I tried to fill the awkward pause. “Bianca’s a really talented designer. She’s going to be as big as Dolce and Gabbana one day – ”
“Not that she has to,” Papa interrupted sourly.
I ignored him. “Or Armani, or Versace – ”
“Or Al Capone,” he grumbled.
I forced a smile.
I tried to keep my mouth shut –
I really did –
But I couldn’t help myself.
“Actually, Al Capone’sparentswere from Naples. He was American,” I said. “And none of them ran a dress shop.”
“No,” my father snarled, “they just did what you and your boss do: steal from hard-working people.”
“Fulvio – ” Mama pleaded.
“Extort small businesses,” Papa continued.
Giancarlo winced as he looked at me.Sorry.
Too fuckin’ late for THAT,I thought as I glared at him.
Papa kept going like he was reciting the catechism. “Pimp out prostitutes – sell drugs to children – spread corruption in the government – ”
“And run dress shops,” I interrupted Papa, trying to inject some humor.
It didn’t work.
He scowled at me. “With blood money.”
Emilia’s eyes widened.
I avoided looking at her and faced down Papa instead. “My bosses aren’t like that.”
“Of course they are,” he scoffed. “They’remafia.”
“They don’tsell drugs to children,” I shot back. “In fact, they got out of drugs entirely, but it didn’t stop the drugs from coming in, and it didn’t stop people from using. Onlynowthey’re shooting poison into their arms and snorting bad shit up their noses.”
“Giorgio!” my mother reprimanded me about my language. I ignored her.
“But because people are dying, my bosses are trying to figure out how to make it stop so they can save lives.”
“Murderers figuring out how to squeeze a little more profit out of their victims,” Papa snarled.
“Uh-huh,” I said sarcastically. “Do you know that I’ve spent the last two months going around to prostitutes in Florence, offering them five grand apiece if they’ll get out of the sex trade? That’s what my boss is doing. He’s trying to help women start a new life. But you don’t want to hear aboutthat,do you? You’d rather just stand up on a fucking soapbox and preach.”
Every single one of my siblings gasped.
Nobodytalked to Papa that way.
My father’s face turned scarlet. He leaned over and rasped, “Why don’t you go ask Lorenzo’s parents if they wish they’dpreached a little more to their son? Maybe if they had, he’d still be alive today.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emilia turn ghostly white.
