Impossible Odds

5

Chapter 3 Giada Two weeks after returning from Vegas to my boring life, I’d resorted to dining with my parents in order to get me out of my apartment. It was amazing how normal our lives were, considering my father was the consigliere to one of the most powerful mob bosses in New York. With such an average daily existence, it was no wonder my parents were able to hide my father’s mafia involvement from us girls for so long. To an outsider looking in, my father seemed like any other respectable businessman. He told us he worked with his brother, my uncle Enzo, at the family construction company. He was always busy, and money was never an issue, so I’d never thought to question him. Knowing what I knew now, I wondered how much more my father kept hidden. What went on behind closed doors? There was clearly more to my father and uncle, but what? I was insanely curious about these men I thought I knew. What had Uncle Enzo done to become boss? Had he killed people? Did he pay off politicians and the police? How did they make their money? Gambling? Drugs? I’d tried to glean hints about my father’s secret life, but he kept a tight lid on that s**t. Years of keeping his two worlds separate made him a master of secrecy. Unfortunately for him, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I was well versed at being sneaky, and I desperately wanted to know about my father’s other life because his lawless shortcomings made me feel less like a screwup. My impulsiveness and need to challenge authority weren’t aberrations; I’d come by the traits naturally. His criminal activity served as validation. I was exactly who I was meant to be. The revelation had been fascinating, and I’d wanted to know everything I could about this new side of my father. I’d been watching. Learning. My dad couldn’t hide everything, like respectful nods from associates or a glare from a local restaurant owner when my dad’s back was turned. Between my observations and tidbits of information passed on from Alessia, I was able to piece together quite a bit. Al’s fiancé, Luca, didn’t tell her everything, but what she did send my way helped me understand the climate around me. In the past couple of weeks, something was making the men around me tense. The creases between my father’s brows had become a permanent fixture on his face. The drama after Enzo’s former underboss turned on him had all been resolved, so tensions should have been easing. But I’d found the opposite to be true. My parents asked me more questions than ever about my whereabouts, and I was sure my mom had a bodyguard with her when I met her for lunch the week prior. Something was going on, but my father would not give me any information. I’d tried early on to ask him questions and was told in no uncertain terms that family business would not be discussed. I just had to keep an eye out and see what I could learn on my own. “How was church?” I asked my mother as I helped her set the table. Mom had wanted me to go to the special weekday mass, but I refused. As a consolation, I came to their place for dinner after the service. It was a pain in the ass to drive all the way out to Staten Island from Manhattan, but what the hell else did I have to do? “You should have come. The message was perfect for you. Father Jacoby talked about respecting your elders and the importance they play in your life.” “I’m here, aren’t I? Isn’t that respect?” “I’m talking about that mouth of yours. It’s hard to be respectful when you pop off without even thinking.” “You know better than to expect me to change, Ma. I’m hopeless, remember? Your words, not mine.” I’d be lying if I said the words she’d slung at me weeks earlier hadn’t stung. She’d no doubt argue that it was a figure of speech, but I knew she’d meant them. It was no secret I’d never measure up to my mother’s exacting standards. Maybe if she could accept me for who I was, I would have been open to curbing my more abrasive tendencies. I could be pushy and had put my foot in my mouth more times than I could count. I wouldn’t deny it. But my mother hating those qualities made me adamant about not changing a thing. Her conservative nature made me more apt to be brash, and her need to follow the rules made me want to break every one of them. I wasn’t sure what made me so contrary, but it had felt imperative when I was growing up to be as unlike my mother as I could manage. When I was thirteen, she forbade me from wearing a triangle-cut bikini because it was too revealing. After buying one in secret, I’d smuggle it to swim parties and changed suits after my mother dropped me off. If she curled her hair, I ironed mine straight. She insisted I took Catholic confirmation classes, so I made out with my classmate, Patrick Murphy, in the confessional when Father Jacoby left us unattended. The more she pushed me, the harder I pushed back. A psychologist would have had a field day with our dynamic. Written papers and analyzed the s**t out of it. Maybe someday I’d go talk to a shrink and work through those issues, but for now, I was content to be myself and watch my mother squirm. “That’s enough,” my father cut in on his way past the kitchen. “I’ve had a long day, and I’m not interested in hearing you two go at it.” Sometimes I wished Uncle Enzo and Aunt Lottie were my parents. They were so much more relaxed, and Aunt Lottie was loads of fun. She and Mom were best friends, but I couldn’t fathom why. Alessia and I had a similar dynamic, with Al being more like my mom and me like Aunt Lottie, but Al wasn’t as uptight as my mother. I couldn’t imagine Ma would ever be fun to hang around. Hell, even her cooking was dull. I took in the lemon pepper chicken and Brussels sprouts with a mental groan. I wasn’t any kind of chef, but would it kill her to make a casserole occasionally? “Giada, will you go up and tell Val that dinner’s ready?” “I’m on it.” I walked halfway up the stairs before calling out my sister’s name at the top of my lungs and grinning at the mental image of my mother cringing. She hated for us girls to raise our voices and would fuss about not living in the ghetto whenever we shouted. It was petty of me to pull her strings like that, but I couldn’t help it. Being at their house made me feel like a belligerent teen again, and it only made things worse when she lectured me five minutes after I walked in. “You and Mom at it again?” Val groaned as she started down the stairs. “You know how she is. It’s not my fault.” “Bullshit. I know exactly how she is, and I know how you are. You love to poke the angry bear. I may not see eye to eye with her, but I don’t have a desire to argue and make my life miserable.” “That’s easy to say coming from the child who can do no wrong,” I grumbled.