She stared at him, troubled. “Tony didn’t want you to read this letter,” she said. “He didn’t want you to know the bad stuff he done.”
“I would never judge him. He saved my life. Let me see it, Zia.”
She sighed heavily and unsnapped the clasp on her huge purse. The room was silent but for her muttering and rummaging.
Finally, she pulled out a battered envelope and handed it to him.
Bruno pulled out a sheaf of thin, crackling onion-skin typing paper covered with hand-typed, single-spaced words. He felt light in the head. There were about ten pages. He ran his eyes over the first page and could hear Tony’s gruff, smoke-roughened voice in his head.
To Whom It May Concern: This is the true and factual account of Antonio Ranieri, born in Brancaleone, Calabria, Italy, on November 14, 1938, and my dealings with Mafia bosses Gaetano and Michael Ranieri, from the years of 1955 through 1968. This document was made on this day of January 16, 1987, in Portland, Oregon, before witnesses . . .”
Wait. This was off. He read it again.
“No. Zia, this can’t be right,” he said. “This date is 1987, not 1993. The thugs came in ‘93. I didn’t even come to Portland until 1993. Remember? I was twelve when I got here.”
She snatched the letter back and squinted through her bifocals. “No, honey. This is right. This one’s the original, see? In ‘93, he was just sending a photocopy of the one he’d sent before. With the fingers added on. To remind Michael and Gaetano that the bargain was still in effect.”
He was baffled. “What bargain? Why did he send it in ‘87?”
Zia Rosa looked blank, and then her eyes got very big. “O Cristo Santissimo,” she breathed. “You mean, you don’t remember, honey?”
Bruno fought the urge to scream in her face. “Remember what?”
No one seemed to want to breathe. Zia Rosa crossed herself.
“Some bastard took you away from your mamma, when you was seven, honey,” Zia “It took your mamma and Tony over a month to get you back. I figured you was old enough to remember that.”
Bruno shook his head. He did not remember that. But he did not like the way his insides felt, hearing about it. Shivering, cold. Small.
“Magda called Tony for help,” Zia went on. “It was a guy who was in bed with that junkie shithead, Michael. Some drug pusher business partner of his.”
“But who?” Bruno burst out. “What was his name? What the hell did he want with me? It wasn’t like Mamma had any money.”
Zia Rosa shook her head. “Tony didn’t tell me details. He figured it was safer that way. Magda got Tony to write that letter to put pressure on Michael to get you back.”
Bruno swayed there, searching in his memory for something that corresponded to this new information. All he found was a blankness and a creeping sensation of fear. He shook it off. Pulled the letter back.
“But if Tony held this over the Ranieris, then how could they let Rudy kill her?” he demanded. “Wasn’t she protected by it, too?”
The light in Zia Rosa’s eyes faded. She suddenly looked very old. “He couldn’t do nothin’ for her, honey. She broke the bargain, see?”
“What bargain?” he yelled. “You’re not making any fucking sense!”
“Zitto. Don’t you use that tone with your auntie.” But she patted his cheek as she spoke to soften the scold. “The deal Tony struck was that Magda got her boy back and kept her nose out of it. She and her boy got left alone, Tony hung on to the letter, and everybody played nice. But Magda was too pissed. She wouldn’t stop digging.”
“Digging for what?” His voice cracked. “What was she digging for?”
Zia Rosa shook her head. “All’s I know is that Tony was worried, because Magda kept goin’ after that dirty prick. She wanted to make him pay for what he did to you. And they got her. At least she was smart enough to send you away. Only smart thing that girl ever did, God rest her sweet soul.”
“But I . . . but she . . .” His mouth worked, his mind whirling for a way to avoid conclusions that made his guts churn.
“Tony told her to stop. But she couldn’t. She loved you so much. Not that I blame her for bein’ pissed, after what that testa di cazzo did. She said you wouldn’t talk for months after she got you back.” She sniffed. “Hard to imagine, you not talking, but it’s true. Not a peep, except at night. You screamed the place down. Almost got her evicted.”
“Oh, God,” Lily whispered. “Bruno. Your nightmares.”
Bruno recoiled from that. One thing at a time. “But I was supposed to testify, against Rudy, in the trial. Remember? Rudy killed her. There was evidence, but the dirty cops contaminated it.”
A flip of Zia Rosa’s plump hand dismissed Rudy. “Rudy took the fall, sure. But it wasn’t him who ordered the hit. Rudy was just a dumb-ass scagnozzo. Why do you think she took up with that low-life in the first place, honey? My Magda, who coulda had any man she wanted? You think she was hanging around with that slob for her health?”
No, not her health. He thought of the black eyes, the bruises.
“She did it for you,” Zia said. “She was using Rudy to infiltrate.”
He shook his head. It made him sick, guilty. He held up the letter. “Why didn’t Tony use this? Why didn’t he ras up their asses?”
“He was trying to keep you alive,” she said simply. “If he’d sent it, sure, it woulda messed them up. But they woulda killed him, and probably you, too. He loved that girl, but she was gone, and he had to cover your ass. Don’t blame Tony. He did the best he could.”
“You should have told me,” he said.
“You had enough problems. What point was there in telling you?”
“All these years, I thought the guy who killed my mother was dead,” he said. “That it was over. And it’s not. That’s a problem.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “But what would you have done if you knew?”
He stared down at the letter. “I would’ve hunted down that piece of shit and ground him into paste.”
“Well.” Zia Rosa looked triumphant. “There you go. That’s why we didn’t say nothin’, honey. That’s exactly why.”
He stared at her, uncomprehending. “Huh?”
Zia Rosa made an impatient sound. “Think about it. We didn’t want you caught up in a whole new revenge cycle with those scumbags. You were doin’ good, honey. You got past it. You started that company with Kev, you were making good money, you had a nice place, a good life. Why throw that away? For what? Past is past. What’s done is done.”
“But it’s not done,” he said. “It’s not done at all.” He glanced up, suddenly noticing the rapt attention of all the people in the room.
Many pairs of eyes slid abruptly away from his.
His anger flared afresh. “This is a great way to find out my life is based on a lie. Turn it into a sideshow act to entertain the masses.”
Zia Rosa clucked her tongue. “Don’t be silly. They’re just family.”
“Kev’s family, Zia,” he reminded her. “Not my family.”
Flat silence. Sean spoke up. “You’re walking funny again, buddy.”
“Piss off,” Bruno replied through set teeth.
“Family is whoever you’re left with after everybody else is sick of your bullshit,” Tam said. “We’ll see who hangs around for you, Bruno.”
A rude retort rose up, but Zia Rosa sensed it and cut him off. “Stai zitto, idiota,” she hissed. “Kev would be so embarrassed!”
He subsided, with some difficulty. His face felt hot. His jaw tight.
“Well, I know what to do next,” Zia said briskly. “I gotta have me a talk with don Gaetano and Michael. Since Tony’s not around to do it.”
“No, you don’t,” Bruno said swiftly. “I’ll take care of that, Zia.”
“No way. He won’t talk to you,” she scoffed. “He’ll just have his thugs dump you in the river. I’m the one’s got clout with don Gaetano. He still feels guilty. Can’t look me in the eye, the old pig.
Brutto maiale.”
“Because of Mamma?” Bruno asked.
“Nah. Because he was supposed to marry me.”
Everyone swiveled and stared at Zia Rosa. Zia Rosa and marriage were ideas so far removed from each other it was cognitively jarring.
Zia preened a bit, enjoying the attention. “My papà set it up. Un matrimonio combinato. I was in the old country, seventeen. I didn’t want to go. There was a gure Brancaleone who liked me.” She looked wistful. “But he didn’t have no money, and Papà, well. You didn’t argue with him. So I go to America to get married, but when I get there, what do I find? I find my cousin Constantina’s got herself pregnant with that pig Gaetano. Dirty little troia. She had Michael. Her oldest boy.”
“The current boss, right?” Bruno said.
“Yeah. Costantina had been in America for years. She wasn’t fresh off the boat like me. She spoke English, she wore the right clothes, she knew the right dances.” Zia shrugged. “And she was pretty.”
Everyone looked away.
Zia Rosa cleared her throat. “So, anyway. I’m the one who has to talk to the old bastard, if we want to get anywhere.”
“Forget it,” Bruno said. “You’re not going anywhere.” Zia Rosa patted his cheek, which made him frantic with anxiety. “I’m serious!”
“I’m sure you are, honey,” she soothed. She pulled Tony’s letter from his hand, smoothing it against her knee. “It broke Tony’s heart, what happened to Magda.” Her voice frogged up. “Such a beautiful girl. You look so much like her, it makes my heart hurt. Look at her.” She dug for her wallet and peeled a photo out, leaning to show it to Davy and Connor. They made sympathetic noises. Then she showed it to Aaro. “This is my Magda. Bruno’s mamma. Wasn’t she gorgeous?”
Aaro looked and sucked in air. “Oh. Fuck.”
He snatched the photo from Zia Rosa and stared at it. His voice was not loud, but it had a quality that stopped the buzz in the room.
“What?” Bruno rapped out.
“The girl I met,” Aaro said. “The one who died.” He held up the photo. “She looked just like this, except for the hair. This could be her.”
Bruno stared down at the other man. Murmurs swelled around them. “My mamma’s been dead eighteen years,” Bruno said. “I saw her dead body. I saw it put into the ground. Don’t mess with my head.”
“Christ, no. I didn’t mean to say I thought this woman was your mother,” Aaro said hastily. “The girl I met was in her early twenties.”
“A coincidence, then,” Con said. As if offering up a vain hope.
Voices swelled. Someone grabbed Tony’s letter. Zia Rosa was crying, noisily. People were talking all at once. And he was done. The voices were a jangle of meaningless sound. His heart thumped like a big bass drum. He kept seeing the image of Mamma in her casket, her dead face painted with makeup to cover her bruises. It was fixed in his mind in all its bleak detail. It did not fade or soften with time.
All this time, he’d gotten it wrong. Tony and Kev had taken care of Rudy and his goons. He’d told himself that justice had been done.
But he’d always known in his heart. Justice had fallen way short.
A hand tugged his arm. Lily. He got obediently to his feet, let himself be led out of the room. He was grateful to her for taking charge.
The sliding doors clicked shut behind them. Lily slid her arms around his waist and pulled him close. He tucked her head under his chin and tried not to squeeze. She was injured, bruised. Fragile.
And he wanted to cling to her, like a child. He looked at the circles under Lily’s eyes. Her hair was smoothed into a corkscrewing red-gold ponytail. Most of her bruises were hidden under the sweater. Except for the purple line under her eye, that he’d given her himself. When he popped her in the nose during his dream freak-out.
He hated how fragile she looked. How exhausted. Hated how powerless he was to protect her. He tried like a maniac, with everything he had. And all his efforts were utterly inadequate.
The door slid open and Tam came out. “Either of you need anything else?” she asked. “Painkiller? Something to help you sleep?”
They both shook their heads.
“OK, then. The freshest lovebirds always get the dovecote,” she said. “Follow me. There’s lots of stair climbing, but who gets tired with all those endorphins pumping through your body?” She nudged Bruno. “The bedside table is always stocked with latex.”
“Mind your own business,” he snapped.
She chuckled as she touched a panel, which slid into the wall, revealing a spiral staircase.
“Don’t you dare walk up those stairs, carissima.”
It was Val in the pool of light spilling from the noisy living room.
Tam turned to him, her eyes gleaming. “Don’t be such a hen,” she said. “As if I would. I’m not that kind of hostess.”
“I have to watch you like an eagle.” Val’s faintly accented voice was silky with mock menace.
Tam tilted her head, a small smile playing about her lips. “A hawk,” she said. “The correct expression is ‘watch you like a hawk.’”
“Eagle,” Val repeated stubbornly. “Eagles are bigger.”
Tam chuckled. “Ah. And bigger is better?”
“Yes. I use every advantage I can with you. Always.”
“Men,” Tam scoffed and turned to Lily and Bruno. “You’ll find towels in the cabinet outside the bathroom door. Good night.”
“Thank you for everything,” Lily said.
But they weren’t listening. Val had swept Tam into his protective embrace and was murmuring to her in some language Bruno couldn’t place. She smothered laughter behind her hand. Every gesture, every smile and glance created a bubble of intimacy around them. A magic private space, where both of them felt safe.
He’d never even been aware of such a thing before.
And all of a sudden, here he was, envious of it.
20
The spiral staircase dumped them into a room that under any other circumstances would
have blown his mind. Octagonal, with big triangular windows in each side, each with a different amazing view in the daytime. Gleaming wood paneling, a grouping of chairs and couches around a coffee table and a flat-screen TV, luxurious and understated and comfortable. A wrought-iron spiral staircase led up to a loft bed.
He went to the window, stared out into the night. The moon was peeking through a hole in the clouds, illuminating the undulating patterns of glowing white foam spread across the huge beach far below.
Lily wrapped her arm around his waist. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” It snapped out. Not what he wanted to say. It was just hardwired in there, popping out to shove away intruders. Like an alarm system, buzzing when it was breached. He could hear the gears grind as Lily tried to puzzle out how to manage him. Didn’t envy her the task. He couldn’t manage his own self. Why should she have more luck?
“I never knew my own mother,” she said.
Aw, Christ. He was in for it now. He clenched his teeth. “No?”
“She and my father tried for years to get pregnant. That was in the early days of fertility medicine. My dad did research in it, like I told you. My mom did seven cycles of IVF before they conceived me.”
“Yay,” he muttered. “Glad she did.”
Her arm tightened around his waist. “Sweet of you to say so,” she said. “They were, too. At first.”
She paused, gathering her thoughts. Bruno wanted to scream. If it was going to hurt, he wanted to power through it. “Let’s have it.”
“Have what?”
“The zinger,” he said. “Tonight’s all about the zingers, one after another, straight to the liver. Whatever you’re going to zing me with, have at it. Please. Get it over with.”
She stiffened, turning away. “Never mind. You’re right. Now’s not the time for this conversation.”
He spun her around to face him. “No, really,” he said. “It’s the only time we�
��ve got. Just tell me, goddamnit. I want to hear it.”
“She died,” Lily said. “In labor. A big blood vessel had formed across her cervix. She hemorrhaged. Bled out in a couple of minutes. If they’d done an early C-section, she’d have lived. But they didn’t know.”
He pulled her closer, nuzzled her hair. It smelled like lavender.
“My father felt guilty all my life,” she said. “If he hadn’t moved heaven and earth to get her pregnant . . .” She shrugged. “I felt guilty, too. I know it’s stupid, but there it is.”
They swayed, locked together, as he tried to take in what she was trying to tell him. “It’s not the same,” he said. “You were a baby. Your parents made their decisions and took the risk. Both of them.”
“So did Magda. How is it different?” Her voice was muffled against his shirt. “She must have been hell on wheels.”
“Oh, yeah. That, she was.” Laughter shook him, the tight, high-frequency kind of laughter that could all too suddenly turn into tears.
“She must have loved you so much,” Lily whispered.
“I wish she’d loved me less,” he blurted.
“Oh, baby.” Her voice was fogged up. “Don’t say that.”
“All these years . . .” His voice was blocked by a hot, aching lump in his throat. “It never made sense, that a woman like her would . . . aw, shit. She was special, you know? Having me messed up her life, but she never complained. Her own mother gave her no end of hell. Grandma Pina, raving superbitch. Rosa and Tony didn’t speak to Pina for thirty years because of that. But Mamma was beautiful. Smart. Not a doormat. She was the opposite of a doormat. Kind of like you.”
The sound she made was half laugh, half sob. “Thank you.”
He pushed on. “She was tough, you know? I couldn’t understand why she took it. The way Rudy talked down to her, the way he hit her. And being intimate with him, oh, Christ.” He blew out a breath, as if he were trying to expel toxic gas. “Now I get it. And I can’t take it.”
“Bruno,” she whispered. “Sweetie. It’s not—”
“It makes me want to vomit,” he burst out. “I’d rather it was that she was stupid about men, or she had self-esteem issues. Or that she was lonely, or that any man was better than being alone. But doing it for me? Oh, Jesus. That’s a gift I don’t want. That’s a curse, not a gift.”
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