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“Where’d you learn to do this?”
“Sergio,” he said. “The guy that owns the bakery? My Capo was in his crew back in the day, and I help him out sometimes. He showed me how to cook a few dishes, you know, made me dinner and made me stand around and learn while he did it.”
“Sounds like an interesting guy,” I said, my voice flat.
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “I hear a lot of stories about that crew, you know, about the old days. They got into a lot of trouble back then.”
“I’m not really interested.”
“You’ve made that pretty clear,” he said, but the smile didn’t slip from his lips. “Not that I mind, though.”
I ate the chicken in silence. He picked at his food, ate half the pasta, sipped his wine, and watched me. It was a little disconcerting, a little uncomfortable, but I forced myself to ignore him.
He was looking for a reaction. I wasn’t going to give it to him.
“What makes you hate mafia guys so much?” he asked. “One just made you a very rich girl.”
“You know who my dad was?” I asked.
“All I know is he was the Don’s brother,” he said and put his wine glass down. “But I’m guessing he’s gone now.”
“Got killed when I was a little girl,” I said, staring at my plate, picking at the remnants of the chicken. “One day he went out to work, I didn’t know what he did back then, but he didn’t come home. Ended up shot in some alley.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Luca said.
“Broke my mom,” I said. “Really messed her up. The rest of her family’s in the mafia too, out in Chicago, really powerful people. I guess they tried to bring her home for a while after it happened, but she refused, kept telling me that all the men in the mob are broken, that life just leads to death and misery. I guess she couldn’t handle it anymore, and she had some really rough years.”
“I can see why you’d hold it against us then,” he said.
“No, you can’t,” I said. “To you, a mafia guy getting killed is just part of the game. But to me and my mother, it meant losing a father and a husband. It broke her for a while, and I think she’s still picking up the pieces.” I dropped my fork with a clatter and pushed back from the table, anger pouring through my chest. I couldn’t help myself, the memory of my mother back then spiked through me, and I hated him, god, I hated him so much.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Upstairs,” I said, picking up my wine glass.
“I’m glad you joined me for dinner,” he said. “Maybe we can do it again.”
I stared at him. “This isn’t a game,” I said. “This isn’t some joke. I don’t want to be here. Getting trapped in this house by my uncle, getting this stupid fortune handed to me that I don’t even want, this is a nightmare for me. Do you even get it?”
He nodded, his eyes on mine like liquid fire.
“I get it,” he said, his voice gentle. “But it’s not my job to make this easy on you. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”
I let out a hard laugh. “You’re doing a great job, leaving guns lying around.”
A hint of anger flitted across his expression.
“Run on upstairs, little girl,” he said. “You can throw your tantrum up there. Maybe even move that bookcase in front of the door again.”
I glared at him, jaw tight. I wanted to throw the wine in his face almost as bad as I wanted to throw it down my throat.
I turned away. “Thanks for the food,” I said, and left the kitchen.
He didn’t speak as I stormed through the living room, up the steps, and back into my room. I slammed the door and locked it.
I stood with my back against the wall, breathing hard, before taking three deep chugs of the wine, finishing it off. It felt warm and heavy in my stomach, and for a second, I thought I might get sick.
Instead, I climbed into the strange bed, pulled the strange covers over my head, and buried into the strange, scratchy sheets with their odd storage-room smell and their faded floral pattern.5LucaThat night I couldn’t bring myself to climb the stairs and find a bed, so I camped out on the couch. It wasn’t too bad, but in the morning my legs were cramped and my back ached from lying on a bundled-up blanket for half the night.
I got up and checked on Clair’s room. The door was shut and I thought I could hear soft snoring from inside when I pressed my ear against it. I headed back downstairs, made some coffee in an old crusty black drip maker, and leaned up against the wall to contemplate my goddamn life.
