Page 19 of Mafia Queen
“He’s around somewhere.” Celia sprinkles cheese on the soup.
“Who?” a voice booms from the doorway. It’s Armando himself with a paper bag from Giordano’s Pastries.
Celia grabs the bag as I rush to hug him.
“I’m so sorry,” he says when we separate.
“For what?”
“Violetta.” He takes a moment to sigh. “I was supposed to protect you. I let you get in Marco’s car. I should have known. I should have seen it, but…I was distracted. And there’s no excuse. My head wasn’t in the game.”
“They had cherry!” Celia exclaims with delight as she dumps biscotti into a container. She plucks one out and lodges it in her teeth.
“Tell her why you were distracted,” Santino commands. Whatever it was, my husband isn’t happy about it. He gestures for me to return to my seat at the table.
“When Gia came home, I was going to tell her I loved her.” He’s gone from looking at the floor to rubbing his eyes as if he can’t stand the sight of anything in the world. “And Re Santino too. I swear.”
The king does not respond.
“Maybe he can pay for his crime with more cherry biscotti,” Celia says, chewing on her cookie while ladling out soup.
“It was a betrayal of Santino,” Armando admits with downcast eyes.
“Enough,” Santino says firmly with a look to each of them. “My wife doesn’t need to hear about this today.”
Celia puts the bowl of soup in front of me. Its surface is dusted with cheese, and nothing has ever looked this good.
Santino is still cross-armed and stern.
“Gia Polito is—,” I say, but stop short. If Armando loves her, he’ll hear the word sociopath as an insult or scold. “Not right in the head. You know that now, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“She fooled all of us,” I say with a definitive jab in Santino’s direction.
“I take responsibility when I fuck up. I should be dead already for what I did.”
“No,” I say, picking up the spoon. There’s been too much death today. “Celia needs her biscotti. And none of it would have happened if we didn’t sell our daughters.”
As I try to eat, my hand shakes, splashing the soup back into the bowl. By the time it gets to my mouth, it is empty. Celia glances from me to Santino.
“I’m fine,” I lie. I’m not fine. I’m speaking strongly and clearly, but a part of me is still uncontained.
“Out,” Santino says with a short wave of his arm.
Celia and Armando leave us alone. Santino sits diagonally from me. He has to be here. Celia and Armando wouldn’t leave me alone at a time like this.
Stop it.
Just stop sabotaging your own happiness.
“I’m just a little uncoordinated.” I make excuses even though he can see right through me.
Only the real Santino can do that. He’s here. Right here. It’s just me and him. My guard drops. I am exposed and raw all over again. The terror returns, but it’s lessened. Maybe half. I wonder if it’ll be halved forever, always getting smaller but never getting to zero.
Santino holds out the spoon, cupping his other hand under it so it won’t spill. I eat it.
God bless Celia. It’s perfect.
