“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.
Dad and Marlena even went to Italy to escape him, but they returned after Andretti ran away. He’s been in hiding all this time, but apparently, he’s kept track of us. How did he learn that Marlena is pregnant? Does he have any other spies working for him? Are we safe? Is he close? All these questions crowd in on me, making me appreciate my father’s fury.
After a moment, I stand up. I grab the card and go over to the sink. Reaching for a lighter that sits in a drawer, I light the card on fire. I hold it as it burns, the flames licking upward toward the hateful script. After a moment, the fire gets too close, so I release the letter into the sink. My father and I stand there, watching it burn together.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I tell my dad. “He’s just making noise.”
“I’m gonna find him,” my father swears.
“I know,” I assure him. My father is incredibly dangerous, and even more so when he’s angry. I feel like Marlena and I are in the kitchen with an armed bomb.
Dad leaves the kitchen and marches down the hall toward his office. That’s a bad sign, so I follow him. I don’t know what I think I’ll be able to do to stop him from destroying the house, but I have to do something.
My father barges into his office and rips through his desk until he finds a gun. I stand back, not wanting him to shoot me. I know that objectively I don’t have a lot to worry about. My father may be angry at Andretti, but there’s no way he’s going to mistake me for his enemy.
He brushes past me on his way to the door. My heart sinks, suspecting that he’s about to go on a rampage. I also trust him not to shoot innocent people. He may be a mafia don, but he’s not stupid. He knows the difference between random strangers and the man who made his life a living hell. But I still don’t want him running around out there with a loaded gun. The police could find him, and it would create a whole world of trouble.
I’ve been up to my neck in illegal activities all day. The last thing I want is to have to bail my father out of jail. I’m not a lawyer yet, so that means I can’t represent him in court. It would be best to talk him out of whatever he has planned, at least until cooler heads can prevail.
“Wait, Dad,” I call out, hurrying after him. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m gonna make that sorry son of a bitch pay,” Dad growls.
“How are you even going to find him?” I wonder, tagging along like a toddler in his footsteps.
My father storms through the hallway, passing right by the kitchen where his pregnant wife is crying. He doesn’t pause, continuing out the door and into the driveway. I half expect him to jump into a car and peel out of the compound, but he doesn’t. I’m pleased to see him turn left, toward the shed, instead of right, toward the garage.
Dante looks up from where he’s enjoying a cigarette break by the side of the house. There are two other soldiers with him, and they are all startled by my father’s sudden appearance. Dante looks at me for an explanation, but all I can do is shrug. I have no idea what my father plans to do with the gun, although I can guess it won’t be good.
As I watch, Dad stops in the middle of the driveway. He points the revolver at a tree that stands between the shed and the house and fires twice. The gun barks, making everyone jump. We’re all nervous, but there’s nothing we can do to stop him.
