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I need to talk to Shana, but in the meantime, I let my head lean back against the wall until they stop crying. Fifteen minutes later, Roman and Courtney are sound asleep. I slip off the bed and out of the room, closing the door behind me. There’s always wine in the kitchen, and I’m in desperate need of a glass.
My parents are talking at the table when I hear something I’m probably not meant to.
“I saw the rings, Matteo,” Ma says, guzzling a sip and hissing with the afterburn. “She’s not going to be here long. He’s coming back for her. He wants to be with her, like really be with her.”
“He’s done. Alessandro De Luca is a man of purpose, singular fucking focus. He needs to be the next Don of the De Luca organization instead of his batshit crazy uncle. He doesn’t need Evelyn getting in the way, and he said as much. I simply nudged him a bit further in the right direction, telling him about Johnny. It’s for the best anyway with what’s coming to town.”
The burning sensation rushing through my nose as I see red, angry at their conversation, propels me down the stairs in record time. The sound of the table shaking after I slam both hands down on the table startles them both.
“What did you do?” I snarl, my eyes narrowing at my father.
“Take it easy, Evelyn. Sit down. Have a glass of wine,” he says nonchalantly.
Ma doesn’t waste time pouring me a glass and sliding it across the table. She gestures toward the chair for me to sit down.
“You two need to talk, and now,” I demand. I’m sick of them keeping things from me and then simply expecting me to fall in line.
“Listen,” Dad begins. “Your mother and I?—”
Ma cuts him off. “Oh, no, you don’t. I had nothing to do with any of this. I tried to talk you out of this weeks ago. You’re lucky she’s your daughter or else she’d have your head on a chopping block. Where do you get off marrying our little girl without me and her sister? Or sweet Anita? Weddings are supposed to be joyous occasions. And don’t even get me started on what you took from poor Alessandro.”
It’s one of the first times I see my mother’s softer side. At least, when it comes to fighting for me.
“What did I take from him?” Dad asks with his lips pursing in confusion.
“That boy fell in love with our Evie and look what you did. You put all that static in his head to make him second-guess the way he feels. He was going to marry her for real. I know because I saw the rings. So don’t you put anything on your mother and me. You fucked up, Matteo, and so help me, you’d better fucking fix it before I fix you.”
Ma pushes herself away from the table, downs the rest of her wine, and leaves me alone with my father grumbling to himself.
“Dad, please, just tell me what’s going on.” Exhaustion settles over me as I wait for whatever he has to say.
“Evelyn, it’s Alessandro. All of it.” He huffs with his arms folded over his chest. I can see where Roman gets it from, the same pout and tough guy exterior.
“How? What? Make it make sense, Dad.”
“It’s not Don Montegna like we originally thought. The shootings? My guys on the street are telling me that this guy, Gramercy or something, is in New York. About twenty, twenty-five years ago, he blew into town and did a couple of hits for some old bosses. Rumor is he botched a hit and skipped town. He’s the guy people call when innocents gotta get hurt.”
“What? Alessandro was what, nine? Ten? That’s a year older than the twins.” Shock ricochets through my body like a pinball machine. “Who the hell would try to kill a kid?”
“I don’t know.” He waves his hand at the idea and shrugs. “I mean, we think because his name and his father’s name are so close, the hitman mistook Alessandro for Sandro. None of us were Dons yet. We were working our way into it. But a few years after this Gramercy guy disappeared, he came back and dropped out of sight again. Then we think that’s how he got the scar down his face.”
My father has no idea how large Alessandro’s scars truly are. Who could do that to a kid?
“So, Don De Luca waits for his son to heal. Then him, Alessandro, and Oscar go on a spree. They are slicing and dicing people up and down the east coast looking for the guy who cut his face. The rest of us didn’t get it, but we get it. It’s like anger and revenge feeding each other until you get the Butcher of Howard Beach. By the time Alessandro was eighteen, he’d killed about fifty people looking for the guy who'd sliced up his pretty face.”
“You think there’s something funny about that?” I ask him with disgust rippling through me.
“No, of course that’s not funny, but really? It’s like a paper cut and Alessandro overreacted. The scar looks cool, and he had a few stitches. Big fucking deal.”
Anger surges as I get up and flip the table onto its side.
“Hey, yo! What the entire fuck, Evelyn?”
My mother and the twins dash down the stairs, and it reminds me that we’re not alone in the house.
“Non è solo una cicatrice sul viso.” I shout at him with tears running down my face.
“What’s not just a scar on whose face?” Ma asks before turning to the twins. “Guys, Evie’s upset. She’s sorry. Go back to bed.”
