Sally Boy by P. Vincent DeMartino Read Free Book Online

Scalise. Checking his watch for the fourth
time in as many minutes, he spied an approaching group of five.
Seeing the youngest boy’s face made Peter’s lips curl up into a
smile.
    Even after all the years, he recognized his
son’s face from an old photo enclosed in one of the numerous
letters he had received from Marie many years ago. Only
three-years-old when the photograph was taken, Salvatore’s big,
brown, gorgeous eyes were easily recognizable, even in this massive
crowd.
    Though Peter never responded to any of
Marie’s correspondence, he curiously kept all of her letters and
photographs to remind him of what he had sacrificed to honor his
blood oath to Don Bruno and La Cosa Nostra.
    Now a mature man of twenty-eight, Peter
Scalise was svelte but muscular, with a head of perfectly styled,
thick black hair. Possessing piercing brown eyes and smooth, tanned
skin, Peter also had a strong jawline, a regal nose, and a dazzling
smile. His well-manicured fingernails complemented the gleam of his
diamond rings and the flash of his gold watch. Peter’s dapper
ensemble consisted of a custom-made gray cashmere suit, a matching
silk shirt, and tie, all sharply drawn together by a pair of grey,
Italian leather shoes.
    There was dignity to his manner and Peter
carried himself with a quiet confidence befitting a “made man” in
the Brooklyn crime family. With his style and good-looks, Peter
could have easily been mistaken for a movie star.
    Flicking his cigarette away, Peter made his
way toward the group. Aware that no one spoke English, he politely
addressed the older gentleman out in front of the procession in
Italian.
    “Hello. You must be Signore Zeoli? I am
Peter Scalise. Salvatore’s grandparents wired me that you would be
bringing my son home to me.” They shook hands like two men forced
to: Peter’s too-tight grip was met by a reluctant, limp hand from
Zeoli.
    “Hello, Signore Scalise. I am Vincenzo
Zeoli. This is my wife, Helen.”
    After ogling Helen for several moments,
Peter offered her his hand. “Hello, Signora Zeoli. It’s very nice
to meet you.”
    “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Signore
Scalise.” Helen smiled as she shook Peter’s hand.
    “I hope you had a good trip?” Peter asked
cordially.
    “Yes, the journey was very nice. Thank
you.”
    “I hope the boy wasn’t too much
trouble?”
    Helen gazed sweetly at Salvatore. “None at
all, Salvatore’s a wonderful, polite, handsome young man.”
    “Well, he does take after his father,” Peter
boasted, smiling smugly.
    Noting Peter’s appreciation for his wife,
Zeoli tactfully stepped between them. “Signore Scalise, I would
like you to meet my children. This is my oldest son, Vincenzo Jr.,
and this is Michael.”
    “Hello.” Peter politely shook their hands.
Shifting his focus from the group to the angst-ridden little boy
clinging to Zeoli’s pant leg, Peter continued, “And this must be my
son.”
    Salvatore slid behind Zeoli’s leg and used
it as if it were a shield to ward off the unsettling stranger.
Bending over and reaching around Zeoli’s leg, Peter almost had to
wrestle his son out from behind it. “Come here, you little monkey!”
Peter playfully scooped up his son and kissed his cheek.
Salvatore’s body was stiff, and he slowly kicked his feet in
protest until Peter set him firmly back on the ground.
    “I want to thank you, Signore Zeoli, for
watching after my son.” Reaching into his pocket, Peter pulled out
a roll of bills. “I would like to give you something for your
trouble.”
    Stepping back and raising his hands palms
forward as if insulted, Zeoli insisted, “No! I will not accept any
money from you.”
    “Why? This is how we show appreciation in
America for someone who does something nice for them.”
    “I did not do this for you, Signore Scalise!
I did this for my good friend, Dominick Cogassi.”
    Confirming that the insult had hit its mark,
Peter pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “I see.” Returning