“What’s on Staten Island?”
“Not what. Who.”
She cocks her head to the side in playful disapproval. “Okay, then.Whois on Staten Island?”
“My mother.”
“Oh!” She stares straight ahead out the windshield, though I can tell she’s not paying attention to a single thing in front of her. What I wouldn’t give to hear the clambering thoughts so obviously bouncing around her head.
“Last night, when we were eating, it occurred to me that if we’re getting married, you should meet my mom.”
“Right,” she says distractedly. “And what about your dad?”
“He died almost five years ago, not long before Sante and I went to Sicily.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.” She’s quiet for a bit before continuing. “When you say Sicily, you mean Italy, right?”
“Yeah, that Sicily.” I can’t help but grin. She’s so damn adorable.
“How long were you there?”
“Four years.”
“Really? That’s so long—oh my gosh, tell me you learned to speak Italian.” She says it with such enthusiasm that it’s infectious.
My heart thuds in my chest as if trying to show off its strength, preening from the attention.
“Ti direi qualsiasi cosa tu voglia sentire, se questo significa che mi guarderai così per sempre.”
I’ll tell you anything you want to hear if it means you’ll look at me like this forever.
“Oh, Tommy. It’sbeautiful,” she breathes.
“Non è niente in confronto a te.”
It’s nothing compared to you.
Danika sits back in her seat with a happy sigh. “Someday, I’m going to go tour every museum in Italy. I want to see all the art and immerse myself in the culture.”
“Il tuo desiderio è un ordine.”
Your wish is my command.And I mean it. I’d take her to the airport now if I could, but I know she’d never leave the country with her family in danger.
“What did you say?”
“I said you’d love it there.”
“I bet I would,” she adds dreamily. We spend the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence, each of us captive to our thoughts. Danika gapes out the side window when we pull into the driveway of a white stucco mansion complete with geometric sections of glass block windows that would look perfectly at home in a 1980sMiami Viceepisode. “Is this where you grew up?”
“Yup.” If she thinks the outside is something, she’ll lose it when she sees the inside. Dad had a flair for the dramatic. He strongly believed appearances were everything.
If they think you’re a king, that’s what you’ll be.
I used to hate when he’d say that, but as I’ve matured, I’ve come to accept that he wasn’t entirely wrong.
I knock on the door, expecting Mom to see it’s me through the cameras and unlock the door. Instead, the intercom pops on and off, letting through a few clips of hushed voices. I start to reach for my gun, worried there’s a problem inside, when the door flies open. Mom and my sister Terina stand opposite us, wide-eyed.
“Tommy, you’re here, and you brought someone.” Mom’s words reek of hopeful anticipation. It’s a bit insulting.
