Page 56 of Mafia Queen
A few other guys burst in. I recognize Remo and Gennaro among them.
“Where are they then?” I ask, looking out the open door for my aunt and uncle. They’re not there.
“They wouldn’t come with us,” Vito reports. “They don’t trust nobody right now. Guglielmo’s still on the porch with apartigianiBeretta.”
“Fuck.” I’m cursing because my zio is being a pain in the ass, but also because the blood’s started to seep between Vito’s fingers. I run into the kitchen and look under the sink, praying for a first aid kit.
My prayers are answered. The white metal box is as small as a textbook. I run back to Vito.
Santino’s barking orders to his men. I only hear they are to “get down there,” and “secure the block,” before he’s outside, finishing the instructions, leaving me alone with Vito.
I take out the scissors.
“I hope you don’t like this jacket too much.” I’m cutting it before he confirms I can.
The bullet grazed the muscle and left on the other side, missing the cephalic vein. Thank God it isn’t inside him. I have no idea how to remove it.
“Is this the only injury?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He cringes when I lift his arm to check his side.
“My uncle always said one day he’d need that Beretta,” I say to distract him, stuffing more gauze under his hand. “It’s been in the basement since forever. Pressure.”
“It works like new.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“He didn’t want to hurt nobody.”
I scoff. Maybe he didn’t. He’s an uncle by marriage. But Zia Madeline is my father’s sister. She probably wants blood, and I wouldn’t blame her.
My thoughts are interrupted when Santino storms back in.
“Get back down there and finish the job, Vito.”
“He isn’t going anywhere,” I say distractedly.
“They ain’t coming with me,” Vito protests. “Two days ago, they opened the door for the neighbor, and Joey and Willie Tabona busted into the house. They been eating their food and watching their TV since.”
“Until today,” Santino sneers.
“Good thing Carmine and I came slow. Joey and Willie came out to check us over, and the Beretta started popping from upstairs. Gave us a moment to take them down…but now? That door don’t open. We tried.”
“Wait.” I stop the patient from talking further, because it’s already clear that besides Tabona soldiers, Zio Guglielmo was involved. Keeping pressure on Vito’s arm, I turn to my husband, whose body language is mid-action. “I told you I wanted to go get them.”
“And I said it would be done.”
“You could have told me.” I look away and pluck up a roll of tape.
“If I wanted you to know, I would have.”
He’s not going to change. Not today. Not preparing to attack the Vasto Quarry, where as kids, we got chased from climbable stacks of uncut Yule marble. Santino is who he is. It may take a lifetime to teach him that he shouldn’t make decisions without me.
“They’ll trust me,” I say, ripping away a length of tape. “If I go, he’ll put the Beretta away, and they’ll come.”
“You’re not going anywhere. The whole town’s infested.”
“Our enemies have the crown.” I pat the tape across the bandage. “I’m not worth anything to them anymore.”
