Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“I’ll expect payment tomorrow,” he growls, spitting on the fallen man.
I try to pretend that everything is normal, that I witness this kind of thing every day, but inside, I’m panicking. I try not to meet anyone’s eyes. But I know I need to appear to be a leader. My best bet is to look like I’m above it all. If they mistake my nausea for disinterest, then they’ll be less likely to question my authority.
I don’t want to think about what might happen when my father retires and I’m left to handle all of this. I certainly won’t stick around to watch people being beaten up.
Our next stop is a candy store where Dante creates a mess. He doesn’t give me any kind of warning before smashing one of the display racks to the ground.
“Do you think I’m kidding?” he shouts to the pudgy man behind the counter.
“No, sir,” the man shrieks, looking at me to help him.
I contain my reaction, wondering at what point I’ll be required to step in to save innocent people from my employee. That seems to do the trick. The candy shop owner decides that since I’m not going to help him, and since Dante is raging, his best course of action is to comply. He empties the cash register and hands it all to Dante.
Dante counts it, slamming a twenty back on the counter. “Keep the change,” he snaps, reaching into a candy dish to help himself to a chocolate. “Do you want one?” He asks me.
“No,” I say, putting all my energy into that single word to make sure it doesn’t come out sounding weak.
We leave the shop, and we’re on to the next disaster. By the time I get home, I’m pissed. I want to yell at my father for letting someone like that run amok. I don’t think we need to treat people so horribly in order to get our fair share. Of course, the mafia isn’t known for its people skills, and I’ve always been aware that my father carries a big stick. But today was ridiculous. I’m in no mood to deal with anyone and I just want to hide away from the world for a few minutes.
I’m not even sure if I want to text Sofia. I just feel so dirty. I’ve implicated myself in who knows how many crimes over the course of the day. I just want to take a shower, drink a beer, and forget all about it. Sofia is a part of my life that is good and pure, and I don’t want to infect her with the vicarious trauma I’ve experienced.
But the moment I step inside my father’s house, I can tell that something is wrong. There’s no one in the foyer, and no one in the living room. Already, that’s a bad sign. Usually there’s a group of guards hanging out, watching television and patrolling the premises. Whenever they all disappear, it usually means that my dad is on a rampage.
I can hear Marlena crying. I stop everything and follow the sound to its source. She’s sitting in the kitchen onthe barstools near the island. She’s finally showing, and her pregnant belly slopes gently over her pajama bottoms. My father stands near the sink, gripping the counter with white knuckles.
I hurry to Marlena’s side to put an arm around her. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
Marlena doesn’t answer, but my father does. He picks up a coffee mug off the counter and hurls it at the wall. Porcelain shards explode on impact, showering the kitchen with tiny bits of shrapnel.
“Whoa!” I shout before I can stop myself. This is another situation where it would be best for me not to intervene. But my father has caught me by surprise, and after the day I’ve had, my self-control is wearing a little thin.
Dad kicks the dishwasher, denting the metal face. He slams a fist down on the counter, making all the little appliances shake. Now I’m worried about anyone who might get in my father’s way, including me. I know he doesn’t go around beating people up like Dante, but he could. And he probably has in the past.
“What’s wrong?” I demand. “Talk to me, please.”
Marlena produces a card from her pocket. She passes it over without a word. I take it from her, turning it over to read the embossed script. Someone has spent a lot of time and money to deliver this message. It’s not a simple note written on cardstock. It looks like a wedding invitation or a birth announcement, something of that taste and caliber.
The message reads:
Congratulations on your new bastard.
It’s signed Carlo Andretti.
I feel the world tilt beneath me and have to sit down. I grab a stool next to Marlena and plant my butt on it before I lose my balance. This is big. Carlo Andretti tried to kill me, Marlena, and her brother two years ago. My father eliminated one of Andretti’s underlings who was spying on us, but he wasn’t able to get his hands on Andretti himself.