“Nonna, you didn’t see me on the camera. I knocked. Where is your phone?”
Nonna waves her hand dismissively. “You know I don’t like that little box thing. Technology is too much for me.” She eyes me up and down. “You look pale. Are you sick?”
“No, Nonna. I’m fine.” I take a step back and take in her long black cardigan that clothes her thin frame. Her white hair is pulled into a bun beneath a large straw hat.
“You’ve lost too much weight since you got shot. Come inside. I have some soup on the stove.” Interlocking her arm with mine, we walk into the house.
The warmth of the kitchen wraps around me like a hug as we step inside. The smells of delicious food fill my nostrils. Nonna walks over to the large pot on the stove. She touches the cross on the wall above it and closes her eyes for a moment. Then she opens the cabinets and pulls out the same bowls she’s had since my childhood. They’re blue with a lemon pattern on them. Taking a ladle from the drawer, she puts the broth into it and places it on the small table near the window.
“Chicken noodle soup. Your favorite, now sit down and eat.” Nonna walks back to the stove and stirs the pot.
I wrap my hands around the bowl and feel the heat seep through my skin. Glancing around the room, I notice that Nonna has strung a line over the kitchen sink and is drying her herbs on it. The fridge still sports the same pictures of us as children. I catch sight of my parent’s wedding photo.
Nonna takes a cloth and wipes the counter. Her eyes narrow as she stares at me. “What’s wrong? Is the soup too hot?”
“No, it’s fine, Nonna.” I pick up the spoon. “With everything going on I’ve been thinking about Dad a lot.” I turn to her. “I have some questions about the night Dad died.”
Nonna wipes her hands on the towel. “Of course. But what brought this on?”
I take a deep breath. “Because of everything going on. I got shot, Bruno got shot. Salvatore was almost assassinated. It’s making me think that Dad didn’t die of a heart attack.”
Nonna makes the sign of the cross and slides into the chair across from me. “Your father always said the past would return. Sins of families don’t always stay buried.”
“Sins like assassinating a whole family for love.”
She nods.
“What happened that night Nonna?”
She leans her elbow on the table, placing her hand against her wrinkled cheek. “Well it all started when I was in the kitchen making soup that night. Your mother had gone out to have dinner with her sister.”
“Dad wasn’t a huge fan of chicken soup, right?” I take a sip of the soup.
“He liked chicken soup but his favorite was my pasta fagioli.” Nonna smiles. “That night while I was cooking. Salvatore and Bruno came over and went into your father’s study. Two guards were posted outside the door. I think they were there for about an hour and a half. Then Salvatore and Bruno came out. I offered them some soup, but they said they had business to attend to. So I put the soup in to-go mugs and they left. Then I ladled the soup in a bowl and brought it into the study to give to your father.” She folds her hands. “I remember the fireplace was lit and he was sitting at his desk writing something. It looked like a letter. He looked up and told me to leave the soup on his desk. He seemed troubled. I asked him if everything was okay. He said yes, he was tired and didn’t want to be disturbed because he had things to do. I left and returned to the kitchen. I cleaned up, then went to bed. Hours later I woke to your mother screaming. I ran downstairs to find your father sitting in the chair by the fire, dead.” Her voice cracks and she grabs a clean cloth to dab her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Nonna.”
“The paramedics came and took him to the hospital. They did an autopsy and said he has a massive heart attack.” She pauses as she catches my disgusted look. “You think it wasn’t a heart attack?”
“Let’s just say, I have a reason to believe that he was poisoned and someone fabricated the story about the heart attack.” I reach over and pat her hand. “I think Dad’s death and what’s happening now is connected. Do you remember anything else about what happened that day? When you went in there to see him did you notice anything out of the ordinary. Did he say anything?”
“Madonna mia…let me think…I brought him the soup. I think there was a glass of wine on the desk next to him. Oh and a basket of muffins.”
“Muffins?”
“Yes, blueberry muffins, your father’s favorite.”
“Did you make them, Nonna?”
“No. I think a client brought them in earlier. He offered me one and I refused it. You know I don’t trust other people’s cooking. But if I remember correctly one of the muffins was half-eaten. What makes you think it was poison?”
“Let’s just say there was more than one report, Nonna and I’m inclined to believe the report that didn’t make it into the files. I think Dad unknowingly ingested cyanide. It stated his body showed no signs of being injected with anything.”
“My soup didn’t have cyanide! I would never kill my own son.”
“Nonna. Calm down. I didn’t say that. Do you know if Dad ate anything else that day? Did he eat out maybe?”
“I don’t know, Tesoro, he was out most of the day.”
