“Isabella, mia cara,” Carlo’s standing in the doorway, his face a mask of sadness that mirrors mine. The chair my father used to sit in still feels impossibly large, like when I was a child and I would carelessly run into the room, climb up in his lap and giggle as he tickled me, all the while still talking with his associates. When I look up there are tears in my eyes I don’t bother to hide.
“What?”
“They’re here.”
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I realized my family was not like other families. We were Italian, that much was always clear. At home we spoke in Italian, Sicily was home and cannoli were sacred. No matter how much I tried to forget it, it was made very clear to me we were not American. That had as much to do with my grandfather as I later learned whose hatred of Americans ran deeper than any other as it had with the way people treated us. I wasn’t terribly popular at school and I don’t know what to attribute that to – the fact I was driven there by a private chauffeur or that I had a bodyguard constantly trailing me? I couldn’t explain it to people they were just my uncle Donny and Luca, because people didn’t understand. Of course, I didn’t at the time either. The most important thing in my father’s life was his family. That’s what he was always saying. When my mom died giving birth to me I think his whole world shattered. They married very young and tried very hard to have a family, but in the end it was just me and Nick. And I was most definitely a daddy’s girl. So it broke my heart when he send me off to boarding schools and later to a University far, far away. But as much as he loved me, he wanted me as far away from his business that he could. It was another thing I always knew. He tried to hide it from me, at least the gory details but there was no concealing it. My father, my papa who would bake marshmallows with me in front of the fireplace at night, was a don. It was two people I couldn’t really connect together and to this day I wish I’d tried harder. But there was no denying it – being at school, meant freedom. I could be away from it all, away from the prying eyes of Atlantic city. To them, I was just a simple girl, Isabella, whose father owned a pizzeria joint in New Jersey. Of course I missed them, so I flew home as often as I could – at least at first. But then, slowly I was starting to live my own life. Nick was obviously going to inherit my father’s empire even though as far as I could tell no one was too happy about my hot heated brother being in charge. But my father was still healthy and that was a long way off so no one gave it much thought. It was long after my mind set changed, and my family, something I loved so much became a hassle. I couldn’t date boys, at least not long term. The simplest reason I could find was, they weren’t Italian and that just wasn’t going to fly with my dad. And even if I could find a nice Italian boy who I liked, how in hell was I going to explain to him my family? Contrary to popular opinion, not every Italian in this world had ties to the mafia. So I had flings, I had boyfriends but no one I could bring home. I started grad school at Yale, did summer internships in New York and Chicago, and visited my family for Christmas. And then, my brother decided to get married. If I wasn’t so busy with my own life I would’ve heard the edge in my father’s voice when he called me. I would’ve flown in sooner than the night before. I took an early flight out because I didn’t want Vinnie picking me up and I had the satisfaction of sneaking in the house. It feel eerily like high school. Dad was in his study, sitting in his chair and smoking a cigar, the image so familiar it almost brought tears to my eyes.
“Papa,” I called out softly and his eyes, so troubled before warmed instantly.
“Isabella, mia piccola gattina, you’re eary.”
“Wanted to surprise you…” I went into his open arms and climbed in his lap like I was five years old again. “What’s wrong papa?”
“Oh nothing, this and that. I’m glad you’re here.”
I should’ve seen the sadness, the worry in his eyes. I should’ve known there was something wrong because there was no reproach why I didn’t visit earlier. I didn’t see he was worried for my safety, for even being here. On the morning of the wedding I got into my bridesmaid dress, I even made up my mind about telling dad about the guy I was seeing. He was a lawyer and definitely not Italian but I didn’t care. The ceremony was beautiful, held in a big church where both me and Nick were christened and attended Sunday service until I left. The reception was even bigger, with so many people attending I got lost in the sea of faces every time I left the table. I danced with dad, I danced with nick, I even danced with Carlo, my dad’s closed associate here in the states. It was then I heard the shots, pop, pop, pop. At first the silence was almost eerie, and then the screams started. People trampling all over each other to get out of the tent, shots still firing in the distance. I found my dad through the crowd, my name still echoing on his lips as his went down, his white shirt now soaked with his blood. I didn’t know anything, not what I was doing, running directly into the fire was I ran to him, clutching his hand amid the chaos.
“Yours…. you take care of the family now, mi bambina.” He died, with a smile on his lips as I clutched his hands, his ring he pushed into my palms just seconds before. I wasn’t even aware when people dragged me inside, my dress ruined with my father’s blood. I learned hours later about my brother, my friends, all the people I had to bury. I wore black that week, as I went from funeral to funeral, the last one of my father. I saw a picture of me in the papers, I looked small next to the mountains of men around me, black sunglasses hiding my face, my mouth set firmly.
The chair feels impossibly big as I sit there, toying with my father’s ring. I feel like an impostor sitting there, but this is my reality now. My job, my boyfriend, my life now long forgotten as I look up the tears gone from my eyes.
“Bring them in.” I brace myself, steel my nerves as the men pile in the room, one after the other. My capos, the people who are going to help me hunt down and kill the man responsible for this. I see his face in my head when I close my eyes, his name the last thing on my lips as I fall to sleep. I stand up then and cross the room towards Carlo first, offering him my hand where the ring shines brightly under the lights. This is who I am now, my emotions buried somewhere deep inside, the only thing remaining is my rage. Carlo bends his head and kisses the ring.
“Don Morello.”