Savage Pride

18

He’s quiet, so I turn back to see what he’s doing and find him staring at me. The intensity radiating off him sends a zing of adrenaline through my veins. “You have your father’s smile,” he rasps softly. “You don’t much resemble him otherwise, but when you smile, it’s impossible to miss.” It’s such a random comment, I’m not sure how to respond. Since I adore my daddy, I choose to take it as a compliment, which draws out the very smile he mentioned … that is, until Zeno winces in response. “I need to go.” He slips his jacket back on without looking at me. “Thank you for the distraction.” His eyes flit to mine just briefly before he flees the room. I’m left in utter dismay, totally at a loss.

“Isa, honey, it’s time to get up.” My eyes feel glued shut, heavy with sleep. If light weren’t pouring in through the windows, I could swear I’d laid my head on the pillow only minutes before. Gia is sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped in a towel with wet hair hanging limp on either side of her face. “It’s time to get ready, sleepyhead.” “Ugh,” I groan. The funeral. “I hope you have something for me to wear because I got nothin’.” “We can scrape something together. Now get up before one of the others beats you to the shower.” Her reminder of our limited bathing resources spurs me into action. Two bathrooms for a single family may sound reasonable, but when four sisters are trying to get ready at once, it’s a nightmare. I manage to snag the bathroom, still steamy from Gia’s shower. The scalding water brings me back to life, especially when I run through all that happened the night before. I told Gia the basics of what had happened after we’d curled up in bed last night, but talking it through with her hadn’t provided any further insight into the situation. Zeno’s contradictory behavior has left me even more confused than ever. I don’t know what to think, but I decide that maybe there is no conclusion to draw. Maybe this is a time of grief, and there is no logic or reason to anyone’s actions. I’d like to believe his attitude toward me is changing, but that may not be the case. No matter the source of his behavior, my visit home has become more than I bargained for—confrontations with the man who broke my heart as a child, and now, a funeral. Will the good times ever end? We load into Mom’s 4Runner, and everyone’s remarkably quiet. I give thanks for small miracles because I’m not up for drama. After Livia threw a fit about having to change when Dad rejected the short skirt she’d picked out, we are all running a bit late and low on patience. The church parking lot is already packed when we arrive. Cars will be parked down the street for blocks once the service begins. That’s the way it is for someone of such importance as a Mafia underboss. Silvano’s death will draw in family, both blood and otherwise, from all over the country. We make our way into the sanctuary and select one of the few remaining pews with open seats. Mom is seated next to me, and I notice she keeps scanning the crowd, craning her neck to look at new arrivals every few minutes. Her odd behavior sets me on edge. I find myself peering over my shoulder without any idea why. “Who are you looking for?” I ask in a whisper, growing irritated. “Huh? No one. Just curious who came.” She sits back casually, but I don’t buy it. With Mom, there’s no telling. I glance around one more time and note many of the faces from last night, but the service today includes even more people, most of whom are unfamiliar to me. The procession to the gravesite will require a large police presence to navigate traffic, which is always odd because families like ours don’t mesh well with cops. Sending Silvano off with a police escort seems wrong, but our funeral train will be far too long to execute without assistance. Within minutes, it’s standing room only in the church. The mood is somber with a respectful undercurrent of reunion as many people greet old friends for the first time in months or even years. Sorrow and gratitude, hand in hand, make yet another appearance. The ceremony lasts almost an hour. Zeno speaks briefly, along with his mother. Yet again, Nevio does not say a word, and I wonder if that is his choice or if Z refused him the opportunity. A priest conducts a short Mass, and Christiano De Bellis, the boss of the Giordano family, gives a respectful speech about his former second in command. He’s somber, but I don’t get the sense he caters much to emotion. He rose to become boss for a good reason—ruthless power resounds in every word he utters.

Eventually, we all filter back into our cars and take the slow, winding drive out to the cemetery. Marca and Livia chatter in the car, but I hardly pay any attention. I’m lost in a sea of my own thoughts. As we exit the vehicle at the graveside, I swear I see my mom take a swig from a flask. If she were truly struggling with grief over Silvano’s death, I could understand, but I’ve watched her over the past couple of days and know she isn’t overly affected. “Mom, are you drinking?” I ask once I’ve got her out of earshot of the others. She shoots a glare at me. “That’s not any of your business.” With her attention fixed on me, she stumbles in the grass, catching her footing before she falls. I help steady her, recalling when she slipped away during the funeral service to go to the bathroom. She’d also been surprisingly quiet on both car rides. “Exactly how much have you had?” She yanks her arm from my grasp. “I’m allowed to be upset. It’s a funeral.” “Everything all right over here?” Zeno appears from thin air, his voice a quiet warning. “Of course, Z,” Mom gushes, suddenly all sunshine and rainbows. “We were just talking about finding the Larsons. Luisa here has always been such good friends with Grace, the poor girl.” She leans in as if imparting a great secret. “She would be such a cutie if she wasn’t so chunky.” “Mom, that’s enough.” Mortification isn’t sufficient enough to describe how I feel. If I could, I’d jump into Silvano’s casket and let them bury me with him. Judging from the heat blazing across my cheeks, they have to be bright red. Swallowing back any semblance of pride I may have had, I turn to Zeno and attempt a smile. “Everything is fine. I’m sorry if we were drawing attention.” I tug my mother toward the crowd and pray he doesn’t realize she’s tipsy at his father’s funeral. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, and I’m afraid to find out.