The Price of Honor: The Making of a Man

by Aleatha Romig

  During my Costello 101 training, Vincent had spent a significant amount of time with me, learning about some of the subsidiaries under the Demetri umbrella. As time went on, he had other things to concern himself with than my company, yet he never forgot the lessons he’d learned—just as I hadn’t.

  He took that knowledge after his father’s death and used it to propel the Costello family into the new millennium. The money his father had used in other ways, Vincent invested in legitimate businesses. He used good men and even women to run these legit companies. That wasn’t to say that the Costellos were completely out of the illegal spectrum, but even he could account for lawful income. Change began at the top.

  Capos, those willing to learn and grow, now had the opportunity to increase their income in justifiable ways.

  I’d even begun a few enterprises at Vincent’s request. One was brought to me that caught me by surprise. After Vincent’s call, we met at Carlisle’s, a familiar little restaurant in Little Italy, Jimmy by Vincent’s side. The days of seeing my wife’s cousin alone were a thing of the past. I didn’t question the change. His request for a meeting had come just before I was about to leave the office. Angelina had a dinner or something planned for new neighbors—more people for me to carry on bullshit conversations with. Julie had it written in red on my calendar. Though I’d messaged Angelina that I wouldn’t be home, she’d yet to respond.

  Besides, it wasn’t like I could refuse Vincent. Since his requests came less frequently than Carmine’s had, I found that usually my appearance was even more significant. There’d been no more talk of opening the books over the last few years. The state of limbo was working well for me as I became even more proficient at balancing.

  Vincent’s request, or should I say, entrepreneurial suggestion, was ironically at the inclination of the same man who’d requested the death of the Irishman—old man Montague. While the mention of his name took me back into the world of the Irishman’s wife and daughter who I’d unsuccessfully tried to forget, it also brought back my curiosity about their lives.

  “Surveillance,” Vinny said as we sat near the back of the restaurant, swirling the drink the waitress had brought him upon his arrival. “Talking to the old man got me thinking...”

  “You want me to start a surveillance company?”

  His head tilted from side to side. “Security...surveillance. The title can be up to you.”

  That was big of him.

  Mentally I appraised the amount of time and work that would be before me to complete his task; the project would undoubtedly need to be wedged between my already-set commitments. “I’ll need a few months. There’s a lot to set up: permits...”

  “No more than two. Pop kept the old man as an associate for a reason. I plan to keep Pop’s word.”

  I wanted to correct Vincent and say it would be me, but that didn’t seem like a good idea.

  As Vincent requested, I’d arranged for the front—the new Demetri Enterprises security company—to get the cameras in place. The old man wanted them in his home and corporate offices, something about keeping an eye on his new son-in-law. As I went to work, I decided that being this man’s son-in-law was about as dangerous as being Angelina’s husband, just for different reasons.

  Once the cameras were up, the rest was up to the old man. My guess was that he had the same issues we all had—trust concerns. While working with the technicians, I caught a glimpse into the life of the wife and girl. While their castle seemed opulent, my general assessment was that it lacked warmth. Perhaps the Irishman had been accurate about his wife—an ice princess living in a frozen world.

  Each time the thoughts came to my mind, I moved on.

  Another problem that continued to plague the families—not only of New York, but elsewhere too—was illegal drugs. Without a doubt the use and availability of illegal drugs were increasing, not decreasing. Through it all, Vincent stood behind Carmine’s policy: the Costello family did not deal in heroin, cocaine, crack, or meth. The list wasn’t limited. We also didn’t sell prescription narcotics, painkillers, uppers, or downers.

  No longer was it simply a family-against-family issue. Each family had its own policy. For example, while the Luchi family had seen its share of transitions at the top, its stance had not wavered. And although the Bonettis in Jersey were still a powerful force, they kept their sales out of our territory. It was a matter of respect. And yet despite our differences, as we moved forward in the new century, there was a new urgency to unite as never before.

  The Cosa Nostra was no longer the only broker in town. We needed a united front to keep the Russian, Serbian, and even Japanese underworld factions out of our territories. The people of Brooklyn, Jersey, the Bronx, and more, as well as parts of Manhattan, had paid their dues to the reigning families. They still did. Keeping them safe was as much the family’s job as the police’s.

  Vincent recognized the outside threat and reached out to the other bosses in the commission, making alliances that benefitted not only the Costellos, but others too.

  The work on all levels never stopped. I justified it all as it being for my family—not for the Costellos but for Angelina and Lennox and even Silvia.

  I’d soon learn that my wife didn’t see it that way.

  Angelina’s complaints about my absences decreased. No longer was I met by tearstained cheeks or even passive-aggressive comments. Foolishly, I assumed that meant she’d accepted our schedule as part of life. I assumed she’d finally recognized the breadth and scope of my work with Demetri Enterprises as well as my commitment to the Costellos and accepted that I couldn’t attend every one, or even many, of Lennox’s activities. The way I saw it, a football game went on for an eternity. If I spent the bulk of the game looking down at my Blackberry, I was a bad father. It was simply easier to miss the event and avoid the disappointed glances from my wife.

  Besides, in a somewhat justifiable way, I was no longer her priority either. She was always busy with both Lennox and Silvia. Now an adult, the once-skinny, uneducated girl was taking college courses. She had a knack for management, and still she faithfully helped Angelina, refusing to move to a dorm, but instead staying at home to help with the running of the household.

  I made an effort to be home more; however, often that meant in my home office. Nevertheless, I saw that as an improvement. One evening while home, I asked Angelina about Silvia’s behavior. “Why after all this time does she still act like a maid?”

  My wife’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you say that?”

  “She brings things like a drink or a snack and offers to if I don’t ask. I don’t know. Lennox doesn’t do that.”

  “I do.”

  Her answer took me aback. “Yes, I guess, but that’s different.”

  “How?”

  Fuck.

  “It’s just that I would think she’d want to live in the dorm. I didn’t until my parents died, but it was a good experience.”

  “She’s done enough moving in her life. If she doesn’t want to go, I don’t agree with forcing her.”

  “No one said anything about forcing her.” I turned back to the spreadsheets I had strewn across the coffee table, glancing first at the movie we were watching.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Angelina said.

  “What question?”

  “How is it different if I do those things than if Silvia does?”

  This wasn’t a conversation I’d win. I should have known by now to keep my thoughts to myself. I guess it was that Angelina was the one person I had always wanted to talk to, to converse with. It was during absences that I forgot how my conversation was easily misinterpreted. “Forget it,” I said, turning back to the spreadsheets.

  Of course, she didn’t forget it. Angelina kept going. “Silvia is simply doing what she’s been taught, what she sees. So is Lennox.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention with the way she added the last sentence. “Why do I feel that’s about me?”<
br />
  “Because it is,” Angelina said. “Silvia isn’t a maid any more than I am. I’m a wife and a mother. I never wanted a maid. I want to take care of the people I love. When she first arrived, it was all she knew. Now, despite what you think you see—on the rare occasions that you actually pay attention—Silvia loves and cares for us. She gets you a drink or a sandwich or cooks meals because it’s what she sees me doing, what I saw Aunt Rose doing.”

  I guess it made sense. I hadn’t given it that much thought. “And Lennox?” I asked, soon realizing my question was foolish, and I should have stopped while I was ahead, or at least not too far behind.

  Angelina’s jaw tightened as her neck straightened. “He imitates someone else.”

  I took off my reading glasses and tossed them over the large bound books. “Is this another fight?”

  “I don’t know, Oren, is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “It is...what it is.” She waved one hand. “Silvia sees what I do. Lennox sees what you do.”

  My stomach twisted. “So he sees a man who works his ass off for his family. Good. One day I hope he’ll do the same.”

  “I don’t,” Angelina said matter-of-factly, turning from me to the television.

  “This is great.” I motioned toward the screen. “I came out of my office to sit with you because you wanted to watch this movie. I’m here, and you’re still pissed at me. I can’t win, Angelina. Ever.”

  Angelina laughed, the feigned tone doing little to lower the increased temperature of the heated room. “What movie are we watching?” she asked.

  I turned my gaze from her back to the television and assessed the movie. I wasn’t good with actors’ names. I didn’t care. Ask me about a CEO of one of my companies or of a competitor. The man on the screen looked familiar. I should know this guy’s name. I thought he was a bigger star. “This actor is...” My sentence hung in the air unfinished.

  “Russell. Russell Crowe. Does that help?”

  It didn’t help. Russell. It brought back that old familiar ache combined with the new images from the security footage. This guy in the movie had dark hair not red. The new husband was blond. Would a request to get rid of him come next? Angelina’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

  “The movie?”

  “It’s about...well...” I had been sort of watching. “That guy thinks the Russians are after him because he has some secrets. He’s either a genius or nut case. I haven’t decided.”

  Angelina sighed. “It’s called A Beautiful Mind. It’s up for many awards. Congratulations, you can minimally multitask.”

  “Thank you?”

  “Oren, you’re not watching the movie. You’re looking at that.” She motioned to the table. “I hope one day Lennox will take the time to be with his family, really be with them. So, no, I hope he doesn’t do the same.”

  I ran my hand over my face, trying to change the subject while at the same time fearful the children were upstairs overhearing our once-again raised-voice discussion. “Where are they? Are they here?”

  “They? Lennox and Silvia?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, they’re both gone. Silvia’s on a date, and Lennox is next door.”

  I shook my head. “When did Silvia start dating, and why the fuck did I build this house to keep everyone safe if they’re never here?”

  “She’s twenty years old. This young man is in her economics class. I’ve met him. He came in when he picked her up. You weren’t home yet, or maybe you could have done what fathers are supposed to do and assessed if he is safe to have with our daughter. And Lennox is next door because his friend is there. I doubt there’s much of a threat at the Millers’. Besides, I’m not going to keep him a prisoner in these walls.” She lifted her glass of water. “One prisoner is enough.” The last sentence was said softer as she took the glass to her lips and turned back to the television.

  “A prisoner? Is that what you think you are?”

  Angelina waved me off. “Shh. This is a good part of the movie.”

  “Un-fucking-believable.”

  Pushing the pause button on the remote, she turned to me. “Really, Oren. You want to do this?”

  “No. I give up.”

  “You gave up a long time ago.”

  I didn’t even know what she meant. I stood. “When exactly did I give up? When exactly have you gone without?”

  She met me word for word as she too stood and met me face-to-face. “I’ve gone without my husband almost every day since I married him. I’ve gone without the rest of my family since we moved here.” Tears came to her eyes. “I couldn’t even get to Aunt Rose....”

  I took a step forward, my anger melting away as my wife’s shoulders slumped forward. “Mio angelo, that wasn’t your fault. Dante got you there as soon as Bella called.”

  Her tear-filled eyes snapped upward. “Bella was able to get there. They moved, but not as far away. She was able to say goodbye. I’ll never...”

  Rose Costello passed away half a year ago after a sudden massive stroke. It came out of nowhere. She’d called Bella, saying she had a terrible headache and couldn’t attend one of Luisa’s dance performances. After the performance, Bella and Luisa went to the brownstone. Rose was still alive, but confused. By the time we all made it to the hospital, she was unresponsive. The entire episode lasted three days. Rose was now with Carmine.

  “Do you want to move back to Brooklyn?”

  She pulled away. “Damn it, Oren. Don’t you see? You can’t fix everything. I don’t want to leave this house, especially now that Aunt Rose and Uncle Carmine aren’t in Brooklyn.” She turned in a slow circle. “I love this house. It’s where we’ve raised our family, where Lennox knows, where Silvia feels safe. I just want...make that wanted more...I wanted you.”

  “Wanted?” The word was slow to roll from my tongue.

  “Yes. I’m tired of wondering when you’ll be home and where you are instead. I’m tired of watching Lennox be disappointed, or worse, unsurprised, when you don’t show up to his games.” She took a deep breath. “I think it’s time we face the facts.”

  I was at a total loss. My mind couldn’t churn fast enough. “Mio angelo, I don’t want to think what I’m thinking that you’re saying.”

  Her eyes closed, forcing a tear to trickle down her cheek. “I want more. I think it’s time we admit that this...” She motioned between us. “...is better apart than it is together.”

  I shook my head. “No, it isn’t.” I took a step closer, my hands grabbing her shoulders as they had hundreds, if not thousands, of times. “I don’t understand. Why are you saying this now? What have I done differently?”

  Her head shook. “Nothing, Oren. That’s the problem.”

  Fighting back the anger bubbling below the surface, I admitted to the only truth I could think to say. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  “I believe you.” Her tone was sprinkled with melancholy. “I didn’t say that I don’t love you. I always will. I’m saying that together all we do is hurt one another. That’s not good for Lennox or Silvia. I think I’ve known this for a long time, but tonight, without them here, I can finally say it.”

  My hands dropped to my side, and now I turned a small circle. I took in the living room, the fire in the fireplace, the darkened view beyond the windows, and the lights beyond Long Island Sound. “Are you...leaving me?”

  “No,” she said with a deep inhale and exhale. “I want you to leave.”

  That anger heated my skin. “You want me to leave the house I built?”

  “It’s not a house. It’s a home. I did that. Are you going to take it away from me?”

  My mind swirled, a tornado of thoughts, none of them staying in place long enough to become words. “Is there someone else? Someone from here?” The questions came louder than I wanted, yet I needed to know.

  Her neck straightened. “No. I have never cheated on you.”

  I swallowed, knowing that I couldn�
��t say the same. At one time, she’d said she didn’t want a husband who could kill without remorse. The men—many of them—in Rye were a different breed than those who graced her uncle’s hallways. These men fit that bill. Had the changes within me over the years, the way my heart had grown cold to the ways of this world, hurt my marriage more than helped it?

  “Everything, Angelina, every goddamn thing in my life has been for one reason.” My voice grew louder. “One.”

  “Oren, please. I can’t anymore.”

  “So you’d rather be alone than have me here?”

  “I’d rather face the fact that I’ve been alone for a very long time.”

  My eyes momentarily closed while I tried to focus. “You have Lennox and Silvia. You’re not alone.”

  “I never dreamt of being only a mother. I dreamt of being a wife and mother. It’s time to recognize that I got half that dream. Half is better than none.”

  I was at a loss. Each sentence out of her mouth was like a bullet, each shot tearing a new hole until my chest was ripped open and my heart no longer pumping. The pain was debilitating. Unlike Carmine, these shots wouldn’t leave me bruised, only hollow.

  “When?” I managed to ask.

  She nodded. “Now would be best.”

  “Now...” Panic bubbled through me. “But what about Lennox?”

  “I’ll tell him and Silvia.”

  Yeah, Silvia.

  I bent down to gather the spreadsheets. I couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. “What if we try counseling?” I asked.

  “I can’t hold onto straws anymore. I deserve more.”

  She did.

  Less than an hour later, I drove away.

  There are two sides to every story—two sides to every argument. Our divorce had more.

  “You can take it all,” Samuel Romano, my divorce attorney said. “IRS records show you were the only income earner since 1985, since your son was born. She deserves child support. Courts still aren’t willing to award fathers sole custody...”