BELLADORA.
Kontakt glaz- Eye contact.
The song ended and we were handed off to waiting guests. My father did a slow dance with my mother, and I was swept away by my father’s brother, Igore. My uncle was nothing like my father. He was jovial, humorous.
He was kinder, if you could be kind in the mafia. But that was probably why my father always looked down at Igore. He saw him as lesser than because he wasn’t an unmoving, coldhearted bastard.
This changing of dance partners happened for the next twenty minutes, with the guests lining up to have their turns. I was passed off from one family member to the next, one associate to the other.
The conversations were polite if not tense, as if no one knew exactly what to say to me.
I danced with Dario, one of my father’s associates, an
