We stop at a red light.
“Would you want to be a capo?”
Nero turns to me, his hazel eyes assessing. “What does it matter?”
“I’m curious. How would that compare to being a consigliere?”
His lips firm into a thin line. “I was a capo for far longer than I was a consigliere. It would be like slipping into an old pair of shoes, I suppose.”
“How did you get involved with all this anyway?”
“The mob? It was never a choice.”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean? You were forced into it?”
A hint of amusement appears on his lips as we start driving again. “I’m no victim, Sunshine. I craved this life. From a young age, all I ever wanted was to get made.”
“Must have been quite the childhood for that to have been your goal in life.” I realize how judgmental I sound only after the words leave my mouth.
Nero just shrugs. “Maybe it was.”
“You’ve never told me about it.”
“You’ve never asked.”
“I’m asking now.” I think I’m finally ready to learn who Nero is, but I wonder if he’s willing to show me.
“My childhood was complicated,” he finally says. “It changed a lot when my mom left my dad. My biological father was a weak man who preferred to let my mom and I starve than do what needed to be done to provide for his family.”
“You were poor?”
“We lived in a cockroach-infested studio in the Bronx until I was about seven. It’s a miracle my mom dealt with it for that long. She was used to a very different lifestyle growing up.”
“Her family didn’t help her?”
“They tried, but every time my mom accepted any money from her parents, my father would go on an angry rampage. He hated her side of the family, and he had none of his own to rely on.”
“Why did he hate them so much?”
“Because they were criminals. He had a rigid moral compass and an unwavering sense of right and wrong.”
Heat spreads over my cheeks.
“My mom came from a long line of gangsters. My grandpa was a high-ranking capo for the Messero family. Ma went against her father’s wishes by marrying a civilian, and it caused a rift between them. She gave up a lot to be with my father. She loved him. In return, he allowed her to live in abject poverty, refusing help and refusing to take any of the job offers my grandfather extended to him. He was a proud and stubborn man, and he watched his family suffer instead of getting involved with 'those people,' as he liked to call my mother’s family.”
I exhale a heavy breath. “You make it sound like the only way he could have given you a better life was to work for the mob. I’m sure he had other choices.”
“Yeah, well if he did, he didn’t pursue them. In the end, my mom left him for my stepdad, and she never looked back. Renzo gave her the life she deserved. He never had any scruples about doing whatever it took to provide for his family.”
Something uncomfortable flickers in the pit of my stomach. “Just because your stepdad treated your mom well doesn’t make him a good person.”
“He didn’t care about being perceived as a good person. That’s the point. He cared about the people around him, the people he loved, far more than the opinions of others.” A muscle jumps in his jaw. “My father was the one obsessed with his image. He wouldn’t accept the help his family desperately needed because he was too worried about what the people in his church would say about him if they found out.”
The pieces are starting to come together. “Your stepdad was your hero. You think he saved you and your mom.”
“I don’t think it. I know it. He always treated me like I was his own. He taught me how to be a man.”
“He taught you how to be a mobster.”
