8. Matilde
Matilde
Orange and yellow leaves cover the sidewalk when I step outside at last, flexing my cramped hand. Detention and writing lines are the most boring things in existence. December and graduation can’t get here soon enough.
“Why is there always a limo waiting for her?” a snide voice remarks.
On cue, her minions cackle in unison. The Capo’s Charity Case and Primo’s Bimbo are some of the less offensive names the mean girls’ clique has come up with for me.
But their ringleader called me the daughter of ‘some whore’ this morning. I know they don’t know who my mother was, but it set something off inside me.
“How is your nose, Paola?” I ask, giving her my best evil smile. She quickly closes her mouth, deciding she doesn’t want to test my temper again when there are no teachers nearby.
Heading toward the black limousine, my smug smile disappears when Nico climbs out of the backseat. Impeccably dressed as always, his cold gray eyes latch onto me. I glance at Primo, who’s currently sitting ramrod straight in the driver’s seat, looking like he’s been glued that way.
“Wha-why are you here?” I stammer.
“Someone was a naughty girl.”
Heat blasts my face. He knows? I’m surprised he doesn’t sound angrier. “They call your mother.”
“My mother is busy, and it seems we have a little meeting to attend.”
Mortified, I follow him back toward my tormentors. The daughters of his captains, all of them stare at Nico with open fascination and a healthy dose of fear. But when his gaze sweeps over them, they scatter like sheep from a wolf.
He opens the heavy front door of the school, ushering me in ahead of him with his hand resting at the small of my back. The light touch leaves me more rattled than his scowls. But in a good way.
“Did you need me to remove your stitches?” he asks as we move inside.
The thought of his hands touching me some more, so strong yet gentle, makes my insides tighten in a funny way. “No, I did it myself.” I show him my healed wrist, regretting that I never thanked him for his care. That entire exchange hardly seemed real.
“I haven’t forgotten about the knife.” I jerk back, afraid he’s angry over the theft after all.
“I meant, Dante and I trained Caterina to use one before her marriage. I could teach you, too, if you want to train. Unless you prefer Dante.” He frowns at the tiled floor, muttering something under his breath.
“I prefer you.” His eyes narrow as he stares intently at me, making me feel more flustered. “I’m sorry about this,” I add, nodding toward the principal’s office.
“Sorry for hitting the girl or sorry I found out?”
I think through my answer, recalling what he said about lying the day he gave me stitches. “The second part.”
I would swear a flicker of amusement flashes in his eyes. I saw the same look when he stitched me up, like he might be tempted to laugh. I wish I could hear him laughing. Just once to prove he's capable of it.
“That’s what I thought. Are you in the habit of fighting in school?”
“No, sir,” I reply, and he scowls over the ‘sir.’ I do it to annoy him, but this time it just slipped out.
“Did they make you do lines in detention?”
I flex my hand again. “How did you know?”
“I’m not that old, Matilde,” he says, wryly. “Believe it or not, I can still recall high school, and mine wasn't much more progressive than this one.”
“You are twenty-seven, yes?” He nods. “Did you get in trouble, too?”
He shakes his head. “The teachers were afraid of me, but I was good at keeping myself in line among outsiders. A lot is expected of a Capo’s heir. I left the trouble for my brother to seek out.”
I had not considered Nico was once my age, which is silly when I think about it, but it sounds like he was cold and controlled even then.
“The girls outside, they’re unkind to you?” Embarrassed, I nod. “Alright. Nice or not, no more fighting in school, Matilde.”
“Okay… but what if we are outside the school?”
He shakes his head, but this time it's obvious he's biting back laughter. Is there a way we might thaw the ice that’s so often part of our exchanges?
But, as usual, the asshole spoils it.
“I have more important meetings to attend today, and I don't like being bothered with this nonsense. Behave, or the principal’s office will be the least of your worries, understand?”
“I understand, sir.”
***
“You have laughed for two minutes now,” I huff over the phone that evening.
“Sorry,” Gia replies, still giggling. Even laughing over my misdeeds, I’m happy to hear her voice. “How’s it going with the babies?”
“Better every day.” No matter how rotten my day is going, their little smiles when they see me now never fail to lift my spirits.
“And how is Nico? Still an asshole?”
“Most of time, yes. Sometimes… he is okay.”
I lift my pillow, my brow furrowing when I see his t-shirt lying there. I haven’t dared to return to Nico’s bedroom after that day. I hadn’t wanted to return his shirt at all, though not even a trace of his scent lingers at this point.
“I miss you,” I say to Gia after lowering the pillow again. Zeta is wonderful, but it’s not the same as having a surrogate big sister to confide in.
“I miss you, too.”
“But not Chicago?”
“Definitely not Chicago,” she agrees, sounding carefree in a way she didn’t before. “I’m sorry I’m missing your birthday. I hear Zeta is throwing a big party.”
“She is,” I admit, feeling embarrassed over it.
“I’ve done some nosing around in my father’s papers for you. There’s not much, Matilde,” Gia adds, regretfully.
With a sigh, I wait to hear what she’s learned. No, it’s not much, but it’s more than I had.
Looking over the notes I’ve collected, my heart sinks at the utter bleakness of their history.
My father had just married my stepmother, a match arranged by their fathers, when he was sent to Chicago with Don Cicero’s son for extended business.
The Trio men shared their Seconda Notte tradition with him, a disgusting excuse for new husbands to celebrate their marriage by cheating on their bride.
My mouth purses with sympathy for my stepmother.
At the brothel, he’d enjoyed their newest girl, my birth mother.
He’d enjoyed her so much that he’d asked for an exclusive contract while he remained in the States.
He was a possessive man, and she’d happily agreed.
About nine months later, Maddalena and I had come along.
He returned to the U.S. when he learned of it and took me to Sicily to raise.
As far as I know, they never saw each other again.
“Why did he take me from my mother and sister? His wife was forced to stare at a reminder of his infidelity every day instead.”
Gia’s voice is warm and consoling. “I don’t know, Matilde, and I’m sorry you’ll never know Elena, but it sounds like your father must have felt something when it came to her. And consider this, if you’d stayed here, your life might not have been for the better.”
She has a point. Thinking of my mother's violent death and the men who abducted me, I pray my sister is safe. I’m still haunted by the thought of the girls that weren’t rescued like me.
“Do you have any idea why your father had collected information about my mother?”
“No, I can’t tell anything from the papers I’ve found. Have you considered asking Nico? He’s more approachable than his father, and it’s their city.”
Another good point from Gia, though I’d hardly consider Nico approachable. Plus, too many years of listening to my stepmother’s self-righteous ranting about fallen women has left me with shame I wish I didn’t feel when it comes to the truth about my parentage.
After Gia promises to keep looking, I thank her and end the call.
Zeta soon beckons me to join her in the spare bedroom she keeps ready for her grandchildren. “We’ll go ahead and start the twins’ bedtime routine here since Nico is holding an important meeting down in his father’s office.”
Mr. Important with his important meetings, I think, sourly.
Though, I must admit the principal’s office went much smoother than expected. I think the poor man made a mess in his pants when Nico stalked in behind me, sharply asking what the policy was regarding girls bullying new students.
The babies aren’t too sure about this bedtime routine business yet, but they enjoy bathtime. I snuggle Lucia close as I dry her off. Her baby fresh scent and soft chubby cheeks are absolute heaven.
Amadeo starts to fuss in his grandmother’s arms, staring at me when it’s time for their bottles. “He wants you, too,” Zeta laughs. Smiling, I take a seat on the little sofa and hold them both close, singing a lullaby in Italian while they drink.
Footsteps sound outside the doorway. Looking up, I spy Primo watching me sing. I roll my eyes at him, making shooing motions until he disappears. Zeta takes a seat beside me, whispering under her breath, “He likes you.”
I shrug, not interested in Primo that way. “I do not have time for boys.” Looking down at the little boy in my lap though, I amend my statement. “Except for you, Amadeo.”
***
It’s well past midnight when I hear a baby fussing.
Zeta must have convinced Nico to let the children spend the night.
I pad down the empty hallway. Amadeo is restless in his crib, so I lift him in my arms and start swaying back and forth.
His gray eyes are narrowed in that judgmental way. “Like father, like son.”
Just as he’s getting sleepy again, I hear loud male voices in the hallway. Nico, Dante and their father. Glancing down, I cringe over the fact I wore his t-shirt to bed again. Merda. It’s just comfortable, nothing significant, but I don’t want him to see me in it.
There’s a shadow beneath the door, and I hear Arturo Morelli’s angry voice. “Don’t lie! You were gone again! Out of the country when your place is here! And you… Who told you to interfere in the personal lives of our men?”
No sooner than the words are out, the old man is racked with a horrible coughing fit, and I hear Nico’s coolly measured voice. “It’s late, Father. You should rest.”
“I’m not a goddamn invalid!”
But the coughing grows worse until I hear Zeta’s voice, beseeching her husband to calm down and not wake the children. The coughs move further away, but the shadow under the door remains.
Quickly laying Amadeo back down, I grab a spare blanket and throw it around my shoulders before darting into the closet.
I barely manage to pull the louvered door closed before someone enters.
Two sets of male footsteps. The lamp turns on.
“Do you smell peaches?” Nico asks. Oh Dio! He smells my shampoo.
My heart is pounding so loudly, I’m certain they’ll hear it as I watch them through the slats.
Nico shifts his attention to the children, his eyes reminding me more of black smoke than slate in the lamplight.
He doesn’t smile, but there’s a softness in his expression that makes my chest tingle in an odd way.
“You don’t have to protect me from him like when we were boys, you know,” Dante murmurs, joining his brother by the cribs.
“I’ll always protect you… even when you cause me nothing but grief,” Nico replies, lifting Amadeo. The little boy is wide awake but not the slightest bit fussy, recognizing his father and content in his powerful arms.
“He’s like a miniature version of you. Except a chunky monkey and without the scar.”
“Uncle Dante is a shit-stirring asshole," Nico tells his son, and I have to smother giggles while my belly flips.
Dante leans over to pick up Lucia, who’s still blissfully asleep. “For rugrats, they’re cute.”
“Rugrats?” Nico repeats, offended, and I’m offended by the term, too, once I understand it.
“I don’t see Margareta in her,” Dante continues. “Probably for the best, principessa. Your mother might’ve drowned you at birth to spite your father.”
“Dante.”
I shiver at the horrible implication of Dante’s words and the murderous fury in Nico’s tone, but Dante is unbothered. “So, are you going to tell me why you apparently threatened our captains earlier tonight since I missed the meeting?”
“No, that’s what happens when you miss things. You miss them,” Nico answers, lifting the bag with the twins’ things and heading toward the door. Maybe I’ll be able to breathe again soon.
“What about Mrs. Esposito? Did you have a little talk with her as intended? I can handle her instead if you want.”
Esposito? The one new piece of information Gia had tonight regarding my sister involved someone with that name.
Nico shakes his head. “You killing Maddalena’s foster mother won’t help matters.”
Foster mother? My sister, Maddalena? Nico knows her?! Against my will, a small gasp escapes me.
Both men were headed toward the door, but they spin as one at the sound, their bodies rigid and alert. “Is there a rat in that closet?” Dante asks menacingly, pulling his gun.
My stomach drops, certain I’m about to be shot, but Nico uses his free hand to lower his brother’s gun. “Not a rat, Dante. Just a little sneak.”
Before I can blink, he opens the closet door. “Mi dispiace, signori," I whisper, clutching the blanket tightly to hide the fact I'm wearing his t-shirt.
“You’re apologizing quite a bit today. Maybe you need more than lines and detention for discipline.
” My eyes grow wide, zipping up to meet Nico’s.
What does he mean? And why do I feel sinfully curious to find out?
"Let's start with you repeating a few rules of mine…
" My entire body burns with humiliation and a strange sort of excitement when he rasps, "No sneaking around. Say it, Matilde."
"No sneaking around."
"You will not lie to or steal from me." Dante is smirking at me, but Nico doesn't care. "You will repeat it, Matilde."
"I will not lie to or steal from you," I echo, squirming with embarrassment at this ludicrous situation.
"Good. Now the last one… I will obey all of Nico's rules."
"I will obey all of sir's rules."
His eye twitches, and he jerks his chin toward the door. “Go to bed, Matilde.”
I flee without arguing, chased out of the room by Dante’s laughter and Nico irritably muttering ‘peaches’ under his breath.