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When he’s like that, it’s terrifying. But it stirs me. It lights me up with energy in ways I couldn’t ever talk about. Not out loud. Not to anyone else. Ever.
And, like any big storm, after it’s over, then comes a lull, a heavy calm. Starting as Daddy begins to cool off, a quiet stillness drops like a mist of cool rain, over the family and the whole house.
Not this time.
CHAPTER NINE
The longer Daddy glowers at me across the big desk, the worse I feel this is going to be. To a point where it’s almost impossible for me to sit still. My chest pounds, I’m hot under my clothes, my throat is so thick I can hardly swallow, and my eyes are close to brimming. A physical urge in every part of my body makes me want to jump out of the chair and run.
The dark scowl under Daddy’s heavy brow lets me know what’s coming. I’m braced for the low grit in his voice. Not the exact thing he’s going to say, but brooding in his big chair, raised up like a throne, he’s snorting and swelling, and that means he’s winding up to do something terrible.
His dark eyes narrow and harden. A low growl rumbles under his thick, hard whisper. “Are you fucking stupid or what?”
I’ve seen the signs before. Of course, it’s all going to be my fault.
“Have I brought you up as an idiot?”
He never says, ‘look what you made me do,’ but it’s always in the air. The dark smolder through the clouds in his eyes tells me something very bad is coming. I always try to be ready.
Like always, though, he blindsides me and takes me off guard.
His words come like a rockfall.
“Whacking Gianni, okay. It wasn’t what I wanted, but okay. These things happen. Maybe you got carried away. Maybe he did something and you had no choice. I don’t fucking know.” His lips tighten and his fists bunch. “It’s not how I wanted it to go, but at the same time, well, it could have been worse from our point of view. Fact is, he was out of control. It was something that was bound to happen. Sooner or later. So, you made it sooner. Okay.”
The redness in his neck and the way his fists clench and flex makes me jump inside. I can hardly sit still.
“You,” he makes it sound like a curse. Something to spit in the blackest moment and throw in the spray in the face of your worst enemy. “You put that punk Armando at the head of the Crespi family.”
His eyes jab at me like hot pokers.
“Maybe I should send you to Sicily for a year or so. Somewhere you can’t do any more damage. You could go to college,” he says it like college is the stupidest thing I could do. “Or learn farming. Anything.”
His head shakes. “Armando fucking Crespi. He’s just a kid. Barely out of school. He’s a hothead. And you made him the don. He’s going to be fizzing mad for revenge.” Daddy’s knuckles grind into the desktop. “With the same captains, the same consiglieri as Gianni; at least, he will at the start.” He pushes down, like he’s going to stand. If he gets up, I don’t know what’s going to happen. “Those vultures will be only too happy to oblige him.” He pushes himself to his feet. And looms over me from the far side of the desk. I can’t breathe.
He prowls heavily around the desk, and my nerves are on fire as he walks behind me. I don’t dare turn around, but not being able to see him terrifies me. I twist awkwardly, straining my neck, but he puts a warning hand on my shoulder. He’s breathing heavily and he doesn’t speak for what feels like forever.
“That fucking little brat is going to be an emotional firecracker. All of a sudden, out of thin air he’s got enormous power and zero fucking experience. There’s nothing easier for the captains to steer than that. He will believe everything they tell him, and they will give him all the bloodletting he cries out for.”
“Daddy.” His grip hardens on my shoulder. He wants me to stay quiet. But I know how he despises weakness. I tell him, “I know l went too far.”
He strokes my hair, “Don’t worry, tesora.” His big hand feels like it could swallow me whole as he occasionally yanks and tugs. “At your age I might have done the same.”
Sometimes his hand stops to grip around the back of my neck. His long, thick fingers still almost meet at the front. It reminds me of the times before, when Momma was alive. When he does those things, it always makes me feel like I’m his little girl again.
I’m too quick, saying, “Daddy, let me put it right.”
“No, Lucia,” His voice is flat and cold. “Right now I need to keep you out of the way.” Nobody else is allowed to call me Lucia.
“At least let me try.”
Saying, ‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ hasn’t ever done me any good. I can’t ever tell him I’m sorry without it coming out sounding weak, and that always fires up his rage.
Whatever it is he’s going to do to me, he was probably going to do it anyway. Only now he’s going to use this as his excuse. His way to put the blame on me. He always has to blame someone else. I’ve seen him blame other people after he’s killed them.
For Daddy, problems are never small, unless they’re other people’s problems. Then they don’t usually matter at all. If he has a problem, the world comes to a stop.
However much I love him, I really don’t want to be like him. Not in that way.
