AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Now it’s my turn.” I can barely restrain the excitement from my voice. Picking through the dozens of swirling questions in my mind, I finally latch onto one. “I’ve only ever heard of your family history from Rose. I’d love to hear your side of the story.”
CHAPTER 37
YOU ARE A MASTERPIECE
Nico
Unearthing the dark memories of my past sounds as enticing as spearing a hot poker across my chest. Something I experienced with foster family number one, but I’d never share that with my gentle-hearted Maisy. It would destroy her rosy-colored view of the human race. Because what kind of man would do that to an eleven-year-old boy for the sin of walking into the house with muddy shoes?
I clench the paintbrush in my hand, the muse temporarily disappearing into the dark recesses of my fucked-up psyche. I glance up to find Maisy’s expectant gaze heavy on me. I hate to dash her hope of getting to know me better, of finding some ounce of decency within the soulless man with whom she’s found herself entangled.
“There’s not much to tell, little fox,” I finally manage.
“How did you end up in New York from Italy?”
I grind my molars as memories flit to the surface and drown me in visions of the past.
“Marco, Nico! Vieni qui!” Mamma’s voice fills the sun-soaked kitchen.
My brother and I race inside from the patio, our little dog barking behind us. It’s summer and we’re at the beach house with our grandparents. Nonno is famous in our small town. People from all over come to see him, and they bring him all kinds of gifts, even money.
One day I want to be like him.
Mamma stands by the stove, and the sharp scent of garlic clings to her apron. Our grandfather sits at the table, the big smile he reserves only for us gone today. I look between him and Mamma, and I already know something isn’t right.
“Come sit, my little ones.” Our mother pulls out the two chairs on either side of our nonno. “We have something important to tell you.”
Marco settles into the chair to the left of our grandfather, and I take the right. I glance up at Mamma again, and this time I notice the light splotches around her eyes and the rosy tint on her nose.
“You boys are going to America,” Nonno declares.
Marco’s mismatched eyes light up, but I steal another glance at Mamma, taking in her reaction before I say a word. She doesn’t look happy at all.
“Is Mamma coming with us?” The question spills out.
“No, Nico. You are going to stay with your Papà.”
I could barely believe what I was hearing. At ten years old, Marco and I were the only kids in our class who’d never met their father. I’d dreamed of the day he’d show up to find us. Mamma always said he was a very busy man who lived in America, and that one day, he’d come for us.
I couldn’t believe the day was finally here.
I never met Umberto Valentino. He never showed up at the airport to claim us like he was supposed to, and we never got our happily ever after.
The past disintegrates, and Maisy’s hopeful gaze coalesces in its place. I hate to shatter her excitement because there are no happy endings in my story, unless somehow, I manage not to fuck up this incredible thing with her.
I heave in a steadying breath and murmur, “My grandfather sent us to New York to find our bastard father. According to Nonno, he and our mother were to be married, but he disappeared like a coward when he found out she was pregnant.” My fingers curl into fists as I try my damnedest to keep the mounting rage at bay. “He never came to meet us at the airport, never visited when we spent a year with Mamma’s cousin before she passed away. And then we ended up in foster care.” I shrug, praying to a God I knew didn’t exist she wouldn’t want more details.
“I’m so sorry…” she whispers. Her lips are pressed into a hard line as if she’s trying to hold back a thousand questions and conceal a bevy of emotions. “Why didn’t you just go back to Italy?”
“My nonno thought it would be a good experience for us, to toughen us up a bit. Besides, everyone knows America is the land of great opportunity, right?”
A long moment of silence passes, and I unclench my fingers from around the paintbrush I’ve been strangling.
“Did you ever try to reach out to your father?”
I shake my head. “When he didn’t show up at JFK or the weeks following, Mamma refused to give us his name. It took me years to put the pieces together and figure it out myself. My grandfather had been a powerful man in our country, and he’d arranged the marriage between his daughter and Umberto Valentino, but apparently, he ran off with Dante and Luca’s mother instead and reneged on the deal.”
“But you and Dante are nearly the same age…”
