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Chapter Three
Vito
Present Day
I looked around my office, remembering my talk with my grandfather eleven years ago. I told him I would consider his idea of going legit, and he gave me his blessings to do so. Many in the family thought it was breaking the code to step out of the darkness of our underworld to go into the light, leaving the respected capo position behind. Once my endeavors had been blessed by the Don himself, that changed a lot of hearts and minds.
Our legacy could thrive in the underworld and in corporate America. Once I got my head wrapped around that idea, I was deadset on making it happen. IVCC Construction was born out of a vision my business partner, Ishmael Wright, and I concocted. We wanted a surefire way to turn our street cash into lucrative deals. We didn’t choose wrong by going into real estate.
Sitting in our headquarters’ conference room, we brainstormed details for an upcoming multimillion-dollar shopping center. Ishmael’s mind moved at a quick pace this morning, tossing out idea after idea for the secretary to type up into a plan. “We’re good to go on everything except finding a good team to install the plumbing,” he concluded.
I nodded. “Everyone we have used in the past has been unreliable to finish the job to completion. We’ve had to search for a new one in the middle of just about every project lately, so….”
He finished my sentence, “We’re going to have to build our own team. It’s just that it will take time to—” His phone buzzed, cutting him off. He smiled wide when he looked at the screen. “I need to take this. It’s Miracle.” He stepped out to take the call.
As a doctor, Miracle didn’t have many breaks throughout the day, so whenever she called, Ishmael would go ghost to talk to his woman. I couldn’t blame him. I once felt that way about Lucia, but I hadn’t tied myself to a relationship since we broke up eleven years ago. However, there was a special someone who had caught my eye recently. I would drop everything if the grocery store beauty I’d been semi-stalking called to see how my day was going. A few issues were blocking that: She didn’t know my number, and I didn’t know hers.
Yeah, let me rewind a bit. I had been visiting the grocery store for the past month to check out a certain brown-skinned beauty that caught my attention the first time I laid eyes on her. I fell for everything about her, her looks, her smile, her smell, shit, everything.
I tried to shake her out of my mind, focusing my attention on the plans before me on the table while thinking about who to hire for the plumbing system. I would see Nicole at the store around noon today, and this time I was going to make sure she knew I was serious about making her mine. To hell with the fuck boy she lived with.
The secretary’s voice flooded the room, interrupting my thoughts and bringing me back to the present moment. “Mr. DeLuca, you have a call on line two. They said it’s important.”
Annoyed, I asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s your mother.”
My mother?
I hadn't expected that. “I’ll take her call.” The line buzzed, and I answered right away. “Hello, mother.”
“Vito, how are you doing?”
I was shocked to hear my mother’s meek voice on the other end of the phone. Since she left the country with my father fourteen years ago, we hadn’t spoken but maybe once a year.
I reclined in the black leather chair. “I’m fine, mother. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything is fine. I called because I was thinking of you and would love it if you would visit us the next time you’re in town to see your grandfather.”
I had planned to visit Italy next month. However, I did not intend to see my parents while there, and I would need a good reason to add a stop by their home to my plans. My relationship with my mother was strained because of my nonexistent relationship with my father, but I would go to her if she needed me.
I picked up a pen and started flicking it on the dark wood table. “Are you sure everything is fine? If it’s something urgent, I can come now.”
“No, nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to make a special trip here. I..I—” The line went silent for a few seconds. “I just want to see my only child. It’s been a few years since I last saw you. And while I know we haven’t been the closest over the years, it would be nice to change that.” Her voice was low. Though she would never admit it, she sounded worried about something.
My mother was a quiet and mild-mannered woman who followed my father’s wishes, even to her detriment. I spoke with her from time to time. She could never see any wrong in my father’s ways, and her denial of his wrongdoings put a strain on our relationship. However, I had no ill feelings for her. She was a gentlewoman trapped in the mental prison my father built for her long before I was born.
“When I’m there next month, I’ll call you so that we can schedule a time for me to come over.” It sounded formal, but my relationship with my parents wasn’t good. I loved my mother, but she was too distant for a mother who lived in the same household with her child.
As for my father, Alfonso DeLuca, I couldn’t be paid to respect him. He had no honor in business or in his life. Not only did he not respect the DeLuca way, but he also didn’t respect my mother, having multiple mistresses and whispers of illegitimate children in Italy and America.
She perked up. “So, you’re coming next month?”
“I visit Italy often, mother,” I enlightened her. “I make it my business to come back to see my grandfather and other family there.”
“Oh.” Her tone fell a few octaves. “I understand. I’m glad you’re putting us on your schedule for next month. Talk to you then.” She hung up without giving me a chance to object to her statement. I wasn’t visiting them. I was visiting her. There was no “us” in my plans. If Alfonso was there, I would be leaving.
I stared at the phone before sliding it onto my desk. Something was going on with my mother. It was out of the norm for her to reach out to me, wanting to spend time with me. I was her only son, but I was also the last person she would call to speak to. She was usually stoic and kept to herself, not sparing many emotions on me. I never understood the reason for it. I blamed it on my father’s toxic masculinity smothering the woman she was meant to be. She was already mild-mannered by nature but coupled with my father’s boisterous negativity, she was practically deaf-mute.
