Page 39 of Mafia King
“Violetta!” Gia squeals, picking up after half a ring. “I wanted to call, but it’s been so busy at home!”
“Busy how?” I try to make myself sound as cheerful as possible. “Tell me everything!”
“Oh, you know, Mama and Papa coming in from Italy just like that.” She snaps her fingers, then drops to a whisper. “Mama must be going through the change, because she’s been extra irritable. And Tavie? I think he has a girlfriend because he’s out all the time and when he’s here, he’s growling at everything.”
My stomach sours. Paola’s upset because she knows her husband is selling off her baby, and the baby herself doesn’t even know.
“Men are stupid.”
The pregnancy tests are behind a locked glass door. Shit. Down one end of the aisle, Armando keeps vigil. Down the other… nothing. I walk toward nothing.
“Remember Damiano?” Gia says. “He was at the dinner last Sunday?”
“We weren’t introduced.” I swallow the hard mass in my throat. “But I remember him.”
“Of course you do! Well, he asked my father if he could take me out,” Gia gushes. “And papa said yes!”
My throat feels both dry and sticky at the same time.My tongue’s too heavy to move.
Behind the pharmacy counter, a woman in a bright blue jacket with a nametag pinned on the breast pocket talks on the phone and taps into a computer. She can open the case and get me a test.
“It’s tonight,” Gia squeals. “What should I wear? Do you think a dress? Or shorts and a cute top? No, that’s too casual, right?”
Her parents aren’t telling her what is about to happen to her because her father is emotionally lazy and Damiano is emotionally sadistic. Zio and Zia did the same, though I remain conveniently convinced it was to protect me because they thought they could wiggle out of it.
The results are the same. Our families are so entrenched in these customs that they can’t even see what they’re doing to their own children. The knot in my stomach turns to stone. I’m no better than any of them, because I’ve already decided not to tell her immediately. She wants to see him. She wants a wedding and a romantic honeymoon. Telling her might get her to my side, or coupled with the excitement she’s already feeling, it might entrench her. She may accept this is for the best and think that she’d want it anyway.
For now, I have to be a voice of reason. I have to be the big sister.
“Pants,” I say, waving to the woman in the bright blue jacket to let her know she can take her time. “You don’t want a strong wind to give him an eyeful, you know?”
“Right!” She claps. “I don’t want him to think I’m whoring it out.”
Of course. Men can wave their hand and transform decent women into sluts, much like Santino was reputed to do. Gia wouldn’t want a skirt to turn her into Loretta.
Who is protected.
And cherished.
And frankly? Respectable, but only because Santino says she is.
“Exactly,” I say to Gia as Bright Blue Jacket hangs up and heads toward me. “Don’t let him think it’s more than a date. You know these Italian men.”
“I woulda dropped off a prescription if you needed,” Armando says, suddenly at my side.
“Can I help you?” Blue Jacket smiles.
“He’s been here longer than me,” Gia natters. “Since he was nineteen, maybe?”
The phone behind the counter rings. Blue Jacket pretends to ignore it.
Armando. “Or I can come get it later for you.”
Blue Jacket glances at him.
The key that opens the cabinet with the pregnancy tests dangles from her waist.
Then she looks at me.
