Page 4 of Sins of the Orchid
“You knew Mom?” My voice was barely a whisper.
He nodded. “She liked to eat at my restaurant,” he explained. I wanted to hear more, ask so much more. “Did she show you where she went to school?”
I shook my head. “You must have seen it. It is in the middle of the city.”
“I never lived here before,” I explained, my fingers fidgeting.
“Where did you live then?” Santino asked.
I shrugged. “Everywhere,” I told them. “First we were in Europe, then in Africa, Asia, and last year in South America. I’ve never been to the States before. Until now.”
Both looked at me pensively. It probably sounded weird to them, but somehow we never made it back to the U.S.
“Should you call your dad or Vincent?” The older man asked. “He probably won’t be happy to hear you are in Russo territory.”
I glanced around me. “What’s Russo territory? How do you know?”
Both of them shook their heads. “We are the Russo family,” the old man explained. “I’m Riccardo Russo, this is my eldest son Santino Russo—” A shout came from across the street, and I followed the old Russo’s gaze down the street. There was a boy there, maybe a few years older than me, waving wildly. “Ah, and there is my youngest son, Adriano Russo.”
The boy that joined us looked vaguely familiar, a wide smile on his face.
“Are we having a party on the sidewalk?” he greeted us all, his eyes curiously on me. “Hey, I know you. You’re the chick from my school. Super smart chick. Youngest girl in high school. You just joined last week or so, right?”
“You go to Townsend Harris too?” I asked him. It must be why he looked vaguely familiar.
“Yeah, I'm in the eleventh grade.”
“Some boys gave Amore a hard time,” Santino explained.
Adriano frowned. “Probably those assholes from the East Side.” His eyes were like his brother’s, but not as dark. There was a striking resemblance between the two but somehow they seemed very different. One was dark, while the latter seemed easygoing. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”
“But won’t that make them even madder?” I questioned. I’d prefer to remain invisible. Though so far, I’ve failed miserably at keeping myself invisible. I blamed it on my horribly bright hair.
“Adriano will make sure you are safe in school,” Mr. Russo chimed in. “Won’t you, Adriano?”
“Of course, Pà.” Adriano’s eyes turned my way. “What grade are you? I thought I saw you in my Algebra class.”
“I'm in ninth grade.”
“And you are in eleventh grade math?” Adriano’s voice was full of awe. “How many grades did you skip?”
I cleared my throat. I hated when people looked at me like I was a freak.
“My mom and da… ummm, George homeschooled me while we were in Africa and South America,” I tried to explain. “They covered a lot more than my grade level. It’s the only reason I skipped a grade.”
“Ummm, okay.” Adriano rolled his eyes and despite myself, I smiled. “If that makes you feel better, we can go with that. I’d say you are probably super smart. How about you help me with math? Otherwise, I might flunk it.”
“Sure, math for you taking care of the bullying boys.” I smiled, and suddenly the day seemed brighter. “Seems like a fair trade.”
Adriano extended his hand to seal the agreement. I put my palm against his warm hand, and we shook on it, both of us smiling.
“Okay, kiddo,” Santino interrupted our agreement. “How about you call your Uncle Vincent or your dad, so there is no trouble.”
“Vincent?” Adriano asked, confusion on his face.
“Amore is Savio Bennetti’s daughter,” his dad explained, and my heart fell at Adriano’s expression.
The glances they shared told of unspoken exchanges. I didn’t think they were good either.
