Page 3 of Third Degree

I sifted a few different onion bulbs around and felt to see if they had grown beneath the soil before walking over to the floral section. Whenever we went back to Chicago, I would miss this garden. Even though Papa built me a greenhouse, it wasn’t the same as smelling the ocean breeze as you planted gardenias.

I heard my two cousins on the beach and turned toward them. They were playing with two guys, and I watched as their guards started running after the guys and trying to chase them off.

This was the life we lived. Anyone who tried to infiltrate was met with harsh words… or death.

“Cara mia, I know this place isn’t what you expected, but my family is family, and we need to get through this situation.” The familiar sound of my papa’s voice wafted through the garden while I was busy being distracted by my cousins, and I hurriedly ducked behind one of the taller plants.

“Angelo, I cannot do this anymore. I hate this place. I miss my friends,” my mother’s whining permeated the air. “What are we even doing here?”

“I told you, I just have to set one of the fringes straight. He lost his wife and is refusing to go back to work.”

Her voice turned somber. “That is sad. Let him grieve, Angelo.”

“Do you think I am some kind ofstronzo(asshole)? Of course, I gave him two years to grieve, but now it is time. He must get back to business. Two years!” My father started to angrily pace along the garden walkway and the back entrance to the house.

I peeked around the corner to see my mother throwing her hands up in the air like somehow that was going to help her.

“And what does he want to do? Be single?” she asked.

“Like our daughter, he seems to want to plant flowers and retire peacefully.”

I rolled my eyes. It was he who called the shots and, therefore, had the choice to make my childhood growing up so incredibly tragic.

“Is he part of the family?” Her voice lowered, and she walked closer to him.

“Not ours. He struck a deal when he was young and married to leave the Gambini family. I cannot tell you a lot, cara mia, but he’s been helping us front our businesses. His club produces so much and helps legitimize most of our companies, like our carpenters and janitors. You know the type, so we need him.”

The Gambinis were another family in the Italian mobster world, known for their connections to big political players.

Unlike what was written in books and what you see on TV, the Italian mob wasn’t just one family working to take down all the thugs. No, many popular families got together and worked in unison to bust criminals and drudge to fill their pockets in the underground world.

We were part of the Ricci sect, but there were many other bloodlines. The Gambinis were probably one of the more famously known.

“But if he is out of the family, what does he owe you?” my mother’s curious voice trailed to where I was hiding.

“Because when he left the family, his severance payout was that he stillowedthe family. He didn’t have to attend the day-to-day meetings, but he needed to use his club as a front to wash our money through. He hasn’t been at the club in two years, and now we have nowhere to wash our money. The Feds have shut everything down.”

My papa really meant that they killed people inside this man’s club. I’d been around my family and heard many different conversations in the seventeen years of my life about exactly what he was implying.

Honestly, death was such a common occurrence in our world that it didn’t even scare us anymore. It was merely something we kind of had to deal with.

It was more like an… inconvenience of sorts.

“As soon as I get him straight and back to work, then we can return to Chicago. You are so precious to me, cara mia.” He leaned into my mother, and she folded her hands over her arms.

I looked around to figure out how to get out of this garden when I saw Tomas standing by the doors. Conveniently, where the door was situated, he was completely out of sight from my papa and mama. His job was always to remain silent regardless of what he heard, so he simply stood there.

I started to motion to him frantically to make a distraction so that I could leave the garden and not get caught eavesdropping, which would surely lead to an incredible verbal lashing. I was dramatically throwing my hands in the air, attempting to beg Tomas to walk over here, but there he stood in the doorway frame in his ridiculous black suit, looking at me with the same bored expression he always had.

That was when I felt the familiar feeling in my chest explode. It felt like someone was crushing my lungs, taking the air out of me. I knew I was about to get caught by my father and desperately wanted to avoid it.

I hated it when he spoke down to me. I hated when I was told about the importance of not listening to family business conversations.

This was fucking useless. I was going to have to sneak out of here. I dropped down to my knees and looked at the gravel. Chucking the shears behind one of the large garden boxes, I attempted to crawl toward where Tomas was as quietly as one could on the incredibly noisy rocks.

I had just gotten past the sunflowers when my hand crunched hard on a piece of gravel, making me lose my balance ever so slightly. I tried quickly recovering, but my face met the rocks with an incredibly loud thump.

“Who is it?” my papa roared, and I quickly popped my head up, facing a new fear.

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