Page 84 of Righteous Deceit

“I guess.” He finishes his drink. “Good coffee.”

I smile softly. “Are you close with your mom too?”

“I’m as close with her as I am with my dad.”

“You don’t want to talk about them,” I surmise.

He shakes his head. “It’s not that. I care for my parents, and I’m sure they care for me. But the love of my mother and father was lost in translation.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“My mother, being the dutiful Mafia wife she is, assumed I was my father’s responsibility once I reached a certain age. He needed to shape and craft me into the perfect soldier.”

That’s not uncommon for the men in our world. They’re only boys but are forced to become hardened soldiers to ensure they’re an asset to the family. Their value is directly linked to how lawless and menacing they are. Feelings aren’t allowed to exist for them, not unless they’re fueled by violence and fury.

“She became unavailable to you?”

His lips twist. “She was busy. She was a ranking member’s wife, so she entertained, welcomed newcomers, and helped younger wives and mothers understand their roles and responsibilities. She was a mother, just not to me.”

“And your father?” I push.

“Cosimo has been capo since I can remember. He didn’t have time to babysit his child. He dragged me to work, but I was to sit, watch, and remain silent. So that’s what I did. I sat silently and watched. Leonardo Caruso was the only other boy around my age.”

“The underboss of New York?”

He nods once. “Leonardo grew up differently. His dad put Lorenzo in charge of his younger brother. I assume that because Lorenzo never had a proper childhood, he tried to give that to Leonardo as much as he could.”

“He wasn’t around, sitting and watching like you were.”

“Sometimes parents think they’re loving you how they’re supposed to, but they’re pushing your needs onto the other parent, not realizing that parent is doing the same thing. You grow up in a home, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

“No siblings?”

He shakes his head. “Just me.”

There is no sadness or longing in his words as he speaks. He’s reciting facts, ones that don’t seem to bother him at all. I want to wrap him up in a hug and show him that love does exist in the world. I can’t speak from personal experience because Diego’s parents look like the goal when considering mine. But still, like me, Diego deserved better.

“My parents are awful,” I tell him. “My father was hideous. Then he died, and we were all the better for it.”

“Your mother?” he asks.

“Despises me.”

“Why?”

Because I killed her husband.

“Who knows?” I lie. “She avoids me like the plague.”

“How is she toward your brother?”

“She’s not stupid. Salvatore is the boss. She would never disrespect him. I don’t think she’d lose sleep if he weren’t here, though.”

“Why does Salvatore let her disrespect the both of you the way she does?”

Because she knows our secret, and banishing her could unravel it if she chose to run her mouth.

“She’s family.”

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