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“Yeah, that would be great,” I say even though I know nothing will come of it.
Since our father died a year ago, Vitto started hanging out at places where Cosa Nostra members gather, doing small errands for them from time to time, hoping he’ll get offered to take over a soldier position that our father held. Both my mom and I have been doing our best to get that idiotic idea out of his head, but to no avail. I forbade him from going to any of those places, but I’m sure he’s still doing it in secret.
“He’s going to come around, Ravi. You’ll see.” Melania parks the car in front of my building and reaches over to squeeze my hand.
“I hope so.” I squeeze hers in return and open the door. “It was only one block. You didn’t need to drive me.”
“I still owe you for all the math homework you did for me back in high school.” She laughs. “Say hi to Mamma Lola for me.”
“I will.”
My wet sneakers make squishy sounds as I run toward the building and then up the four flights of stairs. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I let myself inside the apartment and head straight to the bathroom to change when my mother’s trembling voice comes from behind me.
“Vitto isn’t home, yet.”
I turn around and stare at my mother with dread. It’s almost three in the morning. My brother might be problematic, but he’s never stayed out all night without letting me or my mom know. “What do you mean?”
“He went out with his friends and said he’ll be back by eleven,” my mom chokes out. “His phone is off.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were working. I thought he was just late, so I laid down on the couch to wait for him. I fell asleep.” She bursts out crying. “I tried calling his friends, but no one has seen him.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry, Mamma.” I wrap my arms around her and try to make my voice steady. “He probably went to sleep over at Ugo’s and forgot to call you.”
“Maybe we should call the police, Ravi.”
I close my eyes. “You know we can’t.”
We might not be active members of Cosa Nostra, but my father was. We can’t risk attracting the attention of the police unless it’s absolutely necessary.
“What if something happened to him?”
“He’s okay. I’m going to call Ugo, and we’ll find him.” I’m reaching for my phone when a hard, loud knock sounds at the door.
My mother’s eyes widen in fear, and a tear rolls down her cheek. When someone knocks on your door at three in the morning, it can’t be anything good. I dash across the room, throwing the door open.
A man in a dark suit is standing on the other side of the threshold. I’ve never seen him before, but one look at his stance and the holster visible under his unbuttoned jacket says enough. Cosa Nostra.
“Ravenna Cattaneo?” he asks, staring me down.
“Yes,” I choke out.
“You need to come with me.”
“Is this about my brother? Is he okay?”
“For now.” The Cosa Nostra soldier grabs me by the arm and ushers me down the hallway. He doesn’t even wait for me to take my purse or jacket.
“Everything is going to be okay, Mamma,” I call over my shoulder as I try to keep pace. My mother is standing in the doorway, one of her hands gripping the frame and the other pressed over her mouth as she watches me leave.
When we exit the building, and the man approaches a black car with tinted windows, I get inside without asking questions. I squeeze my hands in my lap while we drive, trying to keep myself together. Vitto must have fucked up terribly this time for Cosa Nostra to come to our apartment in the middle of the night. Was my brother caught stealing again? Or maybe he said something he shouldn’t have? Oh God, if he ratted on someone, he’s as good as dead.
The car turns into a narrow alley and stops in front of a restaurant with red and white checkered curtains. I don’t recognize the place right away because I’d only been here once when I had to bring my father his wallet after he forgot it at home. He was on guard duty in the back room.
I step out of the car and look up at the wooden sign above the door. Luigi’s. The place where Cosa Nostra soldiers come to play cards.
The driver wordlessly guides me among the empty tables toward the doorway at the far end of the room. A woman with a stained white apron is washing dishes and stares as we pass through the kitchen. When we reach the door hidden behind a curtain next to the wine crates, the man opens it and pushes me into the concealed room. The door closes behind me.
