Looking back at my mother, I felt nothing.
“Mrs. Stevens!” Olivia protested, pulling me back toward her, enveloping me in a protective embrace. “Your daughter is going through a very difficult time!”
“Out of my house! Both of you! I only have one daughter.”
I laughed at the statement. It had never been news, she simply never stated it so bluntly.
“Mrs. Stevens—”
“It's no use, Olivia. IfIwere shot, my mother would ask if Savannah was okay. This is nothing new.”
Mother said nothing more and my spoiled thirteen-year-old sister just stared at me with a resentful expression.
When I left that house with Olivia, I left something behind that I no longer needed.
Back in the car of the woman who had once been my tormentor, I gave her Aunt Lizzie's address. Olivia didn't make a single commentabout my family or Lester, perhaps because she understood that nothing could be added in those situations. And I was grateful to her for that.
I was grateful to her for being there when no one else was.
Chapter 6
Camillo Vicari
August, 2013
28 years old
Castello dell’Fiero, Calabria, Italy
Twelve years ago
The liquirizia slid down my tongue. Thick, bitter. I set down the empty glass, watching the cold condensation drip and soak onto the mahogany table. The men of my famiglia carried on discussing the latest shipment of diamonds, filling the air in front of me with tobacco smoke and the silhouette of hands gesturing and refilling glasses. I, however, was focused on another matter.
Tucked away in the left pocket of my pants was a small burgundy box, containing a five-carat oval diamond ring. In my chest, anxiety tingled persistently. I was going to ask the woman I loved to marry me that very night, during dinner. It wouldbe a small party just for the famiglia, because I wanted it to be special, intimate, perfect, just the way Valentina liked it.
Sighing, I answered a question mechanically, without paying much attention to the subject. I was about to take the most important step of my life, with the woman of my life.
Valentina Messina was a dream made flesh. She was brilliant, proud, determined, and she was beautiful.Madonna, she made other women envious and stole compliments from every man. From the full lips to the black, thick-lashed eyes, from the long, shapely legs to the generous breasts, from the fair skin to the brown curls that began at the crown of her head and fell all the way to her waist, there was nothing in her that lacked beauty.
She was an extraordinary woman. And she would be all mine.
“And you, ragazzo?” The pat on my hand caught my attention. I saw Zio Ricardo's round, ruddy face staring at mine. “Ready to break yourmamma’s heart?”
Everyone laughed, myself included. “Ah, Zio... I wish it were different.”
“Blame thismascalzone!” Zio Ricardo joked, smacking my father lightly on the back of the head, who gave him a knowing, mischievous look. “He married a Polish woman, and now you and your brother are the ones paying for it.”
My brother Mario and I exchanged a smile. We knew exactly what our uncle meant. Our Mamusia hated Valentina from the very beginning. We all knew it was because I was the youngest in the famiglia, her favorite child, even if she swore it was just her mother's instincts warning her. Her disapproval ran so deepthat she even used the famiglia’sbusiness resources to dig into my girlfriend's past, hoping to find something that could change my mind.
She was unsuccessful, of course.
“If I hadn’t found this Polish mother who now gives them a hard time, they wouldn't have their height, or those green eyes.” My father pointed out with a pride that always amused me, puffing on his cigar.
My uncle, on the other hand, placed a theatrical hand on his chest, making the thick gold bracelet on his wrist sway. “You dare call your own flesh and bloodshorties?”
Nonno burst out laughing, while my uncle continued with his act, adding a fake sob, and my father rolled his eyes.
“Shorties, dwarfs, goat droppings...” my father listed, and my brother and I had no choice but to join in my grandfather's laughter. “When I saw that beautiful red-haired Polish woman, I swore I’d spend the rest of my life climbing on a stool, but my children would not inherit these cursed genes.”
