Page 25 of Ruthless Consequences

Ghetti looked at me, ignoring him. “I need to talk to you.”

Rarely did the three of us get this close. I ran into Ghetti sometimes. I broke bread with Sebastiano every Sunday out of respect for my ma. Respect for her was the only reason why Ghetti and Sebastiano didn’t spill blood on her front doorstep. It was the same reason I didn’t do the same when Sebastiano disrespected me every time he looked at Lucila. His thoughts were always written in his eyes.

“Make yourself useful,” I said to Sebastiano, holding out the carrier to him.

He went to open his mouth about it, but Minnie clapped her hands, telling him how excited she was. He looked at Lucila, who was staring at the door, before he took it from me. He strode up the steps like he owned the fucking place.

He thought he had every right, because Michele treated him like a son. A welcome son. I was only welcome on Sundays or when Ma wanted to see me. Just like Ghetti used be. But after his ma died, he was no longer welcome inside the doors to what used to be Ma’s house. Michele took over that too. Whenever something happened to Ma, I suspected I’d be locked out forever. No better than Ghetti. Maybe even considered lower.

Once the door shut behind them, I turned to Ghetti.

He was digging in his pocket for a cigarette. He found a lone one and lit it up, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “You were at The Cigar Bar last night.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew. His old man was close to Mo. Mo had a big fucking mouth, unless it came to money, or things he wanted to keep in the dark.

“Business, right?” Ghetti smiled. A stream of white blasted from his nostrils.

He was tall and thin, like a spaghetti noodle, but the shark behind his smile could never be hidden. He could scent whatever was considered blood in our world from miles away.

“Get to the point,” I said.

He lifted his hands. “I’m just surprised. You’re usually more observant. Especially when it comes to her.”

He wanted me to take the bait. Because he loved fucking with people. He started to walk off when I refused, but he couldn’t resist dangling another piece before he disappeared.

He stopped. Looked at the cigarette. Rubbed it on the front of Valentino’s before he stuck it back in his pocket for later. “New girl who works there.” He whistled. “Causing quite a stir. She’s beautiful and fresh. Not the usual. Looks mighty familiar, though.” He shrugged, sticking a hand in his pocket, going about his business.

My mind zoned out. The entire street became a focal point. Hundreds of things were happening, but I didn’t focus on any of them. Thoughts were forming and coming together to form a picture.

The vision exploded, every detail of the street coming to life, when Norah called my name.

“Lilo? Carine is asking for you.”

I said nothing as I moved past her and into the house. Even though it was alive with voices and the scents of familiar foods, I couldn’t prevent the small death I experienced every time I saw the woman who gave birth to me in a wheelchair. Her body was failing her. But her smile—it was still so big when she saw me.

“Ma.” I leaned down, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

She tapped my face. “You look too skinny.”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“Because you love me.”

“All of my life,” I said.

Her eyes shimmered with tears. She closed them when I gave her a lingering kiss on top of her head. I refused to even think about this moment never happening again. I knew she was feeling the same.

When I opened my eyes, Michele was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, watching us. Our eyes met and held. Lucila set her hand on his shoulder. A second later, he broke the contact, and she slipped past him with the flowers she brought. Michele refused to accept help with cooking on Sundays, so Lucila decided to start bringing flowers. She arranged them in Ma’s favorite vases and set them on the table.

It was something Ma always did, but Michele had overlooked it in his determination to make Sunday perfect for his wife. From the first time Lucila had done it, it became her thing. Ma and I would watch together as she completed the picture.

Our family picture—mine and hers.

She’d come a long way since that girl who didn’t want to eat in front of anyone. She fit in this house better than I did. But wherever she belonged, so did I.

Because light and dark always make shadows.

That shadow was all we’d created together. It was as permanent as the body I was born into.

---