Chapter 1
Charlie
I come through the front door of my modest home and kick off my shoes, taking a deep inhale of the aromas coming through the kitchen. I just got off a twelve-hour shift at the diner. I’m working undercover to find more information about Lola Biaz.
“Is that you, Charlotte,” I hear my mother call from the kitchen.
“It’s me Ma. Where are the girls? I didn't see their car.”
“They’re over at Ronda’s working on a school project. They’re due home any minute now.”
“I’ll wash up and come help.”
I hurry to the hall bath and wash up before heading to the kitchen. Ma is flitting around. Every burner on the stove has a pot and the oven is on. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
“Something sure smells good,” Pops says, walking into the kitchen. He snags a bread stick and pokes it in the gravy. Ma slaps his hand.
“Pops, you can wait for dinner. You’re as bad as the kids, if not worse,” she says, shooing him away.
Pops’ thick, once black hair is now mostly silver. Romeo aka Pops Perillo is in his seventies and as spry as a man in his fifties. He’s my dad’s dad. My grandfather and the girls’ great-grandfather.
My grandmother died when I was six and Dad was killed in a plane crash when I was sixteen. After the divorce, Ma, Pops and I found a moderate three-bedroom home. Ma and I shared a room up until last year when I turned the garage into an ensuite. One large bedroom for the triplets with their own bathroom. Not that the adults have time to use any of the bathrooms in the morning. The house came with one and a half baths.
Now instead of hogging two bathrooms in the morning, they hog three. The adults have to be out of the bathroom by six-fifteen when chaos descends. The triplets’ alarm goes off at six o’five. They take ten minutes to get out of bed and commandeer a bathroom. Once they go in, forget it for the next forty-five minutes.
“How can I help, Ma?”
“You can make the salad and the dressing. I’ve got everything else started. Oh, and keep Pops out of my gravy.”
“I better go get my gun,” I say with a playful smirk.
Pops laughs out loud, stealing another stick and dipping it in the gravy while Ma is giving me the evil eye.
“You know how I feel about guns in the house.”
“That’s why they’re locked in a safe that needs a fingerprint and a retinal scan, Ma. I did that for you instead of using a normal gun safe. Besides, if you want me to keep Pops away from your gravy, I need backup.”
Pops chuckles as he stuffs a third gravy laden stick in his mouth. These are the traditional crispy, thin breadsticks, not the thick one they serve at that Italian chain and with pizza. I mean, those are delicious, just not traditional.
The girls arriving home interrupts the conversation.
“We’re in the kitchen,” I call out.
“Wash up,” Ma adds.
I head to the fridge to pull out salad ingredients. Romaine, radicchio, arugula, black olives, cherry tomatoes, red onion, roasted red peppers, and a block of Parmigiano Reggiano. By the time I have everything gathered, the girls file into the kitchen. It’s the largest single room in the house and the reason we bought it.
They give each adult a hug and a kiss, starting with Pops, then Ma. I’m always last. Elders first in this family.
“How was school?”
“It's school,” Valentina replies.
“Nice answer, smarty butt,” Francesca adds.
While Lucia saves her grandmother the trouble and smacks her sister in the back of the head.
“Tone,” Ma says.
Out of the three girls, Valentina blames me for the divorce. I blame my lying, cheating, scuzzball ex, but I’ve never said those words around the girls. And I’d never say it to them.
“Valentina, set the table. Francesca, you can help me by taking your grandfather out of the kitchen and keeping him entertained. Lucia, please make the dressing for the salad.” Ma fires off orders.
The girls never talk back to her or Pops and rarely to me, except Valentina. I’m hoping one day soon she’ll open up to me and tell me why she blames me. I’ve asked several times why. She refuses to answer.
I get to work chopping the salad while Lucia grabs olive oil, vinegar and herbs for the dressing.
“We had a good day, Ma.” Lucia says, setting her ingredients next to mine.
“How was your chemistry test?”
“I think Franni and I did well, but Val got salty when I asked her about it later.”
“How bad is she struggling?”
Lucia shrugs. “Like a seven, maybe.”
“It’s time to send in Nonna.”
“Ma, you wouldn’t?”
“I have to. I’ve tried several times. I know she blames me for the divorce, but I don’t know why.”
“You should tell her the truth.”
I put down the knife before I cut myself, lowering my voice.
“What do you mean?” I ask gently.
“I, uh. Ma, I didn’t want to say anything, but I caught Dad once. When Val came down with strep, Franni and I went out to get her something to make her feel better. We caught Dad with some bimbo. They were all over each other. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you.”
She throws her arms around me. I pull her into a hug and let her cry. Ma comes over, but I shake my head. She nods in understanding and starts carrying food into the dining room.
I run my fingers through my daughter's thick, dark hair. I’d say they’re mini replicas of me, but they’re already two inches taller than I am.
“I should have left him the first time I caught him cheating. Then you wouldn’t have seen that.”
My phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and look at the screen. It’s Wizard.
“Is it okay if I take this, honey? It’s business.”
“Of course, Ma. I’ll finish the dressing.”
“Thank you, sweet girl.”
I slide the phone, taking the call. “Hello.”
“Charlie, it’s Wizard. I know we have a meeting on Monday, but I want to invite you and your family to a BBQ on Saturday. The club is hosting it for our employees and their families.”
“We’d love to come. There’s six of us. I’ll need a time and address.”
“I’ll send them to you in a text.”
By the time the brief call ends, Ma is staring at me.”
“I’ll tell everyone at the same time.”
She nods her head and hands me the completed bowl of salad. We gather around the table. Ma outdid herself as usual. Unless the girls have an event, we have family dinner. Tonight, in addition to the salad, she made melanzane alla parmigiana. It’s roasted eggplant, marinara, fresh mozzarella, and basil. Grilled asparagus tossed in olive oil, fresh garlic, and lemon. My mouth waters when I see the spaghetti all’ ubracio, better known as drunken spaghetti. It’s chianti-infused spaghetti with shrimp, scallops, clams, lobster, and calamari. It’s like a mini seafood feast with every bite and my favorite.
Pops says grace before Ma starts passing food around.
“Your mother has an announcement to make.”
I smile. She’s dying to know about my phone conversation.
“We’re invited to employee day at the Voodoo Kings’ clubhouse.”
“What’s a Voodoo King?” Lucia asks.
“It’s some kind of gang,” Valentina says snidely.
“It’s not a gang,” Pops says gently. “They’re a motorcycle club. A group of men who live by a code. Only those wearing a patch that says one percent are criminals. I’ve heard of Chief; he started the Kings in Baton Rouge. Gambit, his son, is the current President of this chapter here in New Orleans.
“I know they do at least two charity runs a year, donate to a women and children’s shelter and recently opened a clinic that charges based on what you make.
“My friend Joe fell and broke his hip. His insurance sucks. The hospital had him sitting in pain in the waiting room ER for hours. This big biker comes in about the same time someone bumps into Joe and causes him to cry out.
The biker comes over immediately; turns out he’s a doctor and, get this, he’s one of those Kings. They call him Doc. He called someone from the clinic to come get Joe in an ambulance. The guy’d come to check on a patient. He left and came back not ten minutes later. Gave Joe a shot for the pain. Followed us on his bike when the ambulance arrived. Took care of Joe immediately. Even sent a healthcare worker to take care of him while he recuperated.”
“How much was that bill?” Lucia asks.
“Nothing. Every penny Joe gets he uses to survive. Someone from the clinic went over his finances with him. Even considered his dog’s expenses into it. Most places won’t do that. Joe said they used some grant he qualified for, and they paid his bill.”
“I hope Doc is there. I’d like to meet him,” Ma says.