’t arranged by families to unite land. Angelina was a strong, independent woman. However, if I had discussed it with Angelina, and we’d already decided that marriage was in our future, why was I bothering her uncle? Would I not be disrespecting him?

  I hoped my answer was adequate. “Angelina knows that I love her. I do. She’s said she feels the same. We have talked about spending our lives together; however, I have not asked her to marry me, not without your permission.”

  “You know my Angelina?”

  “Yes,” I answered his odd question skeptically.

  “She’s a Costello.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me why you love her.”

  If this were a numbers game, he was asking me to double down. “Have you met Angelina?” I replied with a grin.

  Carmine’s smile grew. “Go on.”

  “I met your niece nearly ten years ago. A day hasn’t passed that I haven’t thought of her. I knew without a doubt that I didn’t deserve her. Though I never questioned that fact, I never forgot her. When we ran into one another for the first time since college, she asked me if I was still afraid of her.”

  “And you said...?” he prompted.

  “Without a doubt—terrified.”

  The grin I’d welcomed on Carmine Costello’s face exploded as the room filled with his laughter. “Tell me, Oren Demetri, what else scares you.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing else matters without Angelina. I make deals and alliances. I make money and lose it. My life is insignificant without Angelina beside me forever.”

  “And if I say yes, if I give you my blessing...then what will scare you?”

  “In all honesty, sir, everything.”

  Carmine nodded again. “You will love her?”

  “With my whole heart.”

  “Protect her?”

  “With my life.”

  “Give her all her heart’s desires?”

  “To the best of my ability.”

  His tone sobered. “Make sacrifices for her?”

  “I’ll do whatever is within my means. As you know, I have no family—”

  “You marry my niece and you do. You don’t marry only her. You marry all of us.”

  As much as that should have petrified me, it didn’t. I missed my parents. I missed the sense of belonging. It never happened in business. I was the employee or the employer. It wasn’t the same.

  “If you’ll give me your blessing, I’d be honored to be family.”

  That night, as Carmine Costello and I left his office, my future was set.

  The long paneled hallway echoed with our footsteps against the polished wood floor. As we entered the sitting room, Mrs. Costello and Angelina stood, their expressions questioning.

  Finally, Angelina spoke, “Zio?”

  “Go,” he said, “go with Oren.” He looked my way. “I know her age. I was at the hospital when she was born. I still want her home before midnight.”

  “Zio!”

  Mrs. Costello hugged Angelina and kissed her cheek. “Have fun.”

  As I took her hand in mine and we descended the steps of their brownstone, I decided where we were going. “How about dinner?” I asked once we were in my car.

  “Oren! Tell me what he said.”

  “No, mio angelo, patience. First, dinner.”

  As a rule, I’m not a gambling man. Purchasing an engagement ring before I had Carmine’s blessing was wrong. A part of me worried he’d know. I wasn’t sure how, but I suspected it was possible. However, now that I had his permission, being without a ring also seemed wrong.

  I parked behind the small Italian restaurant, in a parking lot off an alley. Not everyone knew the lot was even there. It was for Giovanni’s honored guests. As the escort of Angelina Costello, I qualified.

  The aroma of garlic hung in the air, waking hunger I’d forgotten while with Carmine. I hadn’t called ahead, but the hostess recognized us immediately, taking us beyond the main dining room to a secluded table near a corner. We both could sit facing not only one another, but the rest of the room. I’d learned years ago that I didn’t want to be the one with my back toward the rest of the room. It was essentially the same as the red shirt, a sign of weakness, willingly accepting the unknown danger. For Angelina, I’d face any danger, but for her protection, knowing my surroundings was more important.

  After we were seated, I stood, kissing Angelina’s cheek. “Excuse me, mio angelo, my pager. I have a call to make.”

  The twinkle from moments ago disappeared. “Please hurry.”

  “Sì.”

  My pager hadn’t alerted me. Instead, I’d slipped away to make an important phone call. The recipient was the owner of a well-known jewelry store within the Costello limits. Excusing myself, I called from the payphone in the back of the restaurant.

  A little while later, I once again sat opposite her, two glasses of red wine and a flickering candle between us. I reached across the table and took her hand. Warm and petite, it fit perfectly within mine.

  “Are you ever going to tell me what Uncle Carmine said?” she quipped, her lips quirking in expectation.

  “He told me that he loves you.”

  Her smirky grin softened. “I know he does.”

  “He offered to kill me if I hurt you.”

  “I think it might be Vincent who’d actually do it.”

  I shook my head, wishing that her words were said in jest. “That’s good to know.” I kissed her hand once more and swallowed. “I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you at NYU.”

  “Oren.”

  “Please, let me say this?”

  Angelina’s eyes glistened as she nodded.

  “And yes, you frightened me—you still do. Not because of your name. Not because of your uncle or your cousin. You scare me because I don’t want to ever disappoint you. I want to be the man who’s worthy of your love. I want to wake each morning knowing that you’re safe beside me and go to sleep every night the same way. I want to give you everything you deserve, everything we’ve both lost.”

  Her head tilted.

  “Mio angelo, I know that you have a family, but I want to make a new family with you and me. Together. I want us to have what was stolen from both of us. This time we’ll be the parents. This time we’ll make the safe, loving home. If we need a fortress, I’ll build it. Please, Angelina Costello, will you be my wife?”

  We were virtually alone. Even those who were near disappeared. A tear trickled from her eye as she nodded, her smile growing by the second. In nearly a year—make that almost ten years—I’d never known Angelina to be speechless, and her current inability to respond had me on edge.

  Had I gone about this wrong? Should I have asked her before Carmine?

  Finally, she spoke, “I-I knew that was what you were talking to Uncle Carmine about, but that’s not the same as hearing you propose.
”

  My cheeks rose at the sound of her voice. One hand still holding hers, I wiped the tear from her cheek with the pad of my thumb on my other hand. “And that’s not the same as an answer.”

  Her grip tightened. “You weren’t on your knee.”

  I tilted my head as I digested her words. “You’re right. Not because you don’t deserve it.” I started to move from my chair, but her grasp of my hand stopped me.

  “I love you,” she said. “I’ll be honored to marry you. I don’t need a proposal on one knee.”

  “I’ll bend a knee to you every day or night for the rest of our lives.” Pulling her hand toward me until it was against my chest, our lips united. “Thank you for saying yes.”

  The fingers of her other hand splayed over the buttons of my shirt. It was unbuttoned at the collar, my tie from earlier removed. My suit coat hung from my shoulders, also unbuttoned.

  Slowly her gaze went from her hand upward until it reached my eyes. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”

  “It’s better than not beating.”

  “Don’t ever say that, Oren. I know what it means to marry me. You can say you aren’t afraid of my name, but you’d be a fool not to be. I’ve lived with it all my life. Women are supposed to be sheltered and protected. We aren’t supposed to know what’s really happening. There was a time when I was like that, I suppose.”

  I lifted her hand until all our fingers intertwined. “Until...”

  “Until I wasn’t. It’s difficult for others to hide the reality that your parents are gone.”

  “I want you to be like that again—sheltered.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s possible. Once you know, you can never not know.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents.”

  “And I’m sorry about yours. Life is full of tragedies. That’s not what I want to think about. It’s just that I’m so thankful that you’re willing to enter this world for me. I love you. I really do. I think I have since NYU.”

  “You think?”

  Pink fills her cheek. “You were so handsome.”

  “Was? Come now, Angelina, you’re wounding me.”

  “Oren, you are still the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. Back then, all the girls noticed you. We’d watch you.”

  “I never noticed any other girls, no one other than you.”

  As we leaned in for another kiss, Giovanni, the owner of the restaurant, approached with a bottle of champagne. “On the house,” he said. The cork popped with a mini explosion of bubbly combined with our laughter. “May I be the first to congratulate...?” He leaned toward Angelina. “...the future Mrs. Demetri.” And then to me. “You’re a very lucky man.”

  Or stupid.

  I saw the alternative in his eyes. Nevertheless, I’d stick with lucky.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Once both of our glasses were filled, Giovanni produced another and poured himself a small amount. Lifting his glass toward us, he proposed, “Tanti auguri! To a long life of love and happiness.”

  It is unlucky to propose a toast and not drink. It was why he had the third glass. I could contemplate how he knew. Perhaps he saw me propose. Then again, I hadn’t fallen to my knee. Maybe Carmine had alerted him. Of course, that would mean he was watching us, knowing where we were. Instead, I simply accepted the man’s gift and well-wishes.

  Once our food arrived and we were alone, Angelina asked, “Uncle Carmine didn’t really threaten you, did he?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “My uncle doesn’t beat around the bush. If he threatens you, you would have heard the words.”

  “According to you, I should be more concerned with Vincent?”

  She laughed. “Vinny is like my brother. I love him. I worry about him. He’s already too experienced with the law.”

  Her cousin had been arrested more than once. Like his father, who tended to avoid the back of police cars, in Vinny’s many arrests, he’d yet to be convicted.

  After we finished a delicious dinner and were shooed from the premises without a check to pay, I laid a hundred dollar bill on the table and led Angelina to the car. Once inside, I told her that I had a surprise.

  Her eyebrows danced. “At your place?”

  I had a respectable brownstone in Brooklyn. It was all part of the making me worthy plan.

  “That wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  With a smile, I drove us out of Little Italy. As we progressed, the number of people on the sidewalks decreased. Now we were venturing into an area of the city that bustled during the day, and became a ghost town after nightfall. It was late and the shops were closed. The inhabitants were elsewhere, in restaurants, bars, or locked away safe in their homes. Where I was taking Angelina wasn’t one of the biggest and brightest jewelry stores in Manhattan, but I knew the owner. He knew me. I would be treated right. More importantly, Angelina would be treated well. Parking on the street, we walked hand in hand to the front of the dark store. The brisk wind howled between the buildings, whistling through the now-dark sky. One knock on the front door covered with an iron gate and the lights within came to life.

  “Oren?” Angelina said as the excitement showed in her eyes. “Did you call ahead?”

  “My only business tonight is you.”

  “That phone call before?”

  I nodded.

  “But you hadn’t asked me yet.”

  “Not you, but I had permission and hope.” I kissed her cool cheek. “I didn’t bend a knee. And I didn’t have a ring. And yet you said yes.”

  “I’ll always say yes.”

  As the mechanisms in the door clicked, I explained, “I wanted you to have a choice in your ring. After all, it’s something you’ll wear every day from tonight until forever.”

  Her hand within mine trembled with excitement as the door opened, and the gate was moved to the side.

  “Mr. Demetri! Welcome,” Anthony said as he gestured for us to come inside. Once within, he reached for Angelina’s hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. “Congratulations, Miss Costello. I’m honored to have you here at my store.”

  “Thank you, Anthony. I had no idea Oren had this planned.”

  Our community may appear large from the outside, but Angelina had been a part of it for her entire life. There were few people she didn’t know or who didn’t know her.

  Letting go of my fiancée’s hand, Anthony closed the gate and locked the front door. The cases shimmered, some of the displays empty while others still held their merchandise. Once we were secured within, he led us toward the back of the store, past displays, and beyond what other customers saw. “Come to my office. I have a nice selection. The best of my best. I hope there will be one you will like—one that is perfect for Angelina Demetri.”

  I liked hearing her future name said aloud.

  When I’d called earlier in the night, I’d asked Anthony for his best: his highest quality rings. I told him no price tags. I didn’t want Angelina to consider cost. If he had one that she liked and it fit her, we’d leave tonight with the ring on her finger. If her choice didn’t fit, he’d size it, and I would pick it up the next morning. No money would exchange hands in front of my Angelina.

  Willingly and without question, Anthony agreed.

  In reality, he was probably missing dinner with his wife or drinks with his mistress due to my call. I didn’t care. It wasn’t my concern. The stunning, blue-eyed beauty holding my hand was.

  Once we were seated, Anthony laid a black velvet covering over his desk under the bright illumination and then brought out the most gorgeous diamond rings I’d ever seen. Truly, jewelry wasn’t my forte, but quality was. Each stone shimmered, sending prisms like rainbows reflecting in Angelina’s eyes.

  Anthony explained the different cuts, sharing his eyepiece to allow Angelina to see inside the stones. One by one, she inspected each diamond and each ring. Each time she held one between her fingers, she’d look from it to me.

  “It�
�s your decision,” I said reassuringly.

  “But, Oren, they’re too much.”

  “Nothing is too much for you.”

  Her head shook, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders as she continued her assessment. The bands were primarily yellow gold, with a few in white gold and others in platinum.

  “If you prefer one stone on another band,” Anthony said, “I can do what you want.”

  “What you want,” I repeated.

  Over an hour later, we left with Anthony’s promise to have the 4.01-carat European-cut diamond ring sized for my fiancée’s finger by tomorrow. The platinum band was exactly what she wanted, but it was currently a bit too large.

  On the nearly empty street Angelina huddled near my shoulder as we walked hand in hand to my car.

  “To your place?” Angelina whispered suggestively.

  I removed my suit jacket and placed it over her shivering shoulders. “It’s after eleven.”

  “Uncle Carmine didn’t mean what he said. I’m a grown woman.”

  If there was one thing I could be certain of, it was that I would take Carmine Costello at his word. I kissed Angelina’s forehead as she faced me, and our gazes met. “You are definitely a grown woman, and I’m a damn lucky man.”

  “Yes, Oren Demetri, you are. That’s what Giovanni said.”

  “He was right. Why do you think I’m lucky?”

  “Besides my being grown, you’re lucky because I’m yours. And I’m lucky too. I was afraid that while I was in Italy, some woman would snatch you up. I may have even asked Vinny to check once or twice for me.”

  I shook my head. “Mio angelo, there has never been another woman.”

  On the nearly empty sidewalk, our lips met. Sensual and warm, her petite body melted against mine as her arms encircled my waist. We’d been dating for nearly a year; we’d made love. Each time was like our first but better with the knowledge that we were accumulating about one another.

  With everything in me, I wanted to make love to her again and consummate our engagement. I longed to see her skin, removing the dress with the neckline that had been teasing me all night. My hand splayed over the small of her back—between my jacket and her dress—as I pulled her waist toward me and her breasts against my chest. My heart rate once again raced as our kiss deepened, and I imagined her warmth beneath me as we joined as one. Behind my now-closed eyes, I recalled the heavenly way she boldly took me inside her, her body holding tight until the friction and desire overwhelmed us, and we both gave in to the inevitable pleasure.