She stills.
Her body freezes as mine did when I entered this room. I don’t know what to expect. She was conditioned to love him. Perhaps she actually did. On my way over, I prepared myselffor her wrath, to be shunned away, even disowned. I hold her wrists, waiting for her disgust.
His ghost exists between us. I know it always will.
She pets my face. “Hedid this to you?”
I stare at her, knowing I’ll never share the truth. She wouldn’t be able to handle it. Still, silence speaks volumes.
She crushes her fragile frame to mine, forgetting my injuries. She clings on desperately, and I take it, burying my face in her shoulder, pulling her closer.
“I’m here, Mama. I'm not going anywhere.”
Sophie/Cara
“Have Donatello handle this. Fai in fretta.”
“Sì, subito, Boss.”
My pen halts over my homework as the next man bursts into Papa’s parlor, a panicked storm with destruction on the mind. The door is cracked open, too tempting for me to resist. “Don, you must help. Only you can. The police, non sanno niente, non fanno niente.”
They know nothing, they do nothing.
He’s not exactly wrong. My father has many officers under his thumb, and the ones he doesn’t, won’t mess with something they know they won’t win. More often than not, they will turn a blind eye, and Papa is glad for it, mainly because it leads these frightened, desperate people to their knees, begging for his favor.
This conversation is routine enough that my father’s features are eased, his smile polite but restrained. “Our friendship’s been long-standing. Of course, I’ll help if I can.”
“I’ve been robbed blind. These men from the Bronx district have been claiming territory left and right. I put a stop to it. I’ve denied them, but I’m paying for it. My shop was ransacked last night, everything stolen. Imean, everything.”
My father glances at his right-hand man. “Their names?”
“Niro and Alex Carbanza. Please, Don. The wife’s terrified they’ll hit the house next.”
Papa stands, taking a seat on the edge of his desk. He grabs this man’s hand, patting it. “I’ll handle it. It’s beyond you now. Don’t worry about this anymore. You’ll make yourself sick.”
“Grazie.” With more than relief, he presses his lips to Papa’s hand, a sign of respect. Loyalty. “Anything, anything you need, you can count on me.”
The door opens, too fast for me to back up. All of the men in the room lock eyes on me. Nothing crosses my father’s face, but he clears the room. The man is ushered out as quickly as he was brought in. The moment he’s alone, he releases an exhale, revealing the true fear behind resorting to protection from The Mob. His life will never be the same again. My father will make use of his favor.
“Come in, piccolina.”
His voice radiates honey, but I hesitate to step through those doors, knowing they’ll be closed behind me. I'm not sure when I began to fear him, when our relationship changed.
Apologize immediately. “Papa, I didn’t hear anything. I'm sorry.”
He smiles softly, calling me over and tapping on his lap. “It’s all right. Come.”
My feet are glued to the entrance, my hands clasped in front of me. “I'm going out with Mamma. She’s waiting on me.”
“Where are you going?”
“The salon.”
He stands, not seeing as he rounds the desk that I’ve taken three steps back, my hand flat against the door. When he’s drunk, one can expect him to voice his displeasure. When he’s sober, like now, he isn’t so transparent. He looks kind. When his lips kiss my hair, it’s just as he’s always done. But then his lips move to my cheek, and my face cuts to the side in fear. My handsdive for the door, but he clasps the back of my neck, pulling me back.
“My business is not for your ears, Sophia. This is no place for a young woman.”
Tears come freely.
