6. Matilde
Matilde
“Matilde! Primo is here to take you to school!” Zeta calls from the bottom of the stairs a few weeks later.
Dragging my bookbag with all the enthusiasm I don’t feel, I head downstairs. It’s not that school is bad. Between the credits I already had and their placement tests, I’m set to graduate in December, more than a year earlier than I would have in the Sicilian school system.
Which is good because I doubt I’ll hold the position of nanny for long if Nico can find a replacement.
He hates me. He was cold and scary the day we met.
The few times we’ve interacted since then haven’t given me reason to hope things will improve.
Everything I do is wrong. Every word out of his mouth is a critique.
Every glance breathes suspicion. It’s unfortunate that I find him attractive because he’s an asshole.
How can a man like that have such a kind mother and sister?
“Dante often wore that expression when it was time for school,” Zeta chuckles, cupping my face.
“Are the other girls still being difficult?” Every touch, every smidgeon of affection she gives leaves me craving more.
Zeta is quickly becoming the sort of mother figure I never realized was lacking in my life.
I shake my head in response to her question. She shouldn’t be worrying over mean girls at school when her husband is dying.
Not to mention all the rest that’s happened since I’ve been in Chicago.
Nico and his brother Dante traveled to New York for Sofia De Luca’s arranged marriage to the Don’s son, but there was no wedding. Sofia ran away from her faithless groom. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. She's still missing. I pray she’s safe.
The events afterwards were just as shocking, culminating in Alessio killing his own father. I can’t lament Silvio’s death, and I’m glad I don’t have to spy for him, but how am I to find my sister now? Gia flew back to Las Vegas to be with her family, so I can’t ask her for advice.
Zeta studies me closely, seeking the truth behind my lie. At last, she sighs and pats my shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t mind handling the twins this afternoon?”
"You go with Signore Morelli to his appointment. Don’t worry.”
It will be my first time caring for the twins on my own, but my confidence has blossomed again. Lucia no longer bawls her eyes out when I pick her up, and I’ve learned to always burp Amadeo halfway through his bottle.
Thankfully, their father won’t be there glowering at me.
“You don’t have to do anything special, just feed and change them, the usual. Oh, and tummy time if you can manage it. Be sure to grab some breakfast on your way out. You can’t learn on an empty stomach.”
Nodding, I head toward the kitchen, smiling over her mothering ways.
“Buongiorno, Matilde.”
“Good morning, Primo,” I reply to the young guard. Then, I get a good look at him. “What happened to your face?!”
He blushes, a thing I wouldn’t expect of a Made Man, though he’s only a year older than me. “My punishment for driving the Capo’s daughter to her husband’s Tribunal.”
“They beat you for driving Caterina to the meeting?” I ask, horrified by his swollen eyes and busted lip.
“Not exactly. Nico made me spar with Dante yesterday.”
Nico’s brother has only shown me his charming side so far, but I’ve heard the Beast is a savage cage fighter who’s even more unpredictable on the streets. He’s been out of town lately but must have returned. That Nico would make this boy fight him is too cruel. Not that I’m surprised.
“That’s terrible!”
Primo’s voice drops to a whisper. “No, the old Capo would’ve taken a finger for what I did if he’d heard. Nico called me a stupid boy and showed me leniency instead.”
Clearly, poor Primo is brainwashed.
“Do you want some help with your math class? It was my best subject in school,” he offers, already forgetting about his beating.
I shake my head, picking out a breakfast pastry. “Math is easy.”
“Okay. Do you want a cappuccino from the cafe this morning?”
Nodding, I hoist my bookbag onto my shoulder. Primo likes driving Signore Morelli’s limousine to ordinary places so people will gawk at us when we pull up, as if we might be celebrities. We both laugh about it.
“Your birthday is soon. Do you know what you want for a present?”
I shrug in response, but I know the answer - To find my sister.
Maybe I could get Primo to help me. It would be safer that way, though I don’t want to get him into deeper trouble.
“You look very pretty, Matilde. You always do,” Primo stammers as we reach the backdoor. He’s blushing again, and I give him an awkward smile in return, suggesting we go so I won’t be late.
It’s not as though I’ve never had a boy show interest in me, even if my father forbade dating. Primo is cute and he's sweet – maybe a little too sweet for the mafia – but I can already tell I’ll never feel any butterflies around him.
***
“The babies are still napping. Stay inside. There’s a guard parked in front of the house, and Nico has set the alarm. You’ll be safe,” Zeta instructs after Primo drives me to Nico’s townhouse after school.
Once they’re gone, I work on my homework. Just as I hear Lucia sigh quietly, I realize I need to pee. I don’t know which closed door down this hallway holds a bathroom behind it.
But the double doors of his bedroom stand wide open. You can’t use his toilet, I scold myself. All the same, I’m too curious not to take a peek inside.
I catch the faint scent of his cologne when I enter, warm and woodsy. Why should that stir the butterflies in my belly? Picking up the bottle, some insanity tempts me to spritz myself with it.
On his bureau, there’s a mahogany tray holding his expensive wristwatches, cufflinks… and a switchblade.
He showed me his favorite, but he said he had many. An image of Nico rolling out of bed each morning already impeccably dressed to conquer the world in a three-piece suit while concealing numerous weapons makes me snort. And excites me more than it should.
If I had this knife when those men took me, what would I have done? What wouldn’t I have done?
Still holding the switchblade, it occurs to me there might be better things to discover here. Nico will be Capo soon, and he must know plenty about everyone connected to the Trio here. Could there be something in his room that would help me find my sister?
Snooping feels wrong but so is pocketing his knife. I open the top drawer of his bureau. Blushing furiously over the contents, I quickly close it again.
I study the painting above Nico’s bed next, a scene of several little waterfalls falling over sharp rocks in a lonely wood.
I’m fascinated by the swirling streaks of walnut, marigold, indigo and moss.
I note the title – Sorrow’s Cascade. How appropriately gloomy.
I wonder if he chose it or his wife did.
A small cry from the nursery reminds me I’m not here for sightseeing, and I hurry back.
By the time I reach the doorway, both babies are awake and screaming their little heads off.
I have two hands and two mouths that want to be fed.
Getting the bottles ready takes five times as long as it does when I have Zeta’s help.
Wrangling the tandem baby sling on my own isn’t easy either.
Once I manage to settle into the wide-armed rocking chair with them, their little faces are tear-streaked, my pulse is pounding, my armpits are sweaty, and my bladder is growing more uncomfortable by the second, but I can do this. I think.
***
Unlike the afternoons I wiled away beneath the peach trees on our farm watching lambs play, time moves at a glacial pace when I’m entertaining two fussy babies. “What do you want from me?” I whimper when Amadeo spits his pacifier out and shrieks again.
Two bottles.
Two diaper changes.
Two babies spitting up immediately afterwards as if they planned it, the little demons.
They’re clean now, but I have no clothes to change into. My soiled shirt stinks, my braid has come undone, and I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown as I keep checking the time. How long did Zeta say that appointment would take?
They hate the rocking chair if there’s no bottle involved.
They hate their cribs.
They hate the storybook I read.
They hate hearing about the mean girls in my class.
They quieted for a couple of minutes when I placed them on the soft duvet covering their father’s massive bed, and I was tempted to crawl under it and hide forever until they decided they hated it there, too.
However, they do like the enclosed garden when we step outside.
My bladder is still full, but the sun is shining, and the breeze is pleasant.
I could have put them in their stroller and taken a walk around the block, but Zeta said to stay here, and memories of my abduction quickly turn me off to that idea anyway.
Propping the patio door open, I carry a quilt outside with us, spreading it out on a fine grassy patch while the babies watch with curious eyes. Then, I take a seat, freeing them from the sling and giving them the tummy time Zeta’s always recommending.
Tugging off my shoes and socks, I relish the feel of the soft grass on my bare feet.
Lucia likes having her feet free, too, so I tug off her socks, kissing her little toes.
Amadeo looks like he’s trying to swim while lifting his head and moving his arms and legs back and forth.
And Lucia in her pale green jammies reminds me of a turtle stretching her neck.
“What a little angel,” I coo when she gifts me with a precious smile… and rips an unholy fart. I’m on the verge of gagging from the stench when Amadeo makes a similar horrifying noise. “Oh. Oh Dio.”
Realizing we’ll have to return to the nursery for another diaper change, I carry the babies inside, laying them on the playmat in the sitting room before dashing out to grab the quilt.
I’ve barely stepped onto the grass when the patio door swings shut behind me. “Oh Dio!”
I can just make out the babies squirming on their playmat through the frosted glass as I frantically yank on the doorknob. Locked. Merda!
What am I going to do? I don’t think I’m capable of picking the lock with the knife I took. Should I climb over the garden wall and go find the guard parked out front? Oof, Nico will hear of that. I shiver, remembering the threat he made while showing me his scary knife.
My heart nearly stops the next instant when I see two tall figures moving around inside through the frosted glass. Oh no! Someone has broken in! They’re going to steal the children!
“Don’t touch them!” I shout in Italian through the glass. One of the men leans down to pick them up, and I scream again. “I will boil you alive if you hurt them!”
Wild with panic, I pick up a patio chair, flinging it at the door and shattering the frosted glass panel.
An alarm sounds. That will draw the guard out front into the house, but will he be quick enough?
Ramming my hand through so I may twist the knob from the inside, a shard of broken glass slices me.
I cry out in pain, but I can’t let them take the babies.
Just as the knob turns, one of the dark figures grabs my wrist with his hand.
A tanned and veiny hand. A crisp dress shirt, silver cufflinks and a wedding band.
Through the broken pane I finally get a good look at the home invader.
The invader who’s wearing a familiar scowl on his scarred face – Nico. Merda.