Page 2 of Wild Card

And just like that, rage threatens to explode out of me again. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the void of pain will just be replaced with never-ending anger. I was hoping this bakery could help me move on from my anger toward Carney. Not let go of it, of course, it will always be there. But I was hoping to refocus it into something useful. Something beautiful. Something Lorenzo has taken from me now. My own family. I clench my fists.

“You what?” I bark. “Are you an idiot, Lorenzo? Did you learn nothing from what happened to Papa? What kind of merchandise?” If he says drugs, I am going to snap his neck. Tell Nonna he’s on a long trip to Italy.

“Processing chips. There’s a shortage right now, and they’re worth a lot of money. I was supposed to transport some Freddie had acquired down to New York City, and when I stopped for lunch in New Jersey, someone broke into my car and stole them.”

I hope that fucking slice of pizza was worth it. My whole body tenses as I ask the next question.

“How much?”

“Three million dollars.”

I scream the amount back at him.

“Are you insane? Where the hell are you going to get that money now, Lorenzo?” I pin him with a fierce look. “What’s your back up plan? If Nonna finds out…”

He holds up his hands as if trying to hold back the tidal wave of emotion roaring out of me.

“She won’t. I have a plan, Gio. A good one. I’ll take care of this and get you the bakery money back too. I promised your father I’d look after you when he got sent to jail. Doesn’t change just because you’re grown.”

My father had gone to jail to protect my grandfather and my mother.

But he’d died in a fight two years into his sentence, and my mother killed herself not too long after. I’ve spent my whole life trying to rebuild from these devastating moments, only to have that careful foundation obliterated again. I’ve heard people say grief isn’t linear, and it pours through me now, threatening to overwhelm my ability to keep from doing something I’d regret. Probably.

I was a teenager when my parents died, and Lorenzo did his best to help raise me, but he was more interested in teaching me the complicated politics of the mafia world. A world I want nothing to do with.

A world he’s always been obsessed with. But one he doesn’t have the temperament for. He’s always been a schemer, but too hot-headed to see his ideas through. I should ask about this new plan, but then decide plausible deniability makes more sense here. I don’t want to fucking know.

“You’d better fix this,” I say, my voice cool. “I swear to God, Lorenzo, if Freddie caps your sorry ass and it gives Nonna another stroke, I’m going to resurrect you and cap you myself. You never should’ve worked for that man in the first place.”

Freddie DeBaggis is dangerous and brutal, but he’s also brilliant. He unseated my grandfather in a way that made it seem like he was doing my family a favor after all of our “tragedies.” It’s why no one did more than click their tongues and shake their heads when Lorenzo went to work with him. It was a different story for me and my grandparents, of course—our disdain was vocalized furiously.

My uncle laughs, the sound nervous, high pitched. “I don’t have a high school diploma, Gio. Was too busy taking care of Papa’s errands to study. Who the fuck else am I gonna work for? Anyway, I’ll take care of this. I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

I kick a chunk of charred wood.

“Sure. Tomorrow.”

My faith in Lorenzo’s ability to fix anything is low. How the fuck am I going to clean up this mess?

I’m always cleaning up other people’s fucking messes.

I head out of the building. I’ll have it demolished. The thought chokes me with that seemingly unending grief again. It closes around me, tensing my muscles, making me want to lash out. To punch my uncle so I can feel anything other than this toxic concentrate of rage and sorrow that’s echoed in the rotten sludge of the remains of my bakery.

I need to get the hell away from my uncle, now.

I take one last look at my property. At least I own it outright, and if I’m able to save enough money, I’ll try to rebuild. Until then, it’s wasted money paying for taxes on a plot of land that’s going to seed.

Holy Mary Mother of God.

If Freddie doesn’t kill Lorenzo…

I take a deep breath.

No. He’s family. I made a promise to protect my grandmother, and that means protecting Lorenzo too, whether I want to or not. My grandfather knew he was unstable and begged me to keep him from breaking Nonna’s heart even further. I can’t turn my back on my family just because it’s hard.

And Lorenzo, while unstable, has managed to come through before. He took care of the man who killed my father. Arranged for it to happen even with the perpetrator in solitary confinement. He was the one who took care of funeral arrangements for my mother. Convinced the Church to hold mass for her even though they tend not to for people who die by suicide.

Such an antiquated, cruel notion of God. Why would He reject someone who couldn’t survive the cold, brutal world He’d created? It’s not something I believe in. I think God is reflected in our kindness, our dedication to others. That’s where I find religion.

But it meant the world to my grandparents to have that mass for my mother, and to have her buried on consecrated ground. To believe she’s safe in heaven with my father.

Maybe Lorenzo will come through again.

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