The Price of Honor: The Making of a Man

by Aleatha Romig

  After kissing Angelina’s cheek, I said, “I’m getting some water. Would you like any?”

  “A glass of wine.”

  “You’re nursing.”

  She tilted her head toward the stairs. “One glass. This deserves celebrating.”

  “I’ll help you,” Vincent volunteered.

  We walked in silence until we reached the kitchen and closed the door. I didn’t think I could ask what had happened, but I hoped he’d volunteer.

  Instead, Vincent went to the cabinet that held the wine glasses and opened the cupboard. As he gathered the stemmed glasses, I couldn’t take it any longer. “So...is a celebration in order?”

  “I suppose that depends.”

  Fucking Costello riddles.

  “Do you think it’s in order?” I tried again.

  “I think Pop did what he had to do. There was one holdout. But he’ll accept Gotti—we all will. The one, it was a statement. He’s still upset about the rule being broken. Tomorrow, each family will give its approval. It’ll be official.”

  For some reason, I was happy that there was one holdout. It wasn’t that it would stop Gotti’s appointment. It was the confirmation that I hadn’t realized I’d needed. The evidence that Carmine had been honest that night in the hospital when he’d said he hadn’t known about the hit—that all of the family bosses were shocked. Over time there’d be more speculation, but the man I respected had been vulnerable and shaken in my presence, and yet through it all he’d been honest. There were many things that could be said about the men and families of LCN, but despite their activities, there was honor and respect.

  I suspected it would take some time for Gotti to earn what Carmine had. Time would tell if he would. The potential demise was averted. Life could go back to the issues at hand: the heroin and the feds and RICO.

  It would take time to see how the latter changed their tactics. Their case had been showcased around Castellano. And now even the governor was denying the existence of LCN. Now what would the feds do? To what lengths would they go to win their case and substantiate their claims?

  I wasn’t sure what would happen, but on that night, those were too big of questions to ponder. I wanted to believe that Angelina was correct, and a celebration was in order.

  “Let me carry the wine,” I volunteered.

  Right now, we’d concentrate on the positive. We’d celebrate because soon I’d be able to take Angelina and Lennox back to our home. Soon, we’d be the family Angelina wanted.

  That was my plan.

  Our plan worked. Within the walls of our Brooklyn brownstone, our family resided as temperatures warmed, cooled, and warmed again. The cycle continued as time moved forward: things changed as well as stayed the same. We visited the Costellos every Sunday after our mandatory pew-sharing at church. Lennox grew bigger, his energy abounding. Angelina and I made a decision that while contrary to our religious belief was one that satisfied our moral one.

  We decided that we’d protect and support Lennox as a Demetri and a Costello, and when the time came, we’d do our best to keep him on the sidelines of the world in which his mother was born. However, despite the directive to go forth and multiply, we wouldn’t have more children. It was a mutual decision made within the bonds of our marriage. The events surrounding Lennox’s birth had affected not only us but also the world we knew.

  Even now, years later, the far-reaching effects could be felt.

  The feds were making cases. Indictments and subpoenas were commonplace. The Costellos had deep pockets when it came to some of the best legal advice as well as other resources. Miraculously, sometimes evidence disappeared and witnesses had a change of heart. That wasn’t only with the Costellos but with all the families. Influence continued to abound on both sides of the judicial bench.

  With my assistance and the help of others, the Costello family continued to move beyond having its center in the world of illegal dealings. The family as a whole—and many of the individuals within—was venturing into lucrative and legit operations. The surface was becoming shinier; however, even that knowledge wasn’t enough to satisfy Angelina or me regarding the future and Lennox.

  We needed to make a logistical move.

  I’d found land outside the city in Westchester County, on the shores of the Long Island Sound. It was an absolutely stunning lot with a sparkling view. I hadn’t been as excited about anything in a long time as I was the day I took Angelina to see it. As we stood in the open expanse with the water glittering before us, I explained the home I wanted to build for her and Lennox—a fortress away from the mix, a place where our son could play in a yard with a pool for her.

  “It’s so far away from everyone,” Angelina said as she reached for my hand and turned to the right and the left. A few homes in the area were built while others were in various stages of construction. “And they look so big. We don’t need that much room. There’re only three of us. We only need two bedrooms.”

  We had three bedrooms in Brooklyn. I agreed we didn’t need more. I wanted more.

  “Just think about the yard,” I prompted. “Imagine the two of us sharing a bottle of wine on a balcony outside our bedroom. Mio angelo, I’ll build you a bedroom so large you can read on a sofa near the windows and watch as the sun rises over the water.” When she didn’t respond, I continued, “Remember how much you enjoyed the swimming pool on our honeymoon?”

  “Yes.”

  I motioned, pointing this way and that. “Your very own pool. Lennox can take swimming lessons. There’s a country club down the way. Think of the friends he’ll make, that you’ll make. Lennox will be with a new set of friends. He can do what boys do. And then when you’re at home, we can activate a state-of-the-art security system and close the gate. You’ll be safe.”

  She squeezed my hand. “I see how happy this makes you, but you’re rarely home now, and your office is just over the bridge. Will I ever see you here? Will we make friends or just me?”

  It was our never-ending argument. I wasn’t home enough. I’d gotten better at calling and since Lennox was born, Angelina was busier and more occupied, but no matter how many nights I tried to come home at a respectable time, it was never enough. If I made it home three nights a week for dinner, it should have been four. Four should have been five and five, six. After nearly five years of marriage, I doubted I’d ever succeed. “I’ll say what I always say: I’ll try. I am excited about this home—our home. I brought you here hoping you’d be also.”

  She let go of my hand and turned a complete circle. With a sigh, she walked toward the shore, a thin strip of sand that went on in both directions, accented with clusters of large rocks here and there. For what seemed like an eternity, I watched as her dark hair and the skirt of her dress blew in the saltwater breeze. I studied her gorgeous figure and watched as she bent down and scooped a handful of pebbles and then stood again, and one by one, tossed them into the water. Slowly, I came up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. Without a word, she laid her head against my shoulder, still facing away from me, and sighed.

  “Mio angelo, talk to me.”

  “It is best.”

  Her body melted toward me as she exhaled. From the slight quiver in her breath, I suspected she was crying. Not at all the reaction I wanted or planned.

  “Best...?” I encouraged.

  “Lennox will be starting school soon. It’s in his blood. The way he and Luca play. One day the cops and robbers will be real. One day, he’ll learn he’s the robber and yet believe that it’s the right side—because it is, in our minds. I used to play the same thing with Vinny.” She spun in my arms until our gazes met. Her eyes were moist, but there were no tears. “Sometimes I feel so isolated.” Her hand came to my chest, her fingers splaying over my heart. “Don’t be upset. I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m being honest. You’re always busy with something other than Lennox and me.”

  I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat that her words created.

 
; “I’m afraid that being here in Rye, it will be worse, and yet it’s best for him.”

  “So you approve of us buying this land, building a house?” I realized there was probably more against than in favor of in her statement, but I was grasping at straws.

  “Oren, if I know you, you’ve already bought it.”

  My eyes closed as I confessed. “I had to move fast. This is a fantastic location. It wouldn’t have lasted...”

  The hand on my chest moved to my cheek, urging my eyes to open. Instead of anger, I saw her radiant smile. “I know you, Oren Demetri. I love you. I know you think this is best, and I trust you.”

  “You’re right, I did buy the land, but I haven’t hired an architect. But I do know the one I want...well, the one I want to make the first draft.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I want you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re so talented. You never went back to the Met after Lennox was born. He’s four and a half. How about you use your education and talent to design our perfect home?”

  Her eyes sparkled in a way I rarely saw, only when she was looking at our son, but in this moment, those glistening blue orbs were directed at me. “Oh, Oren! It’s been so long.”

  “Tell me what you need. I can get you the elevations, the lot size, the codes and covenants...whatever you need.”

  Angelina took a step away and turned from the beach to the property. This time, her expression beamed with a new enthusiasm. It was what I’d longed to see. “I think I can.”

  I went to her. “Mio angelo, I know you can. Once you’re done with your vision and sketches, we’ll have the official blueprints made.”

  “Thank you,” she said with her gaze full of wonder. “I promise a balcony from our room overlooking the sound.”

  “And a pool.”

  “Oh! I saw this magazine with a pool house made mostly of glass.”

  My heart twinged. Glass. Could it be made safe?

  I wouldn’t take away from her newfound excitement. “Scour magazines and books. Come up with whatever you want. This is your home, ours. Make it a place where we can grow old, a place that is unique and says Angelina Demetri designed me. And then let me consult some engineers and make it safe.”

  She exhaled. “Oh, this is more than I ever imagined. But does it need to be as large as the other homes?”

  “I know it will only be the three of us, but what if we have company? What if one day we need rooms for grandchildren?”

  The earlier worry and discontentment was gone as her cheeks rose. “Filled with family. Lennox’s family. Our family. I like that.”

  “Then you draw it.”

  “I will.”

  And she did. Our dining room table in our Brooklyn brownstone became her workroom. The table was consumed with the clutter of stacks of magazines and all kinds of home designs. Each periodical and book was littered with small colored papers bookmarking the designs she liked. When I’d come home, instead of the cold reception for being late, she’d chat on and on about ideas she’d seen, thoughts she had. After dinner, we’d spend time looking through pictures and designs together.

  Even Lennox joined the excitement, showing me pictures he’d drawn of our new house.

  The news of our imminent move wasn’t as well received by her family. Carmine and Rose liked having their niece and grandnephew nearby. However, Vincent’s response was different. Though he and Bella now had a second child, a daughter, Luisa, for his parents to fuss over, he was increasingly curious. I had the impression that he may be thinking about making a similar move.

  The initial planning and design of our home took months. If the blueprints were being made by a firm, I would have expected a shorter timeline—I had for much larger projects—but I couldn’t rush Angelina’s creative instinct. She decided that each bedroom should have its own bathroom. We’d go from one and a half bathrooms to seven. There would be two rooms with balconies that would be ours and Lennox’s. The kitchen was modern and open. Over the garage was a full guest suite, like an apartment within our home.

  When I first saw her sketches of the back of the house—the side overlooking the sound—my gut twisted. I’d done my own research. Windows could be constructed with bulletproof glass. Of course, the cost was astronomical as compared to regular windows. Nevertheless, it could be done. She had windows everywhere.

  “If I’m going to live on the water, I want to see it.”

  I couldn’t argue.

  She found the picture of the pool house she’d mentioned the first day I showed her the property. In her plans it was attached to the kitchen with—of course—a window-lined corridor. Minus a large fireplace and beams, it was primarily constructed of glass.

  “Just think,” she said as she explained, “with air conditioning, it can be kept cool in the summer, or if it’s not that hot outside, the windows can be opened to a beautiful breeze, and in the winter, the sun will warm it with the help of the fireplace and heat, but oh, Oren, it will be perfect in any season.”

  We weren’t able to move before Lennox began school.

  He started kindergarten in Brooklyn. Though it hadn’t been our plan, it was a familiar start for him. Angelina told me about his teacher and classmates. We knew the majority of the parents, and he’d known most of the children. They were part of this life, this neighborhood, our current world. Along with designing the new home, my wife’s days became filled with transporting him to and from school and helping Bella. It was more difficult for Bella with Luca now that they had Luisa.

  Finally, nearly a year after I bought the property, construction began. Contracts were awarded to contractors I knew and trusted. Unlike any other construction that I’d financed, this was our home. Detail to security was essential. Materials were checked and double checked. Angelina said I was paranoid, but if one panel of glass was thought to be bulletproof and it wasn’t, someone would know. That someone, no doubt, had nefarious plans. I wasn’t willing to take the chance.

  “Look over here,” Angelina said one evening before the sun set when I met her at the construction site.

  Lennox was occupied running up and down a mound of dirt, busy in some make-believe world.

  I followed her through the skeleton of our home. The steps to the second floor were only boards.

  “Stay out there,” I yelled to our son. I turned to Angelina’s scowl at my tone. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want him climbing these stairs.”

  Angelina laughed and shook her head as she tugged me upward. “He’s not a baby. He’s more grown up than you realize. Besides, he’s already been up here. I showed him his new room.

  “Come here.” She tugged me toward a large opening. “There will be two doors.” She walked into the framed room. “And this is our room.”

  It was difficult to judge the size with the transparency of the framing, but it seemed like it was exactly what I’d promised. “The balcony?” I asked.

  “Over here.” She led me forward. “From up here, we’ll be able to see the yard, the pool, and the beach.”

  As she was chatting on about the bathroom, I pulled her close, silencing her words with a kiss. Her body lost tension as she melded against me. I missed this side of my wife. I wanted this, more than anything. I made a silent vow that once we were in this home, she’d be the only woman I wanted. I would never again step outside our marriage.

  I wasn’t proud that it had occurred, and I justified it with the fact that it had never been with the same woman twice. I could make every excuse in the world and maybe even assign blame, but none of that mattered. I knew what I’d done was wrong. I knew the vows I’d spoken. I knew the vow I’d broken. I also knew how incredibly frustrating it was to continually fail the woman I loved and see the disappointment in her eyes. I could say that on occasion I chose to see a different gaze. None of those excuses or reasoning mattered. No one mattered more than my angel.

  “Oren?”

  Somehow
with her in my arms and thoughts of how it should be, my body had reacted. She pushed her hips toward me as my erection grew beneath my expensive suit.

  “Mio angelo, I want walls and a bed.”

  She giggled. “I can tell.”

  “I love you.”

  Her hand again came to my cheek. “And I love you. Maybe we can find walls and a bed in our house, the one where we now live.”

  It had been too long. “I’d like that. I also love seeing you happy.”

  “I want to be,” she said. “I really do.”

  High above within the skeleton of our home, our lips found each other’s. She tasted sweet, a spearmint indication of the gum she’d been chewing. For a moment, we were rulers of our new world, and I believed in the strength of our foundation. Just like the house being constructed below us, our love was strong. It would prevail.

  Watching our home come to life was nearly as rewarding as watching Angelina give it the essential elements. Many times, with Lennox by her side and Testa at the wheel, she would travel from store to store with strips of different paint colors, tile squares, and carpet samples. When I’d return home, she’d excitedly show me what she’d found and the beautiful combinations.

  Each room and color scheme made her eyes sparkle as she’d describe what would be. If it was her wish, I agreed. There was no expense I spared. Finally, the day came, and the movers arrived to Windsor Terrace.

  Though I was at the office, Angelina called to let me know they’d arrived. With Lennox at school, she was devoted to assuring the safe passage of our belongings.

  When my first meeting of the afternoon cancelled, instead of asking Julie, my secretary, to fill the timeslot, I decided to have her clear the rest of the day. It was out of character and felt exhilarating. After all, this move was monumental for our small family.

  There was something about what we were doing that created an overwhelming sense of hope. It was as if there was once again optimism for our future. Not that the expectancy had ever died; it had simply waned. The pressures of everyday life can do that.