For the next two hours, me and Guilio sit at the top of our home's staircase, listening to Mamma and Papà argue. The sounds of heightened yet muffled voices and Mamma’s anguished sobs traveling through the polished surfaces of our house.
One of our housemaids tried to shoo us back to our bedrooms an hour ago, but instead, I tucked my younger brother under my arm and stayed put. We can’t hear what our parents speak of, but a twisting in my stomach tells me nothing good will come of it.
A gulp of saliva catches in my throat as I tilt my head back and look at the giant stone mansion. Mamma tucks my hand into hers, ushering Guilio and me away from the car that brought us here while it idles against the curb.
“Boys, you are to be on your best behavior. This is a business visit for your Papà and Uncle Gabriele. You are to be seen and not heard—it is of much importance. Do you understand me?”
“Sì, Mamma,” I answer for both of us.
It has been one week since we moved to America, and three weeks since the phone call from Uncle Gabriele that changed everything for our family.
That very same night Guilio and I listened to Mamma and Papà argue—they came into our rooms and told us Uncle Gabriele needed his family close and we would be moving to New York.
Eavesdropping on several of Papà’s phone calls taught me Uncle Gabriele made some bad decisions and owed someone a lot of money. And if they didn’t get it, they would do very bad things to him.
I still don’t understand why we had to leave our country to go help him, but at least I get to see Lorenzo more.
The steps leading up to the house make me feel like I am climbing a mountain. The stone clicks beneath Mamma's pointy shoes and I look down at them for distraction. My heart races, and Papà’s hand engulfsmy shoulder as he comes to stand behind me while we wait for the door to be answered. Uncle Gabriele stands to his right, fidgeting, while Aunt Andrea squats to smooth the front of Lorenzo’s jacket.
When the door opens, a tall man wearing a suit greets us with an unfriendly look on his face. Beyond him, I take in the elegance of the house. Shiny marble floors, a grand staircase, sculptures and artwork—this place could be a museum.
“Come in,” the man says simply, then steps aside while holding the door.
I hear my uncle clear his throat as Mamma steps forward with me and my brother in tow. Once inside, a line of women in plain dresses stand, and one rushes to my mother.
Once the door closes, the loudness of the city disappears, and a cold silence takes its place.
“May I take your coat, ma’am?”
“Yes, grazie,” she says, letting go of our hands to shrug out of her coat. Papà steps forward to help before removing his own and hands both to the lady waiting.
“Gabriele,” a man says as he steps out of a nearby room. His hands are in the pockets of his pants as he moves slowly toward us, his eyes glued to my uncle. He walks like a hungry lion stalking a gazelle.
He looks mean. Scary.
Is this the man who is mad at my uncle? If he is, why are we here, at his house?
“Maurizio.” My uncle’s head dips as though he’s bowing. “Thank you for having my family at your lovelyhome. This is my beautiful wife, Andrea, and son Lorenzo. As well as my brother, Antonio, and his family.”
Giulio shuffles sideways until he’s hidden behind Mamma’s legs, but I stand straighter and move my shoulders back, trying not to seem as small as I feel.
The man my uncle introduced us to looks at us each and hums, scrunching his lips as he rubs his well-groomed beard.
My father clears his throat and takes a step forward, his hand extended. “Pleased to meet you, amico mio. Thank you for having us.”
“I wasn’t aware there was anusattending when I extended the invitation to Gabriele, but alas, our staff has prepared a large meal. We may as well break bread.” He never takes Papà’s hand.
I watch my father’s eyes narrow before he quickly stows the look away and masks it with a smile. “I see. Well, I hope there is no trouble.”
“Not at all,” Maurizio clips and turns to one of the women standing along the wall. “Please see to it that the kitchen places…seven additional seats at the table.”
“Certainly, Mr. Paladino.” She practically runs through a set of doors just a few steps away.
The man turns to my mother and aunt, his tone softening as he speaks to them. “My wife, Leighton, should be down with our daughter any minute. You can wait in the sitting room while I take the men to my office. Should you need anything, Capaul can assist you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Paladino,” Aunt Andrea says as she ushers Lorenzo through the archway in the wall and into the room to our left. Mamma does the same, steering Giulio and me right behind her.
The room is bright from the sun, with plush couches and fluffy pillows, and a small table with a neat pile of children’s books and grown-up magazines. It looks fancy, and immediately I am afraid to dirty it and get in trouble.
