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“No?”
“No.” We stood there, staring at one another for long, excruciating moments while I tried to figure out what to say.
Before I was able to make a decision, she spoke again. Somehow, it still didn’t feel like I won the standoff.
“Why are you here?”
“I really would love to speak with-”
“Things are finally quieting down after fuckin’ years of shit, and now this? What are you here for, little girl?” That grates. I ran my tongue between my teeth and my lip, irritation brewing, my perfectly curated sugary sweetness melting off.
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’ve been in this family for almost thirty years, married in when I was 19.” Married in to the family definitely did not just mean she married a man with the last name Russo. “Been workin’ for Russo Contracting for just as long. I keep the books in line. I think it’s my business, honey.” I didn’t respond, trying to decide what to say, how to say it.
“And I know who your mother was,” she said. “God rest her soul.” Her hands moved to make the sign of the cross like a good, sweet Catholic girl would, but her eyes said differently. Her eyes said mean girl.
I still didn’t respond.
“Look, tell me why you’re here, or get out. I’ve got clients coming in any minute.”
What do I have to lose? I thought.
“Fine. Yes. I’m here to speak with Alfredo Russo because I believe he is my grandfather. If he is, then I have a right to get to know this family. More of a right than you do, I’m sure.” I realized that last part was probably a bit too far when her bitchy smile falls off her red lips.
“That’s cute,” she said, deadpan. “Cute that you think they’d take some random bastard child in like a true Russo. Like you belong here. What do you know about family? About loyalty?”
I thought about how I let my sister take on the drama for years without questioning it.
I thought about how I’m now diligently planning the downfall of Shane Turner, the man who raised me.
Not very loyal of me.
“It’s not like the movies, honey. You…” She looked me up and down. Her face changed just a bit—pity. “You’re cute. I’ll give you that. But they will eat you up and spit you out. You need grit to make it out here.” Her eyes roved my outfit up and down, and her face changed just a bit, her top lip moving in distaste. I wore a little cardigan and skirt set Shane picked for some gala, if I recall. I thought it looked cute and put together, but in that moment I thought maybe it’s just giving. . . innocent idiot. “You’d get eaten up here, honey. And truly - they don’t want you here.”
I didn’t get a chance to speak before the bell rang at the door, and a tall Italian man walked in, moving straight to the woman. He wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her hair.
“Who’s this?” he asked, looking at me, but speaking to the woman.His face had the look like he was trying to figure out a puzzle, like he recognized me from somewhere but couldn’t figure out where.
“Oh, you know. Just another little thing trying to take a walk on the wild side,” she said and the man sighed.
“Not smart. Not for a girl like you.”
A girl like you.
God, I’m so tired of that. Of everyone thinking I’m some precious, breakable thing that can’t know or do anything.
“I’m not-”
“I’m sure you’re sweet as can be. But I’ll be honest with you. You don’t have the grit. I can tell from here.” He gave me a small, pitying smile.
That was it.
I was done.
I decided then and there that I’d just do this the hard way.
“And, can I ask—who are you?” I asked, crossing my arms on my chest.
