Page 41 of Wild Card

I don’t argue. It’s a sweet wine, and I drink it slowly.

She sits across from me. Her brown eyes are still vibrant, and I can tell she was a beauty in her youth. She’s still beautiful now, but age and heartache it seems has tempered it.

“Gattina, how did this happen?” She reaches for my hand. “How did you come to all this?”

Her hands are warm and strong. I didn’t get to know my grandparents well. My father’s parents died before I was born, and my memories of my mother’s parents are of cold, distant people who made you keep your hands in your pockets while you were in their home so you didn’t break anything.

This warm, crowded space is so different from what I’ve experienced.

I tell this woman everything. All of it. My life story from the beginning until this very moment. I’m not looking for pity, but I want her to understand the trouble I’m in.

She pulls the pot off the stove and pours the contents into a bowl, placing it in front of me. Chicken soup.

“Gesu,” she says. “Your father is not a good man. You’ll pardon me for saying.”

She nods at the soup, and I take small, careful spoonfuls.

“I know. I’m sorry for what he did to your family.”

She pats my arm.

“You’re a good girl, Gattina.”

No one’s ever said that to me before, and my hand shakes so badly I nearly drop the spoon.

“There’s nothing wrong with passion,” she says, smiling at me. Memories of past encounters seem to pass over her eyes. “Passion is wonderful. What matters is what’s in your heart.” She sighs, her smile fading. “And I knew Lorenzo is weak. I should’ve done more to help him.”

“May I ask what happened to Gio’s parents?”

He’d said my father was responsible for their deaths, and I want to know exactly how.

“My Dante married a good girl, like you. They opened a bakery in the North End. An honest business. It did well. Too well, I suppose. Your greedy father wanted to buy it out and sell it to some big corporation. Dante said no, and your father found another way to get what he wanted.”

She stares into the middle distance, and I put the spoon down.

“I’m sorry Mrs. DeLuca. Truly. I wish I could’ve done something.”

She laughs. “Gattina, you were a child just like Gio was. Nothing you could’ve done. Dante went to prison, and everyone knew who his father was. My husband was a big man back then, powerful. Someone killed our son to send a message.”

Her voice catches again.

“I shouldn’t have asked you this. I’m sorry. It was inappropriate.”

“No, you deserve to understand why you’re here. After Dante died, my husband got heartsick. And Gio’s mother couldn’t handle the loss and took her life. Shot herself at her kitchen table. Gio found her.”

“Oh my God.” Jesus. That’s got to mess you up. My anger toward him softens again. He was trying to protect this special woman who was all he had left after my father took everything else away from him.

And he still tried to protect me.

“My husband died not too long after, and Gio, Lorenzo and I tried to keep together what was left of our family. Gio’s not a bad man, Gattina.” She looks at me with tear-filled eyes. “He just had to be a man before his time.”

I can see that. I don’t like how he kept me locked up, but I understand why now. Maybe his methods were wrong, but he’s trying to keep us safe: his grandmother and me, because he couldn’t do that for his parents.

I finish the soup, and Gio’s grandmother takes the bowl from me before I can get up to wash it.

“My son won’t bother you while you’re in this place,” she says, washing the bowl and the spoon. “And neither will Freddie. He’s a despicable man, but there are rules, even for people like him. There are people who were loyal to my husband whose children would be happy to see Freddie lose his position so they can fill that void. He knows this. Knows that if he gives them an opening by violating my home before the timeline he offered Lorenzo expires, they’ll take it.”

So by Friday. Not much time, then. Less than a week.

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