“You’re not going to see him,” Mom said.
“I took soup down to him,” Nonna added, shaking her head. “He barely ate anything.”
“I don’t know why he’s doing this,” I said, rolling my sleeves up. Making focaccia was messy business, especially when you had to knead it, oil it, then stub your fingers in it to make those aerated holes. I’d been doing this for a long time with the family, but I couldn’t tell you how to actually make the stuff—just how to wrestle with it.
“We all grieve differently,” Mom said. “I’m glad he’s home. Thank you both for bringing him.”
“Well, we weren’t going to let him stay at the restaurant,” Santo said. “I asked him how much money he’d spent. I’m trying not to think about whether he drained his bank account—or worse, one of the companies.”
Mom stared at Santo. “He should not have access to any of the books.”
“Except for the one he’s in charge of,” I said. “He’s got a lot of them. The butchers. Dad personally gave him that space.”
Nonna laughed. “He might be drunk, and he might’ve lost some of his faculties, but he’d never do anything to put the family in jeopardy.”
I wanted to believe her, to think the same, but Tomaso had always been more of the problem child when we were growing up, and was even more so now when he didn’t have a curfew or anyone to report to. We all had small fortunes in our bank accounts, but most of us weren’t liquid, putting our money into making more money. I couldn’t say the same for Tomaso.
“He came to the restaurant, he thought the poker game was last night,” Santo said. “If that doesn’t spell problem, then I don’t know what does. He needs real help.”
“And he’s getting it,” Mom said, grabbing an additional glass dish. “And he’s going to eat. We’ll make this one plain for him. You know how fussy he can be.”
Santo redirected the conversation to tonight’s poker game. All the high rollers who were coming into town to play. The millions that were about to be played with tonight. Not only did we facilitate the games, we also made sure the players weren’t going to be seen coming into the restaurant.
Since the prohibition, there was a secret tunnel system in Boston, and my family owned most of those routes. It was one of the ways we’d managed to take control over our slice of the city. And all those people were coming through those tunnels to settle bets, to put their feuds on the poker table. And to the victor went the tax-free spoils.
“Your boyfriend should watch,” Mom said. “An analyst, well, let him analyze and make sure nobody cheats. And I’ll warn you, Rocco, he’s your responsibility. If he brings an investigation into the family, we’ll have to take him out.” The tone shifted as I acknowledged what could happen. She pinched my cheek. “Good, now let’s put these in the oven. You wash up, and I’ll get the pasta in the water.”
I nodded.
Kalen was my responsibility, and I was going to keep him safe, no matter the cost.
14. KALEN
I’d learned techniques for suppressing anxiety and swallowing fear, but none of that seemed to work when I was confronted by the sweetest looking woman and she was feeding me her homemade tomato sauce, and it was delicious. The sweet herby flavor coated my tongue, and as I was sent away into another room with Isaiah, Santo’s boyfriend, I kept sucking on my tongue to retaste the sauce.
“They’re actually doing a lot of good,” Isaiah said as we stood around in a room filled with shelves of trinkets: snow globes, statuettes, and trophies.
“Huh?”
He laughed. “The first time I came here, I was scared a little bit too,” he said. “Maybe not like you, you know, since you’re—”
“Oh, so everyone knows?” I tugged at the collar of my shirt. “I’m sweating.”
“You have nothing to worry about now, though,” he said. “They like you.”
Gnawing at the edge of my lip, I continued to scan the shelves. “I hope,” I mustered.
“They fund a lot of community projects, stuff the government says they don’t have the money for,” Isaiah continued. “So if this is some long investigation job, just know that if you’re trying to destroy the family, what you’re doing it destroying the community.”
I turned to him on a heel. His lip quivered. It was almost like he’d been told to tell me it. And I didn’t blame him. He probably had a cushioned life, and I couldn’t lie that I would’ve enjoyed the cushion if it had been offered up to me as well—especially before joining the agency.
“They’re opening a community center, and I’m gonna make sure it’s focused on LGBTQIA people,” he continued.
“That’s good,” I said. “And trust me, I’m not trying to do anything—anymore.”
He laughed nervously, pulling at a small plush bear hooked on the loop of his trousers. “I actually don’t know much about you,” he said.
“Kalen,” I said, holding my hand out to him. “Is that aSublimeteddy? I have one just like it.”
