Both Santo and Emilia rolled their eyes, and Vito’s eyes shown bright with glee.
“He’ll never stop talking,” Emilia warned me, patting me on the arm.
“But listen carefully,” added Santo. “He doesn’t like to slow down or repeat something he has said.”
I smiled slowly, peering across the table at Vito and nodding my head. I had discovered in that moment that, first, my teacher was in fact a teacher and, second, that while his students seemed to love and revere him, they too agreed that he could be a lot to handle.
Santo and Emilia excused themselves and wished me a ‘bona sira,’ – the Sicilian pronunciation was obvious – then walked into the noisy crowd and left me alone with Vito.
bona siraVito and I smiled at each other, then he spoke.
“Tyrants.”
I nodded my head. Fortunately, I had
