24. ADRIANA
ADRIANA
A ntonio burst through the front door. “Hey, Ma. Hey, Joey,” he said, his tone laced with suspicion. “What’s going on?”
I forced a tight smile, suddenly very aware of how I must look right now. “Nothing. Joey was just leaving.” My hand nudged Joey’s arm, signaling for him to leave. The last thing I needed was for Antonio to know that his father was alive and coming for us.
Antonio didn’t look convinced, his brown eyes darting between us. “Leaving? You two looked like you were in the middle of something. Did I interrupt?”
Joey chuckled. “Nah, kid. Just talking. You didn’t interrupt anything. Your Ma was just upset about the day.”
“Since you’re here, why don’t you stay for dinner?”
“Antonio—” I started, but he cut me off.
“C’mon, Joey. You’ve gotta eat, don’t you?”
Joey smirked, glancing at me. Neither one of us knew what to do. “I don’t know, kid. Your mom might not want me sticking around for dinner. I didn’t bring dessert like I promised I would. ”
What a smooth talker.
“She doesn’t care about dessert,” Antonio said.
I sighed, shooting Joey a warning look. “Antonio, it’s late. Joey probably has other plans. Don’t you?” I said, nudging his arm again.
But Antonio was relentless, turning back to Joey with the stubbornness only an innocent teenage boy could muster. “Then he can take care of them after dinner. Right, Joey?”
Joey shrugged, his grin smug. “If your mom’s good with it, I don’t mind staying.”
“Fine,” I sighed, moving towards the stove. “Let's just sit down and eat dinner.”
Antonio grinned, plopping down at the table as Joey took his seat. “Paul says we’re family now,” Antonio declared. “And family eats dinner together. Might as well get used to Ma’s cooking, Joey.”
Joey ruffled Antonio’s dark curls, his smirk softening. “Family, huh?” He glanced at me before turning back to Antonio with a nod. “Alright, kid. You’re right about that. Let’s eat.”
The three of us sat around the kitchen table, the only sound the clink of forks against plates as we ate the homemade carbonara I’d prepared. The tension between Joey and me hung thick in the air. No one said a word—until Antonio broke the silence, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.
“Hey Joey, is the mafia real?”
The question hit me like a slap. My eyes widened in horror, and I nearly choked on my food. Joey froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air, his eyes flickering from me to Antonio.
“Antonio!” I snapped, lightly smacking his shoulder to get his attention. I was horrified at the word mafia leaving his lips.
He shrugged at me. “What? I saw it in the papers. They were talking about ‘ The Shark ,’ saying he’s in the mafia.”
Joey let out a low chuckle, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he twirled pasta onto his fork. “The Shark, huh? Sounds like a comic book villain. Guess the papers are getting creative these days.”
Antonio wasn’t laughing. His expression was dead serious as he leaned forward, staring at Joey. “Well, they made it sound serious. Said you were dangerous. Said you’re involved in a lot of bad stuff. One article said you were a glorified serial killer.”
I coughed on my food. “Antonio, that’s enough! Please drop it and don’t read any more of that crap.”
I knew I was lying to him. But how could I explain the truth to him? It was too complicated, too dangerous. How could I tell him that, yes, the mafia was real? That, yes, Joey was involved? And yes, I was aware of it—and somehow, I’d let Joey into our lives despite knowing. And felt safer with Joey in our lives.
But Joey wasn’t the monster the papers made him out to be. He wasn’t some ruthless killer, running wild through Staten Island. He was respected, even admired, by the people around here. He was good-looking, charming, and kind. He’d done nothing but help us since we met him. I believed that Joey wasn’t a threat to me or Antonio. We were safer with him than without him.
“But Joey, why do they call you ‘The Shark’?” Antonio asked. “It’s hard to ignore when I’m a paperboy, Ma.”
Joey leaned back in his chair, a grin tugging at his lips. “Great question, kid. Do I look like I swim around, eating people for a living?”
But Antonio wasn’t amused. “I’m not joking. They said you’re some kind of big-deal gangster,” he insisted. “Ma, did you know that?”
“Antonio, drop it,” I pleaded. “Cut it out.”
“I’m just asking!” Antonio shot back.
Joey let out a quiet sigh, setting his fork down. “Listen, kid. Those papers? They’re all about telling stories that sell. A scary nickname like ‘ The Shark’ ? That’s how they grab people’s attention. I mean, look. It even caught your attention, and you know me. They’ve even tried to corrupt your mind into believing I’m a bad guy. Makes it more exciting than the truth, doesn’t it? Mr. Russo makes good money selling copies with my face plastered on the front page.”
“So you’re saying it’s not true?” Antonio pressed.
Joey gave him a soft, reassuring smile—the kind of smile that made me question every moral I thought I stood for. The only crime that smile was guilty of was holding my heart captive. “No, Antonio. I’m just a guy who runs a business and happens to play ball with you on weekends. That’s all.”
Antonio tilted his head, not willing to drop it, and I couldn’t understand why. “But why would they write about you if it wasn’t true? I just don’t understand that. You make the papers at least once a week.”
“Antonio, that’s enough!” I cut in, my pleas slicing through the air like a slap.
Joey placed a hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “People will say all kinds of things about you. Doesn’t mean it’s true. Look at me, kid.” Joey’s eyes poured into Antonio. “You know who I am. I’m Joey. You know me.”
My conscience allowed me to see past the sparkle of his blue eyes. Joey and The Shark were the same person. And I could see it written all over his face.
Antonio nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“And while we’re at it, how about you focus on baseball, school, and delivering newspapers instead of what’s printed inside them.” Joey chuckled, ruffling up Antonio’s hair again.
“Sorry, Joey,” Antonio mumbled.
Joey flashed that easy grin of his, the one that had charmed its way into both our lives. The very same smile that “The Shark” plastered for the newspapers. The same man, and yet I felt myself accepting every part of him—the good and the bad.
“Don’t sweat it, kid. You’re family now. You can always ask me anything—and I’ll always tell you the truth. ”
It was how Joey said we’re family now, like it wasn’t even up for debate. His eyes flicked my way, holding mine for a second too long, as though he meant it just as much for me as for Antonio. And when a soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, my heart betrayed me—it melted. I didn’t want to get caught up in his charm, but it was so effortless, so natural. So demanding. Joey pulled me in no matter how hard I tried to resist.
I knew better than this. I had spent years with a man who used words and gestures to lure me in, only to use them against me later. But Joey didn’t feel like a trap. He didn’t feel like danger—not to me, anyway. I knew there were two sides to him. But I felt safer when he was near.
I glanced at Antonio, who had returned to eating his carbonara as if he had gotten the answers he was searching for. Joey had that effect—he could command respect with a single look or a few perfectly chosen words. If he was like this in my presence, I could only imagine who he was when he wasn’t with us.
A part of me had been dormant for years, buried in fear and survival. That part came alive whenever Joey smiled at me or brushed his hand against mine. His eyes softened when they landed on me, like I was worth looking at. With him, I felt seen, even when I didn’t want to be seen.
I realized then that I’d been staring at him too long, lost in my thoughts. Joey caught my gaze and held it, his smile soft but knowing, like he could see right through me. Like he could read my thoughts.
“Adriana,” Joey said, his voice pulling me back to reality.
“Yes?” I replied too quickly, my voice higher than I intended.
“We’re good, right?”
I swallowed, forcing a smile. “Yeah, Joey. We’re good.”