Page 13 of Fall
“That’s nice,” he answers, resting a hand on my shoulder ashe pulls from our short hug. “Listen, beautiful. There have been a few developments today…”
“What kind of developments?” I ask before he can finish verbalizing his thoughts.
“I decided to scale back the guest list of your party tonight. It’s already in the works. Just family. Plus your two best friends. And your aunt insisted on keeping your hair, nail and makeup appointments, sothey’ll be here in a few hours.”
I study his face as he looks at me intently, probably expecting some resistance from me. But I don’t mind. The event was turning into a circus, mostly because he put Aunt Francesca, his sister, in charge of setting it up. The woman only has one approach to life. If you can’t go big, go bigger.
Resting my hand over the one he still has on my shoulder,I give him a reassuring squeeze. “That’s not a problem. As long as I’m with you and Nonna, I’m happy.” An unexpected peal of laughter bursts from his lips. “What’s so funny all of a sudden?” I ask.
“I was just remembering that year I tried to braid your hair for your birthday,” he explains.
“God, that was something. I’m so glad you didn’t try that again.” I lift closed fists to twospots at the top of my head, mocking him a little. “They were like two ram horns,” I giggle, letting the rush of comfort wash over me.
He did his best after Mother died, trying to be both mother and father to me. Nonna still calls those his soft years, because, in her opinion, he made a lot of unnecessary concessions within the organization. She thought that he put too much energy intolegitimizing his business holdings and making peace with too many of his past rivals. I'd hear them arguing at night sometimes, when they thought I was asleep. Nonna is one of the rare former mob wives who knew every detail of her husband's operation back then. As first, she didn't like the way my father changed things when he took over from my grandfather. But eventually, she calmed down.
No one complains when money is flowing.
Because no one turns up dead during the good times.
“I’m no hairstylist,” he groans out a chuckle and lifts my hand and his own off my shoulder, kissing the inside of my palm sweetly. “Excellent. This is why I love you so, princess. You’re just like your mother.” His eyes lift from my face to a spot behind me, and right away, I can tellfrom the sadness that washes over his face that he’s looking at Mother’s family crest. Whenever he catches sight of it, for a split second he shows me a side of him that he keeps hidden from everyone else. That loving vulnerability peeks out at me, reminding me that even ruthless mob bosses have a soft side.
“I’m good with a quiet sit down dinner,” I say. “It’ll be perfect.”
He smilesand begins to turn toward my door. “Very good.”
“So… you’re not going to tell me what made you decide to change it, are you?”
There's a coldness in his eyes as they lock with mine this time, a look he seems to have a hard time dismissing, that he struggles to push away but won't leave him as readily, now that I've broached the topic. "It's nothing you don't need to worry about, love."
“I’m eighteen now, Father. You don’t have to shield me like you did before. I can handle it.”
“I know. You’ve always been strong, princess. You get that fighting spirit from me,” he chuckles. “But don’t you worry about a thing. It’s your birthday. All I want for you today is to make happy memories.”
“But,” I start.
“No, Natalia,” he says, his voice resolute as he takesa step backward toward the door. “Everything is going to be fine. Try to get some rest before your aunt arrives. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.”
“Yes, Father.”
As he opens the door to leave, my eyes lock with Antonio’s in the hallway. He stands there, arms folded, in quiet consultation with Vinny, who will be guarding me when they leave to make plans.
“Let’s go,” Father tellsAntonio, and I have to wonder how much he’s heard of our conversation. My father trusts him completely. He doesn’t make a move without bouncing it off of Antonio.
Feeling the weight of my jetlag and the heaviness of their unspoken uneasiness, I stretch out on one side of my bed and close my eyes. Hopefully, Father won't do anything drastic about whatever is going on. I've heard horror storiesfrom Nonna. This family was cold and unforgiving, hard and merciless, calculating and ruthless back when my grandfather ran things. There's an untold number of bodies that lie in my lateNonno'swake.
As I drift off, I pray that Father doesn’t restart the cycle.
And more than anything I wish that Antonio can temper every option with a dose of logic, which he’s usually great at.
Because if we’re not careful, we can all wind up dead.
