I tilted my head toward the small television. “Did something happen?”
“There’s always something happening.”
She was right, but that didn’t answer my question. “Mio angelo, talk to me.”
Her breasts pushed against me as she inhaled and feigned a smile. “I made you lasagna.”
“I love your lasagna.”
“I know. I was hoping it might help.”
I grinned. “Baby, have I ever told you that you have your uncle’s ability to talk in riddles?”
She shook her head. As she did, her eyes closed, and more tears trickled out.
Taking her hand, I tugged her toward the kitchen table, encouraging her to sit. With our knees touching, I continued to hold her hand. “Does this have to do with your family or another? Is Bella all right?”
“She’s good. Everyone. It has to do with everyone, and I don’t know how I never realized it. But it does, Oren. Oh my God, it does, and it scares me so much.”
My neck straightened as the small hairs on my neck stood to attention. “What scares you? Tell me. I’ll take care of it.”
She let go of my hand and stood. “You can’t.” Her hands slapped the side of her thighs. “I should have realized it with Bella, but I didn’t. We haven’t... the church said... and now...now it’s too late.”
She was the love of my life, and she was driving me fucking nuts. “Angelina. Stop talking like Carmine. Tell me what has you upset and scared.”
More tears as she turned a small circle. “I’m scared, but I’m also happy.”
“What are you talking about?” My question came out louder than I intended.
“Oren, I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”
“A-a baby?” Though words were difficult to say through my shock and confusion, I sprung from the chair and again reached for her shoulders. I needed to see her eyes, wanting a visual confirmation of what she’d just said.
Angelina nodded, her cheeks rising as she continued to cry through her brightening smile. “You can’t fix it,” she said with a giggle. “You’re kind of responsible.”
“Kind of?”
The smile before me dimmed. “I mean, you didn’t do it alone. I was there too.”
I continued to stare.
“Say something.”
“I’m at a loss,” I admitted. “I’m thrilled. But now I’m also worried. Are you all right? Why are you scared? Isn’t this what we wanted?”
“Yes, we did...do,” Angelina said. “I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. There are so many things. I’m just getting started with my job. I don’t want Bella to think we’re trying to take anything away from them. I suppose since we weren’t trying to not get pregnant, I shouldn’t be surprised.”
I wiped the tears from her cheeks, remembering Vincent’s warning about hormones. “Mio angelo, I’m happy. As long as you’re safe and healthy, I’m thrilled.” I turned toward the stove and oven. “I don’t need lasagna to lighten the blow. However, I’m not sad you made it.” I really looked at her—my gaze zeroing in on every inch of her. “Are you feeling okay? Have you been sick?”
She nodded and then shook her head. “I’m feeling fine. I didn’t realize that I was pregnant until I started thinking about my period. It was then I realized I was late. I haven’t felt sick at all. I bought the test this afternoon. It said to wait until morning, but I couldn’t wait.” She shrugged. “It was positive. I’ve been waiting for you to come home, praying you wouldn’t call and say something came up.”
“Only you.”
As we ate her delicious dinner, we talked. I understood that it was all new, and to be honest, I was fucking scared to death—terrified—but that didn’t answer my question about her fears. That answer didn’t come right away.
We waited to tell the rest of the family until after she saw her doctor. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe my wife or the little stick-thing with the positive indicator, but that didn’t confirm our growing baby like the sound of swoosh-swoosh from an ultrasound over a week later.
At that first appointment, the doctor said Angelina wasn’t far enough along to hear a heartbeat with a regular stethoscope or the thing he could put against her stomach. The ultrasound confirmed what she’d known. Together we watched the screen. Though the image was fuzzy and didn’t look like a baby, the doctor said it was. We had a child growing inside her. Near the end of the year, barely past our first anniversary, we’d have a new little Demetri.
It was about two weeks after the appointment that I finally got answers. I’d finished having Thursday night drinks at Evviva’s, an out-of-the-way Italian restaurant in Little Italy where the Costello family met weekly like clockwork. It was my recurring command performance. I hadn’t missed one Thursday night since we returned from our honeymoon. It was part of what Vincent had said: church, Sunday dinner, drinks...
Thursdays, upstairs in the restaurant, was more of a roll call. The important business was handled later in private after some of us left. It always followed. I was there for dinner and drinks, but mostly because Carmine wanted it known that I was welcome. It was my sole appearance at Costello business gatherings. I didn’t run errands or pick up bags any longer. I was keeping my books clean, doing what I was told.
Though I’d been following the rules, I hadn’t earned the right to continue the meeting in the basement. That was for the made men, the same men who’d stared me down in Carmine’s home office. Gioconda was there, as was Vincent, Jimmy, Mancini, Morelli and more.
After I hired Testa, Morelli gave me a hard time about stealing one of his best men. We both knew that as long as Angelina was secure at home or work, Testa would still be running errands and jobs for Morelli. It was just that now Angelina was his primary concern.
I paid him well to keep her his priority.
As I approached our home that night, I became acutely aware of the foul cloud surrounding my clothes. Though I hadn’t smoked at Evviva’s, I was in the minority. My jacket reeked of cigars and cigarettes. I’d become more aware of it with Angelina’s recent sensitivity to certain scents. Removing my jacket, I stood outside on the stoop and shook it before entering the house. I planned to leave it in the foyer, but still it could use a good airing out.
In the short time since we’d learned she was pregnant, I’d come to expect any possible mood when I arrived home or perhaps a combination of a few. There was truly no way to predict. Sometimes she was exhausted and napping. Other times she was sad or happy or both. There were certain commercials on the television that were guaranteed tearjerkers.
I’d never noticed them before. Now that they incited waterworks, I had to wonder why.
Did causing pregnant women to cry truly entice sales?
“How was the meeting?” Angelina asked from the living room as I entered. She was wearing an old sweatshirt with a blanket over her legs as she sat curled up near the end of the sofa.
I couldn’t stop my smile. The TV image the old shows used to portray of a wife meeting her husband at the door, a drink in one hand and wearing a dress and heels, oh, and a pearl necklace, was about as far from my reality as day from night. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. “Drinks,” I corrected.
“Yeah, right. How were drinks?”
“I had Coke.”
She smiled and shook her head. “And you say I talk in riddles?”
I sat heavily beside her with a sigh. This was what I adored: quiet time together.
Angelina had turned down the volume of the television when I entered. Technology was amazing. It was no longer necessary to walk to the television to adjust the volume or change the channel. Though the remote was connected by a long cord, it reached to where Angelina sat. I gave her a kiss. “I missed having dinner with you.”
“It was just leftovers,” she said. “There’s more if you want some.”
“No,” I said, putting my arm along the top of the sofa and my feet up on the coffee table. “I’m good just sitt
ing here with you.”
“Do you want a real drink?” she asked. “I’d love a glass of wine. And even though the doctor said one now and then wouldn’t hurt, I think I’ll stick with water.”
She had a glass sitting beside her.
“I’m good. Let me just drink you in.”
Her smile broadened, and then it wilted as her neck stiffened. “Oren, I’ve been thinking. Do you think it can be broken?”
“What?”
“The chain.”
“The chain?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Fucking riddles.
She turned her piercing blue stare my direction. “I keep thinking about our baby. I keep thinking about my parents, Uncle Carmine and Aunt Rose, Vincent and Bella, and their baby.” With each word her eyes glistened, yet her voice was strong and determined. “The news on TV...I want to break the chain.” She took a deep breath and reached for my free hand. “I’m sorry. I know you’re here getting deeper and deeper involved with Uncle Carmine because of me. But what if our baby is a boy?”
My lips curled upward. “That would be fine. So would a girl.” I didn’t care.
“No.”
“Mio angelo, I know I promised you that I’d give you your heart’s desire, but I don’t think anyone but God can decide our baby’s gender. Yes, biologically the burden falls to me, but I didn’t exactly make a decision to produce only daughters, nor do I think that’s possible.”
It was her turn to smile. “I mean, no, I don’t want our son to be involved in the family business, and I don’t mean Demetri Enterprises. If we have a son, I want him to have the love and support of my family—they’re good people—but I want that without the obligation.”
While there were those who’d disagree with her assessment of her family’s goodness—for good reason—I wasn’t one of them. The Costellos had accepted me. They’d done it for Angelina, yet they’d done it. Even tonight’s command appearance was part of that ongoing recognition. “I agree, they are good people. But...”
“Tonight, a few minutes ago on the news, they said Donatello Cirelli was arrested. They showed him in handcuffs being led into the police station.”
Don was another of the Luchi men. The heroin was their downfall. “You shouldn’t worry; the Luchis are—”
“But I do,” she interrupted.
“You know your uncle has rules about the drugs. Besides, from what I hear, the Luchis are being too bold. Acting like they’re untouchable. If Don was arrested, I’d suspect they have RICO evidence.”
“Oren, if this baby is a boy, I don’t want him to be part of this. It needs to stop. I want him to have choices that Vincent never had.”
“Vincent isn’t unhappy.”
“No, because he never imagined anything different. He’s been in jail. He never went to college. You and I did. Promise me that we can give our son something different than this...” She pointed to the television.
On the screen, there was a blonde woman pointing to a map and talking about a warm air front coming in from the west. Nevertheless, I was certain Angelina wasn’t talking about the weather. In her mind, she was still seeing Donatello Cirelli in handcuffs. I’d promised her the world on a platter, but I couldn’t promise her this. “I can agree that together we can try.”
She sighed as she settled against my side. “You asked me what scares me. This is what scares me.”
Chapter 12
The warm front came and stayed. Flowers bloomed and leaves grew bigger. A green canopy grew over the street in front of our brownstone. With each day, the heat continued to climb, taking us from spring to sweltering summer. During the day, children opened fire hydrants and played in the cool flowing water in the streets. Adults turned up fans to high and opened windows, attempting to circulate the stifling, sticky air.
Demetri Enterprises was increasing its reach despite the nagging omnipresent concerns within the families. It wasn’t only the feds that were causing friction; there was also growing unrest between and within the families. Though at first I’d been put off by Gioconda’s distrust of me, in hindsight I realized it had been a blessing. I’d been able to spend the last six months concentrating on what I knew, planting and growing businesses encompassed within my Demetri umbrella.
Money begot money. The more revenue that Demetri made, the more it invested.
As the weather warmed, so did my prospects for ventures. I traveled about the city meeting with clients, and even more came to me in my air-conditioned office.
Our home was different. Seeing Angelina’s waist expand as our baby grew within her while her beautiful face glowed with the sheen of perspiration made me even more determined to provide more. She deserved a home with central air conditioning.
She deserved more than I was providing. I tried to do what I could. I offered to help around the house, but often I left for the city early in the morning and didn’t return until dinner or many times late at night. Things would happen. Fires needed dousing. Oftentimes, I’d unexpectedly be called to one of my businesses or perhaps a command performance with Vincent or Carmine. I never knew for sure what my plans would include. When they’d change, I’d try to remember to call Angelina; however, admittedly, that wasn’t always the case. It would be my intention, a fleeting thought, and then after a meeting ran long or I received an unexpected telephone call, I’d look at the clock and realize I’d missed dinner.
My angel liked bright flowers. Daisies were my go-to apology. I tried to keep it to one bouquet a week. If she received flowers every time I was late or missed a meal, our house would look like a florist or damn funeral home.
“Mio angelo,” I said into the phone one evening in late July. Resting my head upon my hands, with my elbows on the desk, I ran my fingers through my dark hair and awaited her response. At first there was nothing. I wondered if the call had disconnected.
Understandably, she was upset. It was the second dinner I’d missed in less than a week. We may have been married for less than a year, but I was experienced enough to know she’d be angry.
Finally, she spoke, “I know what you’re going to say.” The fact that she didn’t say hello didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re going to tell me that you’re going to be late.”
My skin chilled at the sound of her voice. Instead of anger, I heard nothing—her tone was devoid of emotion. I would have preferred her Costello temper.
“I figured that out,” she went on, “about two hours ago. Don’t worry about dinner. It’s gone.”
“I’m sorry. I received...”
My apology lingered as my ear was met with the steady dial tone.
I’d wanted to tell her about the counteroffer I’d received on the building site. I’d told her about the real estate opportunity. She knew it would mean big things for us and for Demetri Enterprises. I missed dinner because of the last-minute negotiations. And then we agreed, and my latest offer was accepted. There were still contracts to sign and red tape to unravel, but in a gentleman’s agreement, it was secure. I’d spent a lot of time on the back and forth. It was truly a coup for Demetri—for us.
Instead of saying any of that, I sighed, shook my head, and hung up the phone.
I could call again, but there was a good chance she wouldn’t answer. Even though I was disappointed that I didn’t get the chance to share the news, I reminded myself that I’d also disappointed her. I’d do something to make it up.
My first thought was flowers, but there was already a bouquet on the kitchen counter. Maybe I could come up with something else?
I made a mental note to stop somewhere and pick up a gift on my way home. If I hurried, I’d find a street vender open somewhere between here and home. As I contemplated the best possibilities, there was a knock on my office door. Almost simultaneously, it opened. I saw her blonde hair first.
“Mr. Demetri,” my secretary, Lisa, said, as she entered, “I’m going to head home, unless you need anything else?”
I looked down at my clo
ck. “Lisa, it’s after eight o’clock. You should’ve left hours ago.”
Her shoulders shrugged as her bright red lips pursed. Lisa was exactly the type of woman I noticed before Angelina. She was always dolled up to a T. From eight in the morning to eight at night her hair never moved. It was, for lack of a better description, big. I was certain there was another name for it, but big worked. Fluffy? The way women’s hair looked on television. Her skirts were tight and blouses flattering. Her high-heeled shoes usually matched her jewelry, often in bright colors. She showed just enough to entice, but not too much to appear unprofessional. It was impossible for my clients not to take a look. Many often turned and gave me ‘that’ look.
“I don’t mind,” she said. “Really, I don’t. I wanted to wait until Mr. Feinstein left. I’m assuming you finalized the deal?”
I tilted my head.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. “I’m not being nosy. It’s just that...well, I know you’ve been working on this for a while. I made copies of the papers for him. That’s going to be a great investment.”
While I considered commenting that it wasn’t her place and I wasn’t in the habit of taking business advice from secretaries, I realized that if only momentarily, I was happy about the deal, and it was nice to be able to talk about the success to someone. “Of course, you’d know what’s happening,” I said. “Yes, we did come to an agreement. Those papers were only preliminary. It all has to go through legal, but it’s looking good.”
Her smile grew. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you, Lisa—”
Before I could tell her again to go, she spoke, coming closer. “I finished typing the letters you wanted to go out tomorrow. If you could sign these, I can have them in the mail first thing in the morning.” She handed me a small stack of papers, her perfume preceding her as she came nearer, a deeper musky scent than what Angelina used to wear before scents became an issue.
Angelina’s had been light and floral. It was almost like it wasn’t there, yet it was. I may not have even realized it was perfume were it not that now it was gone.