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“Don’t remind me,” she said. “I hate thinking my only son abandoned his family.”
Vincent knew by family she didn’t mean blood relatives. She was referring to la famiglia, where her true loyalty lay. If ever there was a stereotypical Mafia wife, dedicated to the lifestyle until death, it was his mother.
“I didn’t abandon anyone,” Vincent said.
“You abandoned me,” Gia said. “You stuck me in this hospital.”
“It’s not a hospital. It’s a retirement community.”
“I don’t belong here,” she said. “I’m not sick! Your father, God rest his soul, would be ashamed of you.”
That was nothing new. “How about that walk now?”
“I don’t care what these quacks say,” she said, ignoring his suggestion for the second time. “They can’t be trusted. They’re all probably working for the government. Kennedy always had it out for your father, you know. He tried to bring him down.”
“Kennedy’s dead,” Vincent said. “Has been for a long time.”
“I know that,” she spat. “I’m not crazy.”
Vincent laughed dryly. The jury was still out on that. The doctors suspected Gia DeMarco suffered from early onset dementia, but Vincent leaned toward her simply refusing to move past her glory days. She didn’t want to admit life went on without her, that the world didn’t stop turning the day her husband died.
Usually lucid, every now and then she’d slip back to those times when Antonio DeMarco was the most powerful man in Chicago and Vincent still cared about making his parents proud.
“Some fresh air would be nice, don’t you think?”
Gia reached up and rubbed her right ear, ignoring Vincent for the third time. “My ear’s ringing. That old hag Gertrude next door must be talking about me.”
“Did you take aspirin today? That can cause ear ringing.”
“It’s not the medication,” she said. “It’s her.”
His mother was nothing if not superstitious. “Gertrude doesn’t seem like the gossiping type.”
“Like you could tell, Vincenzo. You have the judgment of an imbecile! You and your Irish—”
“Don’t start, Ma.” Vincent raised his voice as he cut her off. “I’m not going to listen to it again.”
Gia was quiet, as if considering whether or not to finish her thought, but finally changed the subject. “Your sister visits me all the time. I see Corrado more than I see you.”
It was a lie, but Vincent let it roll off his back.
“Now that’s what I call a good man,” she said. “Corrado’s loyal. Always has been. His only flaw is he never gave your sister any babies. I always wanted grandchildren.”
“You have grandchildren,” Vincent said. “Two of them.”
Gia scoffed but managed to keep her opinion to herself. She stared out the window, shaking her head. “You don’t care about me, Vincenzo. You never even take me outside anymore.”
* * *
Since the DeMarcos had moved to North Carolina, the boys had thrown a Halloween party every year. Vincent was hesitant to agree this year, but after a bit of pestering and a lot of promising, he caved with one strict rule—Haven was to be watched at all times.
The house smelled like Pine-Sol when Carmine arrived home that afternoon, the aroma so heavy it stung his eyes. He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, seeing Haven scrubbing the marble floor. She hummed, oblivious to his presence, and he listened as he tried to place the song.
She stood and turned around, the humming cut off by a yelp. “You’re home!”
He chuckled as she dropped the sponge. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, hummingbird.”
“You didn’t. I was only . . .” She trailed off as she eyed him peculiarly. “Hummingbird?”
