I nodded once.“Deal.”
He nodded back.“Okay, good.”
I sat perfectly still, waiting.
He carefully placed a pan on the stove and added some tallow before speaking.“To start, you should know that I never knew the kind of man my father was until I was finishing high school and turned eighteen.” He paused, picking his next words.“I always thought he was your typical Wall Street guy, working with the family financial business, often away, and perpetually stressed. He was a good father, though strict and holding high expectations for me. Our family was close-knit: me, my mother, my two younger sisters, and my dad. We were your quintessential Italian immigrant family, with big personalities and plenty of food.” He grinned.“That’s where I learned how to cook. My Nonna was a legend with a sauce pot.”
I smiled back, careful not to interrupt, but wanting him to know I was listening.
“My aunts and uncles always got the family together. Trips to upstate New York, holidays in the city. Family was everything, as it should be.” He poured coffee into a mug, then added milk and honey before handing the cup to me and returning to the kitchen to continue his story.
“I had three uncles. My dad was the oldest of the four brothers, followed by David, Matteo, and Luca. Somewhere along the line, Matteo, I suppose, felt slighted as the almost middle child. Italians are known for their passionate tempers, quick to anger and prone to jealousy and suspicion. I’m not entirely sure why, and I never really got the chance to fully understand Matteo’s issues, but I assume it was basic jealousy. Who knows, but he has a dark side that’s dangerous and out of control.”
He whisked the eggs with a fork and added them to the pan.
“I remember my aunt, Matteo’s wife, showing signs of being verbally abused soon after their marriage. She’d often shy away and wince at loud noises, and then the bruises appeared. I was just a kid, but even I knew something wasn’t right. All my other uncles saw it, too. They didn’t hide their disapproval. It wasn’t how they were raised. Respecting women was a religion to my grandfather. God, he worshipped the ground my Nonna walked on like a saint. Matteo, though, had a screw loose.”
He toasted some bread on the stove.“My grandfather died during my senior year of high school. I think without him, Matteo lost a figure of authority that kept him in check. Later that summer, after I graduated, Matteo’s wife vanished completely. I never saw her again. He made comments about her leaving to run away with another man, but it didn’t feel right. Her belongings, the type you wouldn’t just leave, were at his house when the family visited, and her car was even in the garage.” Gray looked frustrated, his usually bright face sallow as he stirred the cooking eggs.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed.
He hummed.“She was nice. I remember that much. She just fell victim to love with the wrong man.”
I sat up, pulling the blankets tighter around myself and holding my coffee mug in both hands.
“As that summer progressed, my uncles fought over who should take control of the business. I still thought it was just a financial firm, but as the situation escalated, my father revealed the true nature of our family business to me just days before my eighteenth birthday. It was a shock to discover that my father wasn’t who I had always believed him to be. In my eyes, he seemed to tarnish overnight.”
“Did you have to be a part of the family crime business, then? Like, was there an option not to join?” I asked.
He shook his head.“No, you don’t get a choice, especially as I was the only son of three kids. My dad, for whatever it’s worth, hated the familial expectations of organized crime; he was open about that much, at least, but told me there was little he could do about it if he wanted to keep us safe. He explained that when he was my age and learned the truth, he hated it, but eventually came to appreciate the business. It’s a world where you’re either in or out. There’s no grey space. I suppose at some point you detach yourself from the reality of it, though I never understood how they could do that.”
I frowned. And here I’d thought Gray wasn’t givingmeany options by keeping me here. He had even fewer.
“Eventually, my father, being the oldest, took over. After that, Matteo became angry and resentful. I guess he felt he was more qualified, tougher, stronger, and had a better head for that sort of thing. Maybe he was right.” He shrugged.“Matteo was a narcissist, and that’s the personality needed to lead a successful crime family sometimes. My dad, however, had no patience for that kind of unpredictable rage. I remember overhearing a phone call between them one night that ended with my father essentially disowning Matteo and kicking him out of the business, and effectively, the family.”
Gray grabbed a few plates, scooping up the eggs and placing the toast on top. He walked toward me, a plate in each hand, looking like a tortured god delivering DoorDash. He handed me one plate before turning and sitting beside me. I faced him, our plates resting on our laps.
“Weeks went by, and the incidents with Matteo escalated. Threatening notes appeared on our doorstep, tires were slashed, and bricks were thrown through our windows. This was the rudimentary, gang-like activity my father and grandfather strongly disapproved of in our business. I suppose they believed in being‘civilized amidst chaos to avoid becoming monsters,’or some similar sentiment.”
“My father, needing to strategize, started confiding in me more and more, often summoning me to his office in the evenings. He began speaking of a growing divide among the men within the organization. Apparently, some of the crew defected to Matteo’s more brutal and haphazard methods of operation.” He let out a sigh.“Looking back, it’s so clear what was unfolding. Matteo was seizing control of the family business through force, offering the more unscrupulous members a chance to operate as they pleased.” He pushed his plate away, uneaten, and folded his hands in his lap.
I took a bite of toast.
When he continued, I knew we’d reached the climax of his story.“Then everything imploded,” he said.“I remember being in the den with my dad, talking things over, learning, when the lights in the house went out. For a moment, the world was silent until the gunfire began. Windows shattered, glass flying like tiny knives all around the room. Missile flares flew in through the windows, bathing the house in an eerie glow of fiery light. Curtains caught fire, and one flare struck me here.” He pointed to his right upper chest and shoulder, where I’d seen a quarter-sized wound.“It went in and lodged, burning out the back like a torch.”
I dropped my fork, gasping. It explained the scar on his back, the burnt webbing, and its size. I couldn’t imagine that kind of relentless pain.
“It kept burning, even soaked in my blood,” he said grimly.“I had to push it the rest of the way through with my fingers. But that wasn’t the worst part. I heard my mother and sisters screaming amidst my agony, and my father ran from the room to go to them. I remember the relief I felt when the flare fell to the floor, only to be replaced by horror when I watched my father get blown back by a shotgun a step outside the office doors. He was dead before he hit the ground. I remember seeing his lifeless feet through the doorway, barely visible in the flickering light of the flares. It all happened so quickly.”
I reached out and placed my hand on his forearm. He placed his other hand on top of mine, accepting the comfort I offered.
“My mother and sisters were dragged into the den, over my father’s dead body. All the men wore masks, except Matteo. One by one, he slit my sisters’throats amidst their screams, forcing me to watch as two men held me back. There was zero hesitation, no grand speech or drawn-out moment where I could stop it.”
He hung his head, but pushed on.“The sounds of their dying screams... I can never forget. Only after my sisters were dead did Matteo finally say something. He mentioned betrayal and how all of this was deserved. I can’t recall the entire speech; my world was ending before my very eyes, but that was the gist of it.”
He sighed, taking a moment to breathe and center himself.“My mother was the last to die, and by then, she was already dead, even if her heart was still beating. She stared, eyes blank, fixed on the dead bodies of my sisters. Matteo shot her in the head before turning the gun on me.”
I squeezed Gray’s arm, trying to keep from crying.
