Constanza should have announced the visitor, and her absence put us all on alert.
“That’s our secret weapon,” Carlo replied, hurrying to open the door.
In walked a man I recognized, but couldn’t place. My age, with dark hair and built like a professional lineman, his face split into a grin when his gaze met mine. “Dom. Good to see you again.”
Then he wrapped me a crushing hug, one I remembered instantly. “Gino?”
He laughed. “In the flesh.” He pulled away from me long enough to hug Michael. “Mike, how you two been?”
Gino Leone wasn’t technically family, but his father had married my mom’s cousin, so in a way, he sort of was. We used to be close, but I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid when Mamma had taken me, Michael, and Abriana to spend the summer with Gino’s family while Father broke ground in Vegas. Gino’s parents had never been involved in the family business. His father worked at the Ford assembly plant, and his mom was a housewife. They lived in the small town of Claycomo, Missouri, and it had been the biggest shock of my life to spend a summer with them.
A year older than me, Gino had an older brother and two younger sisters. His brother had hung out with Michael all summer while Gino and I split our time between torturing and hiding from his little sisters. Father straightened out his business, and before school restarted, he sent for us. Gino and I had tried to keep in touch, but neither us of were big on writing letters, and long-distance phone calls were expensive. I never thought I’d see him again, especially not in Carlo’s office.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
His gaze slid to Carlo.
“He’s working, Dom,” Carlo replied. “Gino came to your old man for a job shortly after high school. He wanted to contact you, but I couldn’t let him risk it.”
“What?” Since high school? Four years, and nobody had told me. “Risk what?” I glanced at Michael, but he looked as surprised as I felt.
“Nobody but your father and I know who Gino is and why he’s here.” Carlo patted Gino on the back. “With no traceable family ties and coming from goddamn Missouri, he was perfect for the job we had for him.”
Michael seemed to figure out what Carlo meant long before I did. He let out a breath and chuckled. “He’s trying to get into the Durante family.”
I looked from my brother to my uncle to my cousin, struggling to make sense of Michael’s words.
“Heisin,” Carlo said, his voice heavy with pride. “Has been.”
“Yep. I got made a few months ago.”
“You’reour guy inside the Durante family?” I asked, finally catching up to speed.
At his nod, my stomach felt ill. I liked Gino. If half the stuff we heard about Maurizio Durante was true, when they found out about him being a mole, Gino would be praying for death. And I’d never heard of a mole who didn’t get caught eventually. Few survived the experience.
“Gino knows what he’s doing,” Carlo reassured me. “And he’s gonna need to get out of here soon.”
“Already?” I asked. Feeling like we had so much more to catch up on. I still couldn’t believe he’d been in Vegas and I hadn’t seen or run into him.
“Yeah, I asked Carlo if we could meet before shit got real crazy,” Gino said. “I need a favor, Dom.”
Sensing it would be a heavy one, I sat. “All right. What’s up?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Annetta
THETELEVISION WAS blaring. I could hear it from the front porch before I even opened the door. Dominico kissed me good-bye and I let myself into the house, closing the door on my incredible dream date and running smack dab into reality. And reality smelled a lot like whiskey.
Papa was passed out in the recliner, work clothes and shoes still on, with an almost-empty fifth of bourbon on the coffee table beside him, an empty glass balanced on his thigh, and a framed photograph of my mother pressed against his chest. Papa liked his liquor, and during certain occasions he couldn’t seem to find his way out of the bottle. Holidays were difficult, as was Mom’s birthday, their wedding anniversary, and the date of her death.
I looked to my watch for the date. We were creeping up on the anniversary of Mom’s death. I’d been so busy, I hadn’t even realized it. Over the next several days, Papa would binge, and no amount of yelling or crying would keep him sober. Believe me, I’ve tried. I kept expecting Mom’s passing to get easier on him, but each year seemed to be worse than the last.
After checking to make sure he was still breathing, I took the glass and the photo and set them both on the coffee table before trying to rouse him.
“Papa, come on, let’s get you to bed,” I said, swatting his thigh.
He didn’t even stir, which told mehow messed up he was.Even though I knew it wouldn’t deter him, I put the lid on the last of the bourbon and hid it in the kitchen cabinet. At least he’d have to sober up enough to stumble in and find it if he wanted more.
