Page 110 of Steal My Heart
“Probably, but you’re such a pretentious little shit, I can’t seem to help myself.” He grabs my wrist, and I scream as he snaps my left index finger out of socket.
“I’ve got a piano recital this weekend, you asshole!” My finger dangles like a limp noodle.
“Don’t be a baby.” He grabs it and pops it back into place with a disgusting crunch, and I scream again.
And with that, he turns around and strolls back to his room.
My finger is finally out of the splint, albeit it will never be perfectly straight again. Using it, along with my other fingers, I text my piano teacher.
I’ve been medically cleared to resume playing.
Excellent. I’ll see you this week.
Entering the family room, I find Fabien giving our little sister a piggyback ride. It’s like he’s a different person with her. Just as well; I’d take the brunt of his torture if that meant Al gets a happy childhood.
“Angelo, there you are. Where is your splint?” Mama asks, joining us.
“Just got back from the doc. I’ve been cleared to resume playing piano.”
“Oh, thank heavens. You’re so talented, my darling.” She kisses the top of my head.
Fabien rolls his eyes behind Mama’s back. “Gotta be more careful, little brother, and not slam your finger in the door next time.”
“Yeah, I’ll be more careful.” I eye him down. It was pointless ratting my brother out. Papà would only agree with Fabien and tell me to quit being such a baby. Brute strength is rewarded; weakness is despised in this household.
“Come with me to the kitchen and let’s discuss your birthday plans.”
I follow Mama into the kitchen, where she whispers, “Your papà wants to meet with you in private, but give me a minute to soften him up.”
She grabs the coffee carafe and tray before disappearing down the hallway.
Giving it a few minutes to play it safe, I saunter down the hallway, wondering what I’ve done this time to disappoint my father.
I stroll past his open office door, and he calls, “Angelo.”
“Yes, Papà?” I stick my head in his office, finding him behind his desk, with Mama pouring him an espresso.
“Have a seat.” He gestures to a chair across from him. “How’s the finger?”
“It’s better. I’m back to piano lessons this week?—”
“I humor your mama, but those lessons are about to come to an end. It’s time you man up and earn your button before your eighteenth birthday. Your brother was already a made man at sixteen.”
“Vitto, my love,” Mama says, placing down the coffee carafe. “Angelo is not Fabien. Let him be his own man; help the family in a different way.”
“Yes, Papà.” I pounce, Mama giving me the perfect segue to bring up my future plans. “I’ve been accepted to the best colleges?—”
“You’re a Calvani. You’re becoming a made man, and that’s the end of it.” Vitto slams his fist down on his desk, causing the little coffee cup to rattle.
My mama, adept at handling Vitto’s angry outbursts, says, “Of course, my love. You know best.” Kissing him, she gives me a sympathetic smile before taking her tray and leaving.
“Your mama has made you soft.”
“We can’t all be perfect like my brother,” I snipe.
Vitto leans back in his chair, tenting his fingers. “Your brother is a hothead. He’s loud. He’s cocky. And I’m not sure he’s the best choice to lead this family when the time comes.”
“What are you saying?”
