“You know your mother and I are planning our wedding,” he says.
“Which is when?” Lucio asks between bites.
“In a few months.” Pop smiles at my mom, who’s beaming as she gives him her complete attention. “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “There’s a lot of reasons why your mother and I never got married before.”
“We know, Pop,” Angelo says, and I can hear the annoyance in his voice.
“No, you don’t know, son.”
“With marriage comes legalities.”
That’s a word my father has hated his entire life. Legalities. He’s highly allergic to anything that resembles law, and that has always included marriage.
The boys are hanging on my father’s every word, but I’m starving, having skipped breakfast to make it here on time after a long and very pleasurable evening with Leo.
“Our money and assets have always been in your mother’s name so the government couldn’t seize everything if I was arrested.”
“When,” I correct him, covering my mouth with my hand to hide the hunk of steaming potato that’s burning my tongue.
My father sighs. “But there’s always been one thing, a big thing, that I’ve allowed my brother to be in charge of over the years.”
I wrinkle my nose in surprise. “Huh,” I mumble to myself.
“Now that you kids are old enough, and I’m finally cleaning up my act, I’ve asked Sal to sign those assets back over to me.”
“Why now?” Angelo asks, wondering the same damn thing everyone around the table is.
“I thought of it as an insurance policy for my old age.”
“What is it?” Vinnie asks before shoveling half a sausage into his mouth.
My mother covers my father’s hand with hers. “Just tell them already.”
“We’re part owners in a winery,” he says quickly.
My head jerks back. “What?”
“I thought that was Uncle Sal’s,” Angelo says, clearly knowing something about the entire thing.
“It’s always been ours too, but I never wanted to put your inheritance in jeopardy.”
“I have an inheritance?” Vinnie whispers and places his fork down on his plate.
“You do. I’ve asked Sal to divide up my stock equally between you kids, along with myself. In total, we own a third of the family winery in Italy, which, when divided five ways, is about six percent each.”
“What?” I ask again, still in shock.
Growing up, we were never hurting for money. My parents owned the bar, and my father had his other business dealings, always keeping us fed and clothed with a nice roof over our heads. Never in my life did I think we actually had something more. They never spoke about it, and my Uncle Sal left town when I was too young to remember anything.
“So, are we talking about a little bit of money?” Vinnie rubs his hands together, letting greed get the better of him.
“Probably a couple million dollars each,” my father says, like he’s talking about the weather.
I feel faint. The room starts to spin, and everything goes dark.
15
Daphne
