Page 45 of Mafia Queen
“The one we burned down?”
He thinks for a moment, smirking. “Probably not.”
There’s more than one church, and basically, if Santino doesn’t think it matters, it doesn’t. The process of displaying the pieces of the crown to assure loyalty is steeped in traditions from the other side of the ocean. I don’t pretend to understand them.
“Do you really think people are just going to be like, ‘Okay, Re Santino finally has the crown, so we’ll fight and die for him,’ like it’s nothing?”
Coming toward us at a low angle, a charter plane heads into the farthest points of the sky, disappearing into a dot.
“Yes.”
“And the Tabonas are just going to give you Damiano?”
“He’ll have fewer friends.”
I sigh and slide down my seat. I don’t believe he’s right about this, but it’s a nice story.
“Maybe we can have the life you want.” He puts his hand on my knee, slowing down for the increased traffic. “At home. Where we live.”
“Maybe,” I humor him. “How many babies do you want?”
“Three is enough.”
“Really?”
“You want four? Four, I can do.”
“I figured you for a traditional fourteen or fifteen kid kinda guy.”
“You want to spend twenty years pregnant? Or do you want us to enjoy life a little bit?”
“I want to enjoy life a lot.” I smile.
“Bene. We have a deal.”
Is this the first time we’ve agreed on something without compromise? Is it the first time we came into a life goal with the same idea? We may never agree on where to live or what community to belong to, but the size of our family seems bigger than even that.
“I have a business question,” I say.
“You can ask it.”
“Have you ever tried to expand your territory over the river?”
“My… What?” He pops his blinker and checks over his shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of an expression of incredulous disbelief.
“Your influence,” I say. “Your kingdom. Is the river really a boundary?”
“No. I kept it small to stay under the radar. To keep from exposing myself. To protect you.”
“You don’t have to anymore.”
Every surface on my body buzzes. I’m aware that I could have lost what I carried for a hundred reasons.
When they gave me that drug, they took something more than physical from me. They stole my autonomy. My humanity. My hope. The hum of righteousness chases away despair, and the risks of our revenge overwhelm the pangs of grief.
The conflicts bind into a new thing—a virus that infects my cells, reproduces and flows into my bloodstream like an invading army. It is weightless. Even as I sit, my spirit lifts to the ceiling of the car.
“Cosa c'é?” Santino asks, sensing something is happening with me.
