For a minute, I think he knows my deepest secrets. Why else would he mention the bad part about having money? But the moment passes. I assume that he’s talking about feeling isolated from the rest of the world, or another similar drawback to massive wealth.
He shows me to the kitchen, where a young, pregnant woman is reaching for a cup on a high shelf. Frankie abandons me instantly, hurrying to assist her. He pulls the cup down and hands it to her, as if she is important to him. I think she’s a staff member or maybe even a sister, until I realize that this must be Mrs. Corello.
“Sofia, this is Marlena,” Frankie introduces us.
“Hello,” I say.
“Come in,” Marlena says, waving me over excitedly.
I walk around the island to stand before her, feeling like I’m standing in the presence of royalty. I wonder what she knows about her husband’s business. Is she aware of how dangerous the father of her child is? Does she have any regrets when it comes to bringing a new baby into this world of crime?
She hugs me, drawing back to smile sweetly. I’m caught off guard by the genuine happiness in her eyes. I assumed that everyone in this home would be walking on eggshells or oppressed by the trauma they inflict on the rest of the world. Contrary to all my assumptions, Marlena seems down to earth. She’s warm and friendly as she takes my hand.
“Frankie’s told me so much about you,” Marlena says.
“I hope to live up to whatever he said,” I joke.
“What is this?” Marlena points to the wine I brought.
“Oh, this is for you,” I say, remembering my manners. “But now that I think about it, wine isn’t a great gift for a pregnant woman.”
Marlena laughs. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for one glass.”
Frankie winks at me. I’m caught off guard by the comfortable humor in the air. I’d been expecting something much more rigid, less human. I don’t know why I pictured a houseful of murderers and thieves, but this is nothing like that. I can even imagine myself visiting again, if I weren’t a reporter trying to get a story.
“Cisco loves a good red,” Marlena continues, taking the bottle from me.
“Great,” I respond, my voice a little more sarcastic than I planned.
“This is the girl?” a man says from the kitchen doorway.
I turn to see the man I’ve hated for so long standing in front of me. He’s less intimidating than I imagined. He actually looks a lot like Frankie, only older. He has a warm, kind of charm that’s immediately evident. He comes right up to me without any hesitation and offers me his hand.
“Sofia, this is my father, Francisco Corello,” Frankie says.
“Please,” the don responds, “call me Cisco.”
“Sure, Mr. Corello,” I reply woodenly.
“Cisco,” he repeats.
I glance at Frankie, wondering if this is normal operating procedure. I’m not sure I’m comfortable being on a first-name basis with Francisco Corello, the man who murdered my brother. Of course, it probably wasn’t him who pulled the trigger, but I have no doubt that he gave the order to have Danny killed.
I force myself to shake Corello’s hand, smiling nervously. I reach for Frankie’s arm. I may be lying to him, but he doesn’t know that. In this moment, he’s the one anchor I have. I glance up at him, and he gives me a reassuring smile. In his mind, I’m anxious about meeting his father and impressed by the massive show of wealth that is his home.
It’s true that the house is gorgeous, but it’s also incredibly cold. The entire place seems to be designed to take people’s breath away, distracting them from the knowledge that evil lurks around every corner. The interior designer who placed every framed oil painting and matching piece of furniture doesn’t seem to have given the building any soul. I wonder if the lack ofpersonality is by design. Maybe Corello hosts meetings here with other criminal bosses and uses the imposing decor to command their respect.
By contrast, both Mr. and Mrs. Corello seem very friendly. I’m thrown off by their warm hospitality, and I have to remind myself why I hate them. No matter how genuine his smile might seem, Francisco Corello is a killer. That fact alone gives me energy to continue my espionage. I need to find out what he knows and discover some clues to my brother’s demise before the night is over.
“Did Frankie give you a tour?” Corello wonders.
“Yes, he did,” I answer. “Your house is very impressive.”
“Thank you,” Corello responds. “You’re most welcome here.”
I squeeze Frankie’s hand, relying on him even though he has no clue who I really am. We move to the dining room, where a fantastic meal has already been laid out. The plates are real china and the silverware is real silver. There is a chilled glass of water beside each setting, and fresh cut flowers for a centerpiece.
Frankie scoots around me to pull out a chair. I glance at him gratefully, knowing that my status as his girlfriend is the only thing protecting me from his father. The evening has just started and already I’m leaning heavily on the man I’ve been lying to for almost a month. I hope I can make it through without revealing my hidden agenda. It takes everything I have to make polite conversation with the monster at the head of the table.
