Page 3 of Runaway in the Mafia
The matte black Porsche Cayenne could only hold one person brave enough to face my annoyance. There were only four women in my life that I would never show my darkness to. The four who had borne enough from Carlo. One of them the most. I clicked my front door open with a flip of a key on my computer as I watched my mother walk towards the door. Beautiful. But so damn broken inside. By the fucking man she’d married and stayed with.
Her flat shoes were too soft for me to pick up, but I could hear the rustle of the curtains opening in each room she passed.By the time she entered my office, it was already filling with light from the window across the doorway.
“Mamma mia, figlio mio,you have a glass house, but it’s dark like the caves of Sicily here.” She spared me a glance before she crossed the room and flipped the blinds open, taking away the last bit of dark solace I had. Disapproval lined her face when she turned around and eyed the glass in my hand.“Sul serio? È mezzogiorno.”
“So?” I relaxed against my chair as if midday drinking was an everyday activity for me.
She sighed. “You become more and more like your father every day.”
And there it was. I couldn’t go one fucking day without hearing how fucking much I was like my damn womanising father. If I could manage to forget it for even a second, I had her to remind me of it. Mostly she did it with looks coated with disappointment and fear. It was my lucky day today. She had to add words to seal the dread in my heart.
I forced myself to relax the hand clenched around my glass and brought it to my lips. The whiskey burned me like acid going down a wounded stomach.
“Is there a reason you’re here? Other than to remind me of how I resemble your beloved husband?” I had a talent. Something that was solely for my mother and sisters. I could hide the bitterness inside me and coat it with sweetness. So they could never see the darkness inside of me. Because if she ever did, she wouldn’t be here talking to me. She’d run back to my home, lock the doors and stay inside. This monster was most certainly the son of his father.
Her gaze was worried. “Don’t be like this,figlio mio.”
There was a tightness to my shoulder and a dark edge to my black heart. And a thin line between lunatic rage and sociallyacceptable calm. I was afraid I might cross it. More today than on any other day. “What do you want, Mamma?”
“Why don’t you come home for dinner tonight?”
“Busy.”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Also busy.”
“The day after, then?”
I didn’t answer. Silence ticked.
She sighed, and her lips thinned. “What do you even eat, Vitale? Your cooker still has the plastic it arrived in. Can I at least cook some meals for you?”
“No need.”
“There is every need.” Her voice rose with agitation. I didn’t answer her. An unspoken history passed between us. “Can I at least send someone to cook for you?”
A heavy sigh left me. I didn’t know why she insisted on trying to mother a monster who was everything her husband was. Did she want to fucking burn twice? “You know I don’t like anyone in my home.”
“This isn’t your home. Your home is with us. You are the don. You should live in your birth home like tradition demands.”
The paperweight on the edge of my table caught my attention. Leaning across, I caged it in my hands. It was cold and heavy, just like how I felt on any given day. “There are so many things that tradition demands, Mamma. I will be forgiven, don’t you think, if I skip a few?”
She ignored my answer just like any good Sicilian Mamma and latched on to something else. “This Carmela is blind as a bat. She can hardly walk straight, let alone see.”
That’s the exact reason why I have her come. But I didn’t tell her that. “She cleans just fine.” I ignored the pointed look she gave the dust coating my desk. It’s fucking black. You see everything on black. Except for sins. Those stay hidden.
“I just wish you’d visit more. With Daria in New York, the house is running empty. If you would marry...”
No.
She let out a sigh at my glare. “Whatever. Children these days, they never listen to their Mamma anymore.”
Anger bubbled beneath my skin.She should have set the example and listened to me. When I begged her to leave her womanising husband.I had lost count of the number of times I’d implored her to.
“Will you at least have your meetings at home?”
I relented. Because I wanted her off my back. My space. “I’m coming over next week.”
