Page 79 of Scorned Beauty
“Like serial killers. There’s one on the loose right now.”
I scoffed. “Those are criminals perpetuating myths to cover their crime.”
“Like copycats?”
“Yes, remember that Boston Strangler case back when? One of them was a husband getting rid of his mistress because she was pregnant.”
“Yeah, Bianca told me that. The girls are probably over there discussing the Elyse Bailey case right now.” He uncorked the whiskey and poured two fingers into his glass. Interestingly enough, I craved water.
“I wouldn’t put it past Grigori to disguise his kill as the work of the Mistress Strangler. He has deep connections in law enforcement with access to the details of the case that were not made public.” We did too.
“You’ve been a person of interest, right?”
“Fuck you, Alessandro. You already know that.”
“You fit the profile.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” But there was no heat in my words. I was even amused. Maybe it was time to acknowledge the fact that I do indeed have mommy issues.
Dom,16 years old
Ma was crying again.She’d been in bed for the past few weeks, rarely coming out of her bedroom to join us for meals. And when she did, she was wearing the same ratty robe and her hair waspiled on her head like a squirrel’s nest. Pop said she had a virus. At least, that was what he tried to explain to me and Lucy. I had my cousins and my friends for company, and was frequently out of the house. But now that it was winter, and sports were on hiatus, I was roaming the vast mansion alone. Our house staff had retired to their quarters because I offered to see to Ma’s needs.
Lucy had a music recital. She was the cellist in the orchestra, and Pop went to see her perform. He asked me if I could stay with Ma. I wanted to do more than that. There was guilt that I ignored her illness or whatever was plaguing her long enough. Something happened after her visit to Grandpa last October, but I put off getting to the bottom of it because I didn’t want it to interrupt my classes. Besides, Pop was handling it fine, until I noticed the taut stress lines on his face.
I fixed a tray of food. Cook prepared Ma’s specialty dish, lasagna ala Moretti, which simply meant lots of fancy cheese. I made the garlic bread myself. I’d assisted my mother enough times to know my way around the kitchen.
I balanced the tray on one arm and knocked.
I heard Ma call out, “Come in.”
She was sitting up in bed. Pop had already started a fire in the hearth before he left. Ma was surprised to see me. And that was when a memory hit me. I’d seen her this way before. I think when I was six years old. She’d been crying that Grandpa didn’t love her anymore.
“Mio figlio,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I crossed the room and set the tray on the bed. “But I wanted to, Mamma.” She loved it when I used the full Italian version of the word mother.
“I’m not hungry.” She pouted, but I could see that tiny sparkle in her eyes. Maybe all she needed was her children showing her we care. I wished Lucy would be less of a primadonna thinking about herself and how Ma’s bedridden state was consuming all of Pop’s attention.
“But you’re going to eat if I have to spoon-feed you myself,” I said firmly.
A hint of a smile curved her mouth. “You’re growing up to be as bossy as Paulie.”
“You like bossy.” I dug into the lasagna and held it out to her.
She accepted my actions of feeding her. It also filled me with accomplishment. I made her smile, even if it was just a little. I was taking care of family.
“Now tell me why you were crying,” I said. “Is it about Grandpa again?”
She took a sip of juice. Wine was not allowed because of her medications. “Yes, and no. I don’t know, Dominic. I look at Ava and Cesar and they’re happy with their kids. Like the barbecue this previous summer, remember? I should be happy like them. I have a handsome son and a beautiful daughter. A loving husband who spoils us. What more can I ask for?” She sighed heavily. “Maybe your nonno’s acceptance doesn’t matter.”
“What did he say to you?” I asked sharply. I was never close to Emilio, but maybe because it was Pop keeping us away from the Chicago side of the family. Afraid of its influence. He didn’t have a problem with our cousins who led the De Lucci crime family, maybe because he made his position clear that I would never become a made man. Still, the allure of the forbidden was enticing to me.
“I used to be the mafia princess, you know,” she said, her eyes clouding as if transported back into her heyday. “Everyone wanted Emilio Moretti’s prized daughter. The most lucrative offer came not from the Italians, but from the Russians. It was a chance to be joined to Russian royalty.”
“Is this about the villas on the Amalfi coast?”
“Yes. The Russians were angry and refused to return the dowry. And to avoid war because it was an insult that I chose Paulie, Papa didn’t argue. But he never forgave me because Paulie wasn’t a made man. He wasn’t even the eldest son.”
