Saks’ Sunday Dinner
“Don’t you have a place to be?” His cousin, John Rocco, bartender of the Red Bull, slid a beer toward Saks with his eyebrows arched.
Saks sat at the bar of the Red Bull, which was a second home to him. Even the new clubhouse of the Hades Spawn didn’t hold the memories of the Red Bull. He flicked his eyes up to the rafters of the bar where brightly colored bras hung, evidence of the watering hole’s rambunctious reputation.
“Yeah. Sunday dinner.”
“So?” said John.
Saks shrugged. “So?”
“Aren’t you going to be late?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, dinner is served twenty-four-seven at my mom’s house.”
John gave him a “you’re-not-getting-the-point” glance and turned to another customer.
Of course, Saks got the point. It was about respect. Uncle Vits, the head of the Rocco family, was going to be there. One did not disrespect the man by showing up late.
But there was something about this day that put Sakes on guard. Part of it was the way his mother insisted that he show up rather than “hang around with that gang of yours.” Another was how John made a big deal about Saks being here instead of his parent’s house. He didn’t know what was going on.
It’s not that he didn’t love his family. But the fact was he was more than wary of the organized crime aspect of it. He wasn’t drawn to their activities, like so many of his other cousins, and he didn’t want to make his life around it either. He’d seen too many of his uncles or cousins incarcerated for family crimes taking their jail time as a badge of honor. He didn’t think it was either smart or honorable to be involved in illegal activities. His mother backed him on this against his uncle, or rather granduncle, and made sure that Saks’ father didn’t drag him into the family business.
As a result, Saks lived as an outsider in his own family. Conversations stopped when he entered the room. He didn’t hang out with his cousins.
Which was why the Hades Spawn was so important to him.
Well, that, and riding bikes.
Those two things, plus working for Luke Wade, owner of Central Valley Bike Repair, as a motorcycle mechanic made up his life. Unfortunately, his life didn’t include a steady girlfriend, which was why he was sitting here at noon on Sunday in a motorcycle hangout bar, killing time.
“Hello.”
A pretty brunette slid onto the stool next to him. Her too tight tee that was cut at the midriff advertised what she was looking for.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” said the brunette with a flash of extra-white teeth.
Saks almost chuckled. “Then you haven’t been here often enough,” he said
“Buy a girl a drink?” she said.
She didn’t even wait to be offered one. Saks didn’t like brazen women like this and he could guess what was going to happen next. And it did. She slid her hand on thigh inching her way to his inner leg.
“Which bike out there is yours?” she purred. “I’d love to have a ride.”
Of course she would. And she wasn’t thinking about riding his bike either.
“John, give the lady here what she wants-on me,” said Saks. He then twisted away on the stool.
“You’re leaving?” she said in bewilderment.
“I have a family thing. Sorry. Another time.” Like no time ever. When he was younger and more impulsive, he would have taken the woman to bed in a heartbeat. But now he was growing older bedding anonymous women lost its shine. At Luke and Emily’s wedding that he got an inkling he wanted what they had. Seeing the looks of utter love they gave each other, and watching over these past two years how they stood together against every challenge, he came to realize what he wanted that. Lover. Partner. Best friend.
That would not be this woman, who could be had for the price of a beer and a motorcycle ride.
“See you around,” said the woman.
“Sure,” said Saks.
Walking away from that woman ease the queasiness in his stomach she elicited. The rumble of his bike’s engine shook away the sleazy feeling that clung to him from the woman’s touch. Pushing out on the highway eased his mind. His engine sang a song to him, a serenade created from the precision action of pistons perfectly timed to send its life’s blood through the engine. Though he drove on blacktop, he felt connected to the earth, wheels on road, sliding seamlessly toward his destination. If it weren’t for his roiling thoughts about the family dinner, he would be perfectly at peace.
***
“Anthony!” said his mother as Saks entered the kitchen door. “Finally you are here. Your Uncle Vits was going crazy thinking you weren’t going to show.”
Saks kissed his mother on the cheek and took in the familiar Italian restaurant smells of his mother’s kitchen. Sauce was bubbling on the stove, and fresh baked Italian bread sat sliced on the table. He reached for a slice but his mother slapped his hand away.
“Of course, I’m here for Sunday dinner. I always am, aren’t I? And why is he so anxious today?”
“Here,” his mother said as she handed him a platter of fried calamari, “take this to the table.”
“Don’t you need some help?” he said studying her face. Her bright brown eyes were more lined than usual, and her face seemed drained of color. “You’re looking tired, Ma. You should sit down.”
“Sush!” she said waving him away. “Terri is helping me.”
“Where is my sister?”
“Here I am, Anthony,” said Terri. She stood at the top of the basement stair with a long flat tray in her hands. On the tray were freshly made ravioli ready to be cooked.
Saks set down the calamari on the kitchen table.
“Let me help you,” he said.
Terri rolled her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a tray, thank you very much.”
“Sorry,” said Saks sarcastically, “for trying to be a gentleman.”
Terri stuck her tongue at him while she walked past.
“Take off that jacket,” his mother said. Her voice was full of disapproval as she eyed his Hades Spawn leather. “Your uncle will have a fit if he sees it.”
Saks shrugged off the cut and hung it carefully on a kitchen chair. “He’s good with the club, Mom,” he said.
“No,” she said. “He tolerates it for your sake.” She stared at distaste the club’s patch, a skull over a pair of wings. His mothered fingered the leather pulling the front of the jacket closer for her to see. “And what is this? Saks?”
“I’ve told you before. That’s my club name.”
“And why do they call you Saks?”
“Because, mom,” said Terri setting the ravioli tray on the counter, “Look at him. Khakis? White button down? He dresses better than the rest of them, like Saks of Fifth Avenue? Get it.”
His mother rolled her dark eyes again.
“Named after a store. What is wrong with those people?”
“Those people,” said Saks, “are my friends.” He scooped up a piece of fried calamari and scarfed it down.
“Hey,” protested Terri. Saks grinned at her.
“That’s for the table,” said his mother. “And take it now before it gets cold.”
“You need to sit.”
“I’ll sit after I cook the ravioli.”
“I’ll do it, ma,” said Terri. “Go sit down with dinner. The water boiling is now. It will take five minutes.”
Marie Parks grumbled, but she picked up the basket of bread. Saks walked behind her into the dining room where the curtains were drawn tight giving the room a gloomy air. Any other day they would be pulled apart letting the sun in, but today Uncle Vits was visiting.
Uncle Vits sat at the head of the table facing the kitchen while Saks’ father stood pouring a glass of wine. The elderly man sat hunched in the chair. He was shorter than most men, a had a rounded belly that led him to play Santa at Christmas for the family. But his sharp, predatory blue eyes commanded the room, giving the distinct impression that anyone that crossed him would feel his wrath.
Vito Rocco was in fact his granduncle, not his uncle which is why Saks’ last name was the very Anglo-Saxon name of Parks. Saks’ father, Carmello “Whit” Parks, half-Italian from his mother’s side, married into the Rocco family by taking Maria Rocco as his wife. His actual grandfather, long since passed was what they euphemistically called “an associate” of Uncle Vits who was “capo” or boss of a good slice of Connecticut. Much of the rest was under the control of their bitter rivals, the Serafini.
“Anthony,” said Uncle Vits, “good to see you. Sit. Sit.”
Sakes resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was normal for Vits to act like he was the king in everyone else’s house. Saks never understood why other people put up with it, but no one questioned Vito Rocco.
But another thing that was strange about this gathering was that only Vits, not any other member of the extended family sat at the long table. This was more than unusual. It was suspicious. What was going on?
Saks’ father poured him a glass of wine as his mother took her place at the head of the table. Terri walked in with the bowl of ravioli. With a spoon she ladled over generous portions to Uncle Vits, her father, her mother and then Saks.
“Hand me that gravy, there, Anthony,” said Vits. “And the bread too.”
Like many old Italians Vits called tomato sauce gravy. Saks reached over the large salad, the bowl of meatballs, and another of sausage and peppers to grab both items and passed them to his granduncle.
“Grace,” reminded his mother. “Anthony, please.”
Saks never knew why his mother always chose him to say grace except for maybe she had hoped he would become a priest. Her hope died, however, when Saks refused to go to the seminary college she wanted him to attend. But to get dinner going he made the sign of the cross and the others followed.
“Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts which come from your bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” all at the table affirmed.
Vits laced the ravioli with sauce and took a bite.
“Perfect, Maria, perfect as always. Just like my sainted mother’s.”
Saks’ mother smiled at the compliment.
“Thank you, Uncle Vits.”
“And Anthony,” said Vits, “how are things for you, eh?”
“Everything’s fine,” said Saks noncommittally.
“You getting out and having fun?”
“I hang out with my club.”
“Yes,” hissed Vits. “Your familia not good enough for you, eh? But you spend time with that motorcycle club, where Icherra’s nephew—”
Vits was referring to Luke, whose uncle, Raymondo Icherra was a Mexican drug lord. But Luke, like Saks, eschewed his criminal family.
“Now, Uncle Vits,” chided Terri gently. “This is a nice family gathering, right? Anthony likes his friends.”
Vits always had a soft spot for Terri, who he often said was the spitting image of his mother. For this reason she could say things to him that others couldn’t.
“Yes, yes,” he said waving his hands as if to breeze away his rancorous comments. “A nice family gathering. Sorry.” Without a breath he continued the conversation, “So, have you thought about marriage, Anthony?”
“Of course I’ve thought about it. But I haven’t found the right girl.”
“So you aren’t dating anyone serious?”
“No,” said Saks slowly wondering where this intrusive conversation was leading.
“Well, good. There’s nice young woman I’d like you to meet. Very pretty. And smart. Very smart. You like that I know.”
“Thanks, Uncle Vits, but I can get my own dates.”
“No. You don’t understand, Anthony. I think she’d make a good wife for you.”
Vits spoke with the authority of a Capo, a boss, and Saks looked around at his family’s faces. Terri smirked, her mother smiled and his father looked off innocently to the side. But his father, his mother and his sister were no innocents. They were all part of this conspiracy.
“Wife?” said Saks, his voice rising. “Wife? What have you done, Uncle Vits?”
The capo stared at his fingernails.
“Nothing. Not much. Just made a little proposal to the Serafini.”
“What!” said Saks jumping to his feet as cold fear rushed through him. “The Serafini? Our rivals?”
“Sit down, Anthony,” said Vits dismissively. “It will be good. Good for you. Good for her. Good for business.”
Saks sank to his chair under the weight of this mother and father’s disapproving glares and knew there was only one thing that was good about this. He was good and fucked.
~ End of Excerpt ~
Hades’ Spawn Motorcycle Club Series
One You Can’t Forget
Book 1
One That Got Away
Book 2
One That Came Back
Book 3
One You Never Leave
Book 4
One Christmas Night
**Christmas Novella**
Book 5
