Page 60 of Mafia King
My feet are stuck. I can’t reach him. I tell him to come to me, but he looks back at me in distress, bleeding as if there are arteries in his hands. I’m frustrated, but the dream reveals that his feet are stuck in a mound of dried plaster. Then that he’s trapped inside a connected plaster grotto surrounded with pots of red roses, and then, I am as well.
Church bells ring. His olive skin goes pale as paint. I reach for him, but he’s too far for the length of my arms, and his are frozen in place.
“Mrs. DiLustro?” he says, and in my dream, it’s Italian fordo not come.
If I’d stayed in school, kept on my path to nursing, I’d live in a smaller house with fewer nice things, but I’d know what to do. My clothes would have no value, but my knowledge would be priceless, and I could stop the flow of this river of blood.
The church bells in my dream are the only thing left as I wake, turning into the doorbell chiming over and over, with a pang of regret—not because Santino’s not in bed with me, but because by obeying him, I’m unable to save him.
“Mrs. DiLustro?” Armando’s voice comes from the other side of the door, followed by a light rap I can barely hear over the frantic doorbell dings.
Sun cuts through the windows, turning the view behind my eyelids bright orange.
“Yes?” I say, hoping he’s here to ask a yes or no question. I want to go back to my dream and take control of the situation, get out of my plaster grotto and save Santino.
“Gia’s here.”
My bloodstream floods with cortisol and I bolt upright, remembering what I’d promised myself I’d do and who I’d do it for.
The bell keeps ringing.
“Did you let her in?” I hop off the bed, now really annoyed by the chiming. She must be trying to wear out the button. With all the security, I’ve never heard anyone actually ring it.
“Yes, but she won’t come inside until you’re down, and just to say… she is upset.”
“Tell her I’ll be right down.” I slap open a dresser drawer.
“Thank you.”
I jam my legs through a pair of sweatpants, throw on a tank, then a hoodie over it, and run downstairs without even peeing.
Framed by the open front door, Gia pokes the doorbell repeatedly. Her cheeks are striped with mascara and her lips are wet and puffy, lines of spit connecting them.
“I’m here!” I shout and run to her with bare feet and open arms.
She stops jabbing the button and lets me hold her in the space between inside and outside for a few seconds before I drag her in. Armando closes the door. I mouth the word “coffee” and he nods, heading for the kitchen. To my new cousin, I whisper comforts and avoid asking what happened until she can breathe, then I take her hands.
“What happened, Gia? What can I do?”
She opens her mouth to speak, but her face betrays her. Her mouth twists and sadness just pours out of her like a broken dam. I have never seen someone so red with distress.
I reach to hold her, but she slaps me. The sting on my cheek is nothing compared to the burn of her rejection.
“Gia?” I ask, my hand to my face.
“Whu-whu-why did you do it?” Gia huffs. “Papa is so mad at-at me and I… I… I… why?” The words catch between her tears and vanish. “Why did you ruin everything?”
She rushes into me and I’m too naïve to flinch in fear of another slap. Even with my skin burning where she hit me, I’m operating as the Violetta of ten seconds ago, so when she collapses into me, I hold her.
“We’ll figure it out.” I put my arm around her shoulder, stroking her hair. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.”
Gia presses her forehead against my neck and sobs as I lead her inside, passing the couches and walking her to the kitchen—where comfort resides. Celia’s setting up coffee and a cookie tray. I nod to her. She nods back silently as I sit Gia down on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Now.” I take a seat, turning toward her so I can smooth the hair around her forehead.
It’s nice to feel needed. I haven’t had a friend in a long time or felt useful in even longer. I hand her a paper napkin from the dispenser and she squishes it up and pushes the ball into her eyes one at a time.
I’m ready to wage war against her father, Damiano, Tavie, and even Santino if I have to. I don’t know what caused this beautiful girl to break like this, but I will end them.
