Chapter One #2
Mamma’s hand on my back urges me forward, and I sit on the bigger of the two couches as she and Giulio do the same.
Handing us both a book, she passes another to my cousin.
“Read these, boys. And keep quiet until we tell you otherwise. Please, behave.” She shares a look with my aunt before I look down at my book.
The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein.
I huff out an annoyed breath, not wanting to read this dumb book again but knowing if I don’t, Mamma will be angry. The book is made for little kids, and I’m nine. But Mamma says the best way to practice my second language is through repetition.
Staring at the pages without reading the words, we wait in the room for what feels like forever.
Mamma and Aunt Andrea keep sharing looks.
Guilio gets restless, sliding off the couch and onto the floor to crawl under the table.
I sneak a peek at Enzo and see that he looks as though he’s about to fall asleep with his arm propped up on the side of the couch.
What is taking so long?
More long minutes pass before the sound of footsteps pulls my attention and I glue my eyes to what I can see of the hallway. Moments later, a lady and a girl appear, both with smiles on their faces.
The girl looks to be about my age. She wears a puffy pink dress and her dark brown hair is long. I wonder if she has any brothers for me to play with.
Mamma and Aunt Andrea stand. Should I?
“Hello, ladies. Boys,” the lady greets happily, walking over to us.
Sliding off the couch, I stand close to Mamma as the lady approaches and reaches for her hands.
“It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Leighton, and this is my daughter, Vincenza. Come here, Vincenza.”
The girl bounces over to her mother and waves at mine.
“I wasn’t aware Gabriele was bringing his whole family for his meeting with my husband, or I never would have let my father take our boys this week for a hunting trip! They would have loved more little boys to play with.”
“That’s alright,” Mamma affirms. “It seems as though our presence was a bit of a surprise. My name is Valentina, and these are my sons Sylvester and Giulio.”
Aunt Andrea steps forward and extends a hand to shake with the lady, Lee-something. “Thank you for having us in your gorgeous home. I’m Andrea, Gabriele’s wife. And this is our son Lorenzo.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve met Gabriele a few times now! So nice to finally meet you.” She gestures for everyone to sit, so we do, and she takes a seat in the armchair across from us. The girl settles on the floor by her mother's side with a chapter book on her lap.
“How old are your boys?” Aunt Andrea asks as she places her hand on Enzo’s knee to keep him from wiggling.
“Luciano, my oldest, is fourteen. Then we have Joseph, who is eleven, Vincenza here, just turned nine, and Samuele, my baby, is four.” She sighs.
“They just grow so quickly. I can’t believe I have a teenager.
” Looking over at my mother, she squeals, “And you! Look at that baby bump! When are you due?”
“Federico will be arriving in three to four months. Lord never knows with my boys, they come when they please. Sylvester was nearly two weeks late, but Giulio was a month early. I’ve stopped trying to guess when the Lucchetti boys may arrive.
” My eyes trace where my mother rubs my baby brother in her stomach, and she smiles warmly at me. “Sly is nine, Giulio is six.”
“Oh, I understand that, honey. My kids were all over the place too.” She smiles warmly at Enzo. “And you, sir? How old are you?”
Enzo shifts in his seat, sitting up taller as he proudly boasts, “I’m about to turn ten!”
“Such a little man you are!” Lee-whatever says affectionately.
Her sentence is barely finished when a woman wearing the same plain dress as all the other maids comes into the room.
“Your presence is requested in the dining room,” she tells us and curtsies low before leaving.
It’s very strange.
The grown-ups stand and Mamma pulls Giulio to his feet before we follow the lady out of the room. I watch as the girl bounces on her feet, skipping and twirling the whole way across the hall.
She’s odd. So bouncy, and why is her dress so big?
When we enter through the open double doors of the dining room, Papà, Uncle Gabriele, and the scary man are already sitting at the table. They stand when they see us, and I follow Mamma over to the side where Papà sits.
She settles us, and once the room grows still, the scary man stands and clinks a knife against his short glass filled with a dark-golden liquid.
“I find myself to be a reasonable man. A family man. Which is why I’d like to welcome you all to my home this evening for dinner.
Though unplanned, it seems fitting, as I have recently learned that things don’t always go as planned.
I hope that through this act of breaking bread and sharing time, minds will change before the night is over.
” His words trail off as he stares at my uncle, who I see gulp, the knob in his throat moving.
“Now, please join me in prayer. Dear Heavenly Father, we ask that you bless our food and the guests we have here tonight to share it. May you offer your wisdom and guidance to those who may need it the most, and that you share your light by blessing our families, cultivating our relationships, and nurturing our businesses. In Jesus’ name, Amen. ”
“Amen,” I whisper, as everyone joins in.
Mamma and Papà exchange a look right before the sound of a loud snap echoes through the room.
With it, four people in black clothes walk forward and reach between us, pulling the shiny silver tops off the food sitting in the middle of the table.
Immediately, several scents hit me, and my stomach growls.
Roasted chicken, steak, capellini pasta with Alfredo sauce, penne marinara, and fresh baked bread.
My eyes bounce from dish to dish, skipping quickly over anything green—Mamma will make me eat my vegetables, but that doesn’t mean I have to look forward to them.
With the clatter of dishes around us, I hear Mamma whisper to Papà, “Cosa significa che spera che le menti cambiano?” What does he mean he hopes minds will change?
“Shh, shh,” Papà whispers, before painting on a smile and turning to the head of the table. “Everything looks delizioso, Maurizio. Grazie.”
The scary man, Maurizio, begins to serve himself, and as soon as his wife does, the rest of the adults do the same.
When our plates and our mouths are full, I realize no one is speaking. A rarity for a meal with my family.
Looking around the table, I see the scary man sending mean looks in my uncle's direction, while his wife fusses over the girl, trying to get her to try the food on her plate.
I don’t know why she wouldn’t want to.
Shoveling my mouth full bite after bite, I clear my plate and lean back in my chair, my stomach protruding.
“That was delizioso!” I exclaim loudly, knowing I was to be seen and not heard tonight, but not liking the silence. We speak at dinner. Why is no one speaking?
The scary man turns his attention to me, and suddenly I wish I had kept quiet. I am surprised when his grumpy look wipes clean. “I am glad, piccolo Lucchetti.”
His gaze sweeps along the table, and he turns to his wife. “Leighton, my dear, perhaps now that we have finished, the men can speak once more?”
“Sure, my love,” she tells him, then leans over to kiss him—ew. “Ladies, kiddos, shall we?”
Standing, she helps her daughter pull out her chair while Mamma and Aunt Andrea help us. Mamma casts another look to Papà, who nods, and Aunt Andrea bends to kiss Uncle Gabriele.
Why is everyone kissing?
As we walk away, I slow my steps to eavesdrop. “Have you thought about my offer, Gabriele?”
“Maurizio, please, there must be another way I can?—”
“You have stolen from me, Gabriele! I have given more than enough time and patience because at one time I called you my most loyal employee, but now I need an answer. Have we come to an understanding?”
I look over my shoulder in time to see my uncle shake his head no, and watch as the scary man stands, forcing my uncle to look up at him. “How disappointing. You abuse my patience, even after I am gracious enough to take in your family for a meal.”
My mother turns and sees that I have completely stopped walking, and hurries back to grab my arm.
As she pulls me toward the door, the scary man continues yelling at my uncle, without actually raising his voice.
“I put my trust in you, Gabriele. It was misguided, and it won’t be forgotten.
Let this be a warning to you, Antonio, of what happens when you cross Maurizio Paladino.
” Maurizio’s gaze lifts and he watches us as we near the door.
We hardly cross the threshold before their butler pulls both doors closed behind us, slamming them shut. They hardly click into place when the piercing sound of a gunshot rings out behind them.
“NO!” Aunt Andrea screams, charging toward the door, but the man blocking it holds her back.
The girl, Vincenza, whimpers at the sound and curls into her mother, burying her head into the fabric of her dress. Her mother’s hand covers her own mouth as though she’s surprised.
“I’m so sorry,” she cries out, but she’s already pushing her daughter down the hall and away from us.
They disappear quickly as Mamma rushes to Aunt Andrea, pulling her into her arms while she sobs louder than I’ve ever heard anyone cry before.
Seconds later the doorknobs twist loudly, and Papà appears, tossing open the doors and stepping through them. His eyes are wild and fearful as he looks at each one of us. “Come,” he says hurriedly. “We must leave. Now.”
His eyes zero in on mine, speaking what he cannot say aloud.
I nod in a silent understanding and grab the hands of my brother and my cousin, and pull them to the front door.
Papà’s footsteps are heavy behind mine as he guides Mamma and Aunt Andrea, leaning around me to open the front door when we reach it.
Once we’re in the town car again, and our driver has made it safely away from the Paladino home, does the reality of what happened sink in.
Everything happened so quickly, and if I thought our lives were turned upside down before, I have a feeling I am sadly mistaken.
Aunt Andrea’s loud sobs have turned into breathless hysteria as she cries into Mamma’s bosom. Lorenzo is curled up on the seat, folded into himself with his head on his mother’s lap. I can’t tell if he’s crying.
Papà hands Giulio his activity pack he brings with him on car rides to keep him occupied before looking at me.
It’s then I see smatters of blood across his white starched shirt. My stomach dips and I look away, out the window.
The city lights are bright, even through the darkened tint of the car, and it’s only when the traffic begins to move and the lights begin to blur, do I allow a quiet stream of tears to fall.
There are two things I learned for certain today.
One: My uncle is dead.
And two: Never trust a Paladino.