“Shut the f**k up, Vitto,” my mom snarls from the kitchen.
“But it’s the truth, Ma. If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t be rich. I have to wait at least a couple more years before I’m allowed to join Cosa Nostra and start making money like Rocco.”
My mom storms into the living room and grabs my brother by the front of his hoodie, jerking him around. “Did you ever wonder why your sister wears sunglasses almost every time she comes here?” she yells into his face.
“Mamma, don’t.” I grab at her forearm. “Please.”
“Did you, Vitto?” she keeps yelling while tears roll down her cheeks. “Because she doesn’t want us to see the bruises! Rocco has been beating her from the start. You f****d up and she had to pay the price! And you are still doing it.”
Vitto stares at Mamma, then turns to me. “
