Page 61 of Storm and Sea

“It was finally my turn to help, and you ruined it! Ma told you not to go out in the storm, and you didn’t listen. The Vino Rosso is gone because of you!” Edgar stomped up the stairs with glassy eyes.

“Edgar Tradi, you come apologize this instant!” Emelia shouted but was answered by the sound of a slamming door. She looked ready to chase after him, but Leo stopped her.

“It’s okay, Ma. Let him blow off some steam.”

Caterina’s lip trembled as she squeezed his shirt. She screwed up her tiny face and hugged Leo around the neck. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Caterina, and Muerello wrapped around him in a tangle of arms and tears.

“We thought you drowned,” Annetta said. At thirteen, she was old enough to understand the gravity of losing the Vino Rosso.

“No, lil’ sis. I’m alright.” He bent low, kissing each one of their curly heads and wiping stray tears.

“What are we going to do now?” Maurello asked in his innocent voice.

The question sent a pang through Leo’s stomach, and his head throbbed worse than ever. His mother saved him from answering the terrifying question.

“Upstairs! Chop chop, baths and brushed teeth. I’ll come tuck you in, and I better see butts in bed.”

The little ones protested, and only after Leo promised to read a bedtime story did they climb the stairs like a pair of pups.

“Ma, I’ll get them bathed, then come back and finish the dishes,” Annetta said.

“Take a break sis. I got it,” Leo offered.

She gave him a thankful smile before disappearing up the landing. He knew the house was still standing because she’d stepped in while he was gone.

“It’s late. Shouldn’t Dad be back?” Leo asked once she was out of earshot.

Emelia waved him off. “He might spend the night at Cicco’s.”

Leo gritted his teeth. He knew what that meant. His father would be too drunk to come home.

“Right,” Leo said, going to help with the dishes just for something to do.

Emelia grabbed a towel and dried as he washed. “Give him some time, and he’ll come back.”

“Right,” Leo said again.

This happened every time things got hard. His father ran to one of his old war buddies and drank until he passed out on their couch. Every time they lost something, anytime money was so tight it choked them like a noose—Thomasso ran.

It was never for a long time. For one or two days, he’d drink away his woes in the company of friends. After he was done, he‘d return home and help carry the burden alongside his wife and son. Still… Leo never got to run away. Leo never got to take two days or even two hours to throw a fit.

“Not that he does much anyway,” Leo mumbled, but his mother heard him.

“Leofel,” she said harshly, and that was enough for him to bow his head.

“Sorry, Ma. I’m just… I’m just tired,” he settled on because he couldn’t tell her what he was actually feeling. He couldn’t tell her that the storm that nearly killed him hadn’t gone away. It’d moved from the sky and into his chest, where it continued to rage and tear him apart.

His father did all he could at his advanced age. The man walked with a cane, for heaven’s sake. Thomasso met Emelia later in life and had Leo when he was already well into his forties. Now, with four more mouths to feed and a spinal injury that left him hobbled, Thomasso had no choice but to retire from the sea—leaving Leo to provide them with food. With a home. With the clothes on their backs.

“Go to sleep. I’ll finish,” Emelia said, and Leo noticed the dark circles under her eyes. But he understood the offer for what it was. She needed to be alone for a while.

“Night, Ma,” he said, kissing her unkempt hair.

She gave him a curt nod, and he knew neither of them would sleep tonight.

The next morning, Leo rose to the smell of seared fish, garlic, and olive oil. It took him twice as long to dress since every time he bent, his head spun so badly he had to pause for breath. Leo inspected the wound on his head and replaced the crusted rags with clean ones. It was red and messy, and the stitches were sharp and easy to see. He’d have a scar, but his hair would cover it in time.