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"So you have told me before, Nonna," I say stiffly. "I understand you want to find a way of alleviating the guilt you are carrying inside, but you know, I can’t forgive you."
She blanches.
"You had a ringside view of the marriage; you knew about your son’s temper; you must have known that she was being abused; you must have guessed, when we turned up with bruises, that he was hitting us. Yet you never asked any questions. Not once."
A stricken look comes into her eyes before she wipes all emotion from her face. "I guess, much as I think I am moving with the times, perhaps in this, I am more old-fashioned than I realized." She swallows, "It was their marriage and I didn’t want to interfere…" She glances away, then back at me, "Something I will never forgive myself for, Mika." Her voice softens, "But perhaps your father was preparing you for your future. Look how you turned out after all that—"
"Nonna," I say through gritted teeth, "is that what you think? That his abuse of me and my brothers was a way of building character? That just because his father beat him, he should also be allowed to hit us? Do you really think that this is the natural progression of things?"
She looks away
Silence stretches for a beat, then another.
"I.." she swallows, "I don’t condone what he did." She looks in my eyes and says, "But you have to admit, it played a part in making you so driven to succeed."
I step back from her, and her hand falls away.
"Mika," she murmurs, "I was brought up never to question the man of the house. First, my husband, then," she glances at the Don, "my son." She folds her fingers together in front of herself, and I notice that they are trembling.
Nonna always comes across as so strong, I forget sometimes, what she has been through. My grandfather had not only abused my father, but also her. He had beaten her and she had borne it all without a complaint and emerged stronger. She had been through it first-hand—all the more reason that she could have done something to stop the abuse of my mother and us at the hands of our father. But she hadn't... And here we are. An emotionally broken, facsimile of a family, trying to project a strong, unified front, lest our rivals find out just how tenuous the bond between us really is.
"Perhaps, if I had been less traditional, things would have been different. I have been trying to change, but it's not easy." She swallows, "I know I have my faults, but you have to believe me when I say that I did what I thought was best in the situation."
"The scars he left on my skin may have healed, but there are others…more emotional ones that changed me in ways you can’t even recognize."
"Mika—" Her chin wobbles, "Please, don’t block me out of your life."
"I have never done so, Nonna, you know that." I draw myself up to my full height. "But you will also never have my complete trust, either." I hold my grandmother’s gaze. She tips up her chin, and I recognize the stubborn set to her features. That iron resolve is something I share with her.
Once I want something, I go after it—like her. From the moment I saw her, I knew that she would turn my life upside down. All the more reason to get through this ceremony, then get on with the plan I have in place to consolidate my position with the Seven.
"I understand." Nonna, nods once, then steps back. She turns and walks slowly across the stone floor to the first pew. She sits down, and my father takes his place next to her.
The main church doors open just then.
I turn, watch her framed in the doorway.
"What the—" Luca exclaims next to me, "what the hell is she wearing?"
