“I saw a picture of that kid.”
Testa’s lips came together before he said, “Damn shame. Too young to take his own life, but sometimes it’s the easier option.”
I laid a ten-dollar bill on the table to pay for my and Testa’s eighty-cent coffees and my four-dollar sandwich. I couldn’t eat even with it in front of me. “Fuck, I need to buy diapers.”
With a smile, Testa reached into his pocket and pulled out a list. I recognized Angelina’s writing. “The missus said to give this to you. I offered to do it, but I think she likes the idea of you doing it.”
Reaching for the paper, I shook my head.
Fucking life-and-death things were happening, and I was buying diapers, baby wipes, and whole milk. My blood pressure climbed as I read. There were more items. I’d volunteered for the job, yet I felt like a sap when the real men were fighting a fight I wasn’t privy to. It wasn’t that real men didn’t shop. It was that I knew there were bigger things happening.
A little while later, as I turned my shopping cart at the end of an aisle in the grocery store near my home, I came face-to-face with Detective Jennings. I shook my head. “I hope you’re enjoying your babysitting mission.”
“You didn’t finish your sandwich.”
“You need a more exciting life.”
“You’re driving a different car.”
I looked from side to side. “Apparently, my lawyer missed the memo of this meeting. We’ll need to postpone.”
“The car you’re driving...?”
My eyes opened wide, more in annoyance than question.
“I know it’s yours. I pulled up the registration. Where’s the one you drove the other night?” When I didn’t answer, he looked down into my cart. “Looks like you have more than three to feed.”
“You’re welcome to discuss my family’s diet with my attorney.”
“It could be so easy, Mr. Demetri. Talk to me.”
I winked. “It already is easy. Good day, Detective.”
Sunday came with word to miss church. The unusual message was secondhand, but it was the only way any news came. While the children made do, Angelina and Bella were visibly shaken. Their concern extended beyond Carmine to everyone connected to the Costellos: cousins and friends who were like family.
Blood relatives and those made by blood.
We all knew in the depths of our hearts that what had occurred at Evviva’s wasn’t strictly the case of a rogue kid. There was an ambush planned. What we didn’t know was how deep it went.
“What would’ve happened if things had turned out differently in the alley?” Angelina asked late Sunday night as we both lay awake staring at the ceiling of our bedroom. It had been over three full days since the shooting. Bella and Luisa were asleep in one of the guest rooms and Luca was with Lennox. Our home was filled with family as Angelina had wanted, but the circumstances were nothing like we could have predicted.
I reached across the cool expanse of our king-sized bed for her hand. Under the covers, our fingers intertwined as we each rolled toward one another. Outside our home, rain pelted the windows and doors, the dropping temperature adding ice to the wintry mixture. With the wind howling off the water, the pinging precipitation echoed like gunfire against the glass.
Answering Angelina’s question wasn’t a conversation I relished having; nevertheless, I’d never sleep with the rapid-fire assault from Mother Nature. Now, with a rare reprieve from listening ears, was as good a time as any to finally tell my wife everything that I could.
With Angelina turned my way and me hers and our hands clenched, she waited for my answer. I searched for her blue eyes; however, in the darkness everything was shadowed in shades of gray.
After letting out a long breath, I began. “I don’t know what I can say.”
“I won’t say anything to Bella. I just feel so helpless here. The lack of information is killing me.”
“No, baby, you’re not helpless. You’re helping Vincent by keeping Bella and the kids busy. He knows they’re safe. He wouldn’t have had them brought here if he doubted that.”
“I know that. But the fact that he did worries me too. I’m scared about Uncle Carmine. Vincent didn’t send Bella there. She and I both wonder if it’s because Uncle Carmine is more injured than we’ve been told, and Aunt Rose needs to concentrate on him.”
I shrugged, pulling her hands as I moved. “I don’t think that’s it. I saw him walk up the stairs. I heard him talk. He told me what to do: not to come home yet, to go to the office and work. He didn’t explain, but I think that it was because my phone calls are traceable. He was getting me away from the scene and having me establish an alibi.”
“Did he tell you to shower?” There were so many layers to her simple question.
I lifted her hand to my lips, leaving a soft, lingering kiss on her knuckles. “I did something else that night that I didn’t tell you about, something I’m not proud of.”
“Oren, don’t. I don’t want to hear...” She tried to pull her hands away from mine as she began to turn, and her words faded into the roar of the outside winds.
“No, listen...” My eyes were more adjusted to the darkness, allowing me to see her clearer; her face was illuminated with slivers of the night’s light shining through our blinds. Against the white of the pillows, I could make out the curves of her face, her cheekbones, and the pout of her lips. Letting go of her hand, I secured a loose strand of silky brown hair behind her ear. “...please.”
Her fight lessened and body relaxed as she nodded.
“Everything happened so fast,” I began. “I told you that I was there at Evviva’s when it happened. I don’t think I saw Carmine struck by the bullet or him fall, but I saw the kid.” I rolled to my back, no longer willing to watch her emotions play out in her expressions. Yet instead of seeing the ceiling high above me, I was recalling the scene from seventy-five hours ago. “Mio angelo, he was so young.”
“The one who shot Uncle Carmine?”
“Yes. The policeman who questioned me said he was nineteen.” I fought the emotion that I shouldn’t have, that I couldn’t show to my wife—that real men didn’t display. “I couldn’t help but think about Lennox. Fuck, the last seven years have flown by. We’re going to blink, and he and Luca will be that old.”
Angelina scooted closer until her head was on my shoulder, her soft hair flowing over my pillow. “It scares me too,” she whispered. “What did you do?” One of her arms went over my torso, her warmth giving me the comfort that I didn’t deserve as her petite frame spooned against mine.
“I pulled my gun, ready to take the kid down.” The reality ate at my soul. Shaking my head, I went on. “I’ve been places before...places where I knew what was happening. A long time ago, before we were married, Vincent had me drive him to this house in a run-down area. I can still see it in my mind. The house was falling apart, the gutters hung down, and the building was in need of paint.” I shook my head. “But you know what I always see when I remember that?”
“No...” Her voice was soft, an answer to my question without pulling me from the memory.
“There was a kid’s bike in the yard. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do.
“Vincent told me to stay in the car. That night, we’d been collecting family money. I hated doing it, mostly because it seemed to happen in the middle of the night when I wanted to be sleeping. I guess it was all part of letting me see more of the life. Anyway, I did as he said and stayed in the car. He never specifically said why we were there—I’d assumed collection, until I saw a flash through the window. I told myself later that it had been a TV or something.” My pulse increased as the memory became more vivid. “When Vincent came out, he looked exactly as he had when he went in. He was calm, like he’d just gone into a store and bought a pack of gum.
“His gun was concealed, but there was an odor. I smell it every time I go to the shooting range. It’s not strong, but it’s there, right after a gun fires.” They s
ay sense of smell was the paramount one in the replaying of memories. I ran my fingers through Angelina’s hair. The aroma of hairspray, shampoo, and the faint sweetness of perfume reminded me that I was in bed with her, not sitting in my car in a driveway nearly ten years ago. “When I’m at the shooting range and I inhale that scent, my mind always goes back to that driveway, that flash, and Vincent getting back in the car.”
“You’ve never told me any of this.”
I shrugged, causing her head to bob. There were many things I’d never shared. “Anyway, I’m not unaware of what goes on, but seeing it all unfold and knowing that I could have pulled that trigger hit me hard.”
Angelina lifted her head, her gaze meeting mine. “Oren, did you shoot the kid?”
“No. The last time I saw him he was alive. He’d pissed himself because he was so scared, but he was alive. My thoughts weren’t really on the kid. I was too worried about Carmine—he’s the boss, but he’s more than that. I thought of you.”
“Me?”
“I didn’t want to tell you that your uncle was dead.” I took a deep breath. “Stefano and Jimmy were outside with those soldiers—fucking traitors. Vincent yelled for a car. That’s when I told Testa to go get mine. Carmine needed to get out of there. I think Vincent was also calling for Stefano or Jimmy. Like I told you, it was all happening at once.
“The alley. I don’t even know what happened except if those traitors had made it through Jimmy and Stefano, well, I’m not sure who would still be standing. Jimmy came back inside. He didn’t say a word about the ambush. He was only worried about Carmine. And then Testa came back with the car. We got Carmine out.” I shook my head recalling the scene. “Jimmy’s an ox. He lifted your uncle like he was Luisa.”
I rolled toward my wife. “After I learned about the bulletproof vest and after Carmine and Jimmy got out of the car...” I closed my eyes.
Angelina’s warm hand came to my cheek. “What happened?”
When my eyes opened, her face was blurry. I tried to blink her into focus, ignoring the moisture leaking from my eyes. “I told Testa to pull over...because...I lost it. I reacted like a fucking baby. I vomited in the damn gutter.”
Her lips came to mine. This time I pulled away. “Don’t you see? I’m not who they think. I’m not who you think I am.”
“You are who I think you are. You’re better than that.”
Turning away again, I faced the ceiling and lifted my free arm to cover my eyes. “My suit had blood on it. Jimmy touched my shoulder, and then I helped undo Carmine’s buttons, Jimmy’s and my hands working together. Blood from his hands got on my hands. I’m probably the reason there was more on my clothes. And then there was the fucking throw-up. Shit splattered against the cement. I brushed my teeth until my gums bled. I couldn’t get the damn taste out of my mouth.”
My wife sat over me, her hair a veil shielding us from the wintry storm. She lifted my arm away, forcing me to look at her, to show her my shame.
“Oren Demetri, if I’d wanted to marry a man who could walk out of a building without a care in the world after shooting someone, believe me, I had my choice. I wanted to marry you.”
“Why?” I asked in earnest.
“Because I loved you. I do. I have since you were a tongue-tied boy in my English class.” Kisses peppered my cheeks. “I still love you,” she said.
“Boy?” I thought of Lorenzo. “Here I thought I was a man.”
Her head shook. “Now you’re a man. And no longer tongue-tied.”
This time I framed her face, my palms on each side until our eyes met. “No other woman has ever caused me to be tongue-tied.”
“And no other man has had my heart.”
As she continued to kiss me, her hands on my shoulders, her body against mine, a wave washed through me, giving my soul purpose. Whatever this flood was, it filled my bloodstream with a need to move beyond what had happened and a desire to show my wife that she’d married the right man. Reaching for her waist, I rolled until she was the one on her back, her blue eyes staring at me, her beautiful face surrounded by a halo of hair. My body covered hers. “You love me?”
She nodded.
“More than you hate me?” My body hardened as she wiggled beneath me.
“Right now.”
“I’ll take that.”
With the wind and ice roaring beyond our windows, Angelina and I came together in a way such as we hadn’t in a while. It wasn’t that our marriage was without sex. It was that sometimes it became mechanical. This was different. The tension of the last few days fueled our desire—our need—to connect. The heat of our union reignited a flame that life, snow, and death somehow hadn’t completely extinguished. Momentarily, the world beyond our bedroom was gone. I wasn’t the man who’d gotten ill at the sight of blood and bodies. She wasn’t the woman who reacted with constant suspicion and discontent. Together we were one fire, one flame, burning out of control, each of us finding release and pleasure in the one person we loved, needed, and trusted with our secrets and shame.
We both gave what we could, each accepting what was given.
Without the other, our fire would extinguish, but together we could keep it alive.
The pieces made sense: the debt the kid Lorenzo had tried to pay was his father’s. However, I still wasn’t seeing the whole picture—or perhaps I didn’t want to see it. The story finally became clear a week later, after seven days of family togetherness. We’d feigned a nasty stomach bug with Lennox’s school. Angelina had gone to pick up his schoolwork. I wasn’t sure what important study a second grader needed to accomplish, nevertheless, she brought home books and notebooks. No matter what the nuns deemed crucial to his education, neither Angelina nor I wanted him out of the house even in Rye.
I didn’t know what excuse Bella had given the parish school in Brooklyn. It didn’t matter. According to Vincent—through Testa—his family was not to be seen outside of our home. That was, until Testa arrived Thursday evening with a nice new minivan. In all the uproar, I’d forgotten about his assignment to purchase Angelina a new car. My old one was now reduced to rubble, hopefully buried and at the bottom of a trash heap.
However Angelina had not forgotten that she had a new car coming. Upon seeing the minivan in the driveway, she unequivocally stated her disapproval. “I will not drive that. You need at least three children to drive one of those ugly things.”
When Testa entered the house, I tried to break the news in a gentler way. “I thought we talked about sedans?”
Angelina’s stare relayed her discontent even though she’d only verbally shared it with me.
Testa grinned. “It’s just a test drive, ma’am.”
“A test drive?” I asked.
He nodded. “It seats seven. Room for all of us.”
Bella jumped up from the sitting room where she’d been pretending to read one of Angelina’s magazines. “All of us? Does that mean me too?”
“Yes, Mrs. Costello. Your husband and father-in-law are waiting.”
Her wide eyes met Angelina’s as they filled with tears, and the two women came together. “I’m going home.”
Angelina nodded as she hugged Bella.
Contemplating the idea of all seven of us in the same vehicle, I said, “I’m driving.”
My declaration was met with multiple sets of suspiciously narrowed eyes. I’d been responsible for Angelina for nearly nine years and Lennox since he was born. Vincent had entrusted Bella, Luca, and Luisa to me for a week. I trusted Testa, but nothing since the shooting felt right.
After all, Sunday we’d missed Mass. Today was Thursday and I’d just eaten dinner at home, something that never happened. For the first time in my memory, drinks with the family had been postponed. There were too many variables, too many things out of the norm and out of my control. If I’d been wrong about Testa and we were driving into some sort of ambush, it would be me behind the wheel.
I nodded to Testa. “You ride shotgun. You’re a better
shot anyway.” My reasoning seemed to satisfy the masses as Bella rushed around, rounding up Luca and Luisa.
Angelina helped as they gathered the few things the Costellos had brought and the things we’d acquired. Diapers wouldn’t be any use to us. Angelina wasn’t having more children. The minivan wasn’t really a test drive. It was simply Testa’s way of providing transportation for us all in one vehicle.
The wintry mix we’d had a few nights ago was gone, and the air had warmed. It was autumn in New York, and anything was possible. I watched the roads and my rearview mirror as we drove from Westchester to Brooklyn. Just as I drove close to the Costello brownstone, a car pulled away from the curb.
“Your parking space,” Testa said.
I exhaled as Jimmy stepped from the shadows onto the sidewalk. Gentler than I’d ever seen him, he helped Bella, Angelina, and the children out of the van and quickly inside. As Testa and I reached the top of the steps, something caught my attention. Tilting my head, I alerted Testa to the light-blue Fairmont parked a few houses down.
Detective Jennings.
“He wasn’t following, boss,” Testa said, and I knew he was right. “I was watching. He must’ve gotten tired babysitting you and is now watching this house.”
“Simply a family gathering.”
Walking through the door onto the wood floor, I was overwhelmed by memories. The magic aroma of Rose’s cooking lingered in the air. The familiar scent that accompanied the home filled me with relief I never would have imagined feeling the first time that Angelina brought me here. I looked up to see Vincent and Bella. Their family gathered in a group hug farther inside and down the hallway.
For a week, Bella had been remarkably strong, and now in her husband’s arms, her sobs echoed against the paneled walls. Her arms were around his neck with Luisa in her father’s arms and Luca standing at their waists, his arms holding everyone.
“Shh,” Vincent soothed as Bella cried, and Luisa asked what was wrong. I envied the little girl’s innocence, yet from the expression on Luca’s face, he didn’t share it. He’d sensed the danger despite our best intent. He was part of the world. It was part of him, inbred in a way that even at barely eight years old, he understood beyond his years.
The Price of Honor: The Making of a Man Page 21