The drive to Manhattan takes forever. We still don’t know where our fathers have been hiding. Sienna said she heard mutterings about New Jersey, but that was all whispers. Regardless of where he’s been staying, my father was miraculously able to get to the best surgeon in the city.
By the time we get to the hospital, I’m a nervous wreck. We hop out of the car at the front entrance and rush inside. Sienna is beside me, continuously giving me updates that she is getting from her mom.
“She says to bypass the emergency room and go up to the fourth floor,” Sienna says as we stop at the security desk for our visitor passes.
“Must be nice, having the director of general surgery in your Rolodex,” I muse, not to the delight of Sienna.
My mother and sister are in the waiting room when we arrive. We spoke briefly once I saw the missed calls from them on my phone. All they wanted to know was that I was on my way.
I can barely see my mother because she’s swarmed by four of my aunts. A few of my uncles are on the other side of the room, looking distraught.
“Finally!” my mother cries when she sees me. “You should have been home. I wouldn’t have been sick with worry, waiting for you to arrive.”
“How is he?” I ask as I kneel beside her.
She’s holding on to the medal around her neck and grasping on to my aunt for support, as if she’d fall off the chair without it.
“He went into surgery an hour ago. I can’t take this. When will someone come out and tell me what is going on with my husband?” Her words are said loudly toward the desk, where a woman is sitting by a computer.
I pat her hand and breathe in a way that wills her to follow. “You need to try and relax. You’d be no good to Daddy if you gave yourself a heart attack with worry. Just breathe.” She follows my breathing pattern and seems to relax only a touch, making me wonder if they have any spare Valium in this place. “Have faith, Mom. Say a prayer. That always helps you.”
One of my aunts takes a prayer book out of her bag. “Saint Raphael is the patron saint of healing.”
Mom lets out a whimper. “How fitting. My wonderful Raphael is named after the saint he needs.”
She joins hands with my aunts as they sit beside her, reading the prayer to Saint Raphael in unison.
“Saint Raphael, the Archangel, arrow and medicine of Divine Love, wound our hearts, we implore you …”
My mother isn’t the most religious person, but she turns to prayer when times get rough. And when she loses the remote or the car keys or her e-cigarette.
Sienna pats me on the shoulder. “I’m gonna get some sodas and junk food.”
“Thank you,” I say as she walks out of the waiting room, toward the vending machines.
Gia is seated near the windows. Her earbuds are in her ears as she sits with her knees pulled to her chest, lightly crying.
I touch her knee. When she notices it’s me, she jumps up and hugs me tight. I can feel the worry seeping out of her skinny body.
“How are you holding up?” I ask. She looks so young, and weary. I motion for her to sit back down.
Her eyes are red and her cheeks splotchy, making her look like a child. Her lip trembles as she tries to speak. I rub her back and console her.
The man in the seat next to her gets up and lets me have the chair. I let my sister cry on my shoulder.
“You shouldn’t cry all your tears when there might not be reason to,” I say even though I want to cry myself. “Dad is strong. He’ll make it through.”
“He shouldn’t have to.” She wipes her nose with her forearm. “What kind of horrible person would try to kill him? I’m so scared, Amelia. First, the shooting at the club, and then he hid away, obviously frightened for his life. And now, he’s here. Why is this happening?”
Gia and I have both lived a life where we knew our family was different than others, yet we never knew the severity of our father’s reach into the criminal world. He’s an underboss of a crime ring. Laundering, theft, drugs, and guns. They’re all part of the deviance he kept us from. For what? So we can go to good schools and have nice things. Maybe it was for his personal status. As I look at my uncles conversing, I have a feeling my father works the way he does because it’s all he knows.
The family business is beyond what I ever imagined. It’s put us all in jeopardy.
My sister deserves to know the truth, just like I did. And yet, while I know I should tell her … I can’t.
Gia is a bright-eyed girl who loves her family. She enjoys putting on shows and telling the tallest tales. Where I was kept in a bubble from my family’s secrets, she’s been kept in a vault, hidden away from any negative energy. I don’t want to spoil things for her. Not today at least.
“I don’t know why someone would do this. But I promise I will do everything I can to stop it,” I vow.
She looks up at me with an incredulous stare. “How in the world are you going to make this stop?”
I bite my lip and look away. “I don’t know. I just don’t like seeing you this sad and scared.”
“Do you think it could happen to us? Me, you, Mom, or Uncle Frankie and his family?”
“No,” I lie.
She squeezes me tight, tucking her head on my shoulder. I rest my head on top of hers. Images of something like this happening to my sweet little sister run through my brain. The thought makes me nauseous.
I clench my lips shut and try to remember a better time, one when we were the Sorrentinos, living our normal life. Days on the family yacht with my parents sitting on the deck while Gia and I rode our Jet Skis in figure eights in the water nearby. We weren’t allowed far out until we were thirteen, and even then, it was with Dad’s watchful eye. He’d hop on with Gia on one while I followed. He showed me how to pump my own gas and how to anchor so we could swim in the ocean.
Christmas was a big celebration. Dad was never the one to play Santa Claus, but he always sang from his karaoke machine in the living room, serenading the family with classic ballads by Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. He’d often have Gia and me join him and never complained when we were off-key.
On vacations, we were taken to cities rich with history. He prides himself on how well traveled and respectable we grew as women. His approval is the kind of thing you bask in. It makes you want to be better because the light he shines on you is so bright that you never want to leave.
He never missed a school play or honor roll ceremony. When I was valedictorian of my graduating class, he took out a four-page spread in the program, boasting how proud the Sorrentino family was of their graduate. And then I was the first Sorrentino to ever graduate college.
When I wanted to get my own place, my mother was furious. It was Dad who stood up for me. The day I moved in, there was a bottle of champagne and a card on the kitchen counter that read, No man has ever been prouder of his daughter.
It’s easy to think your father is amazing when you have a guy like Raphael Sorrentino as yours. It’s also why you’re crushed when you find out he has never been as perfect as you made him out to be.
Sienna brings the snacks and sits with us for a while. We watch the local news on a television in the corner and then have coffee when Uncle Enzo and Uncle Joey come in with espresso and cappuccinos from Starbucks.
My thumbnail is chewed down, and my knee has yet to stop bouncing as we listen to the announcements over the speaker and stare at the door, waiting for someone to come out with an update.
My father was shot.
He’s in surgery, fighting for his life.
I can’t believe this is happening.
A doctor comes out of the swinging door, and we all stand up quickly.
“That’s Raphael’s doctor,” my mother says as she rushes to him.
My uncles are right beside her. I hold Gia back. If it’s bad news, I want her with me. We can’t hear the doctor, but we can see everyone’s reactions.
“Oh, thank God!” my mother cries, and I feel instant relief.
<
br /> Gia looks up at me, concerned. “That’s good news, right?”
I look at the doctor and see him continue to talk to my mom. His words are calm, as is her demeanor as she wipes the tears from her eyes.
“Yes, it’s good.”
Gia rushes to the group, and I follow.
My father’s abdominal organs bled profusely. His pancreas and liver were injured. The trauma might have long-lasting effects, but it’s too early to tell. He’ll be in the hospital for at least a week. Most likely longer.
“We need him home,” my mother declares.
“He’ll be safe here. Clearly better than where he was,” Uncle Enzo chimes in.
“This wouldn’t have happened if he had been home, where the family could protect him. What the hell was he thinking, hiding out the way he did?” she speaks in frustration, yet I can see her eyes look down, as if she was wrong for speaking out. “I can get a nurse to stay with us and take care of him.”
“If he needs the care or in case there are complications, he’s better off staying here,” I say.
“Your mother’s right,” Enzo says. “As soon as we get the clear from the doc, we’ll move your father to the house. We’ll get the bed, the machines, the nurse, the whole nine. Just like we did with Johnny Two Toes. Remember when he rehabbed at home?” he asks my uncle Joey in a hushed tone, who nods in agreement. “She was a nice lookin’ broad too.”
I roll my eyes at the misogyny. “When can my mother see him?” I ask the doctor.
“He’s still in the intensive care recovery ward. When he wakes, we’ll allow two visitors at a time.”
I take a seat by Sienna and watch as my family hugs and laughs like they just won the lotto. From this vantage point, I look at the people I hold close to my heart. A mix of families, unrelated by blood, who make up one bond.
Not everyone works in sanitation. We have men’s clothing distributors and attorneys. Cement pourers, and home contractors. One uncle even owns a McDonald’s.
The women are warm and welcoming. They’re invested in their children’s education and who they marry. And then there’s the food. These women cook for ten when there’s only four at the table. Food, a manicure, and a prayer will fix all your problems.
There’s a reason I never thought of my family as odd. Everyone should be as lucky as I am to have so many people in their life.
I turn to Sienna, my best friend and cousin. She’s looking at our family too, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am.
“Do you think there’s something odd about our family?” I ask.
She turns to me with a tilted brow. “Your father just came out of surgery for being shot in the gut. Yeah, our family is crazy. And totally awesome.”
“Were you surprised he was shot? I mean … gunfire and bodyguards, fathers who hide away, and mothers who keep secrets. Does any of this faze you?”
“How could it when it’s what I’ve grown up with? All I know is this life.” She shrugs, and I curve my brows. “You figured it out, didn’t you?”
“That our fathers are mafia crime bosses. Yeah. How long have you known?”
“My father has never been as good as yours with keeping family business away from his kids. Mine is raising me to marry someone from the five families. I’m literally being bred to be a Mafia wife. That’s why I’m out dancing all the time. Once I’m married off, I’ll be making babies and lasagnas and keeping all the secrets. Your father doesn’t want the same for you.”
“How did you know this all this time and not tell me?”
“Because it wasn’t my place to. That’s the Evangelista way. Our family discussions stay at the dinner table. Besides, I always felt your dad wanted you to have an out. To keep you protected. You’ve always had a job, ever since you could get your working papers, but you’ve worked everywhere but at one of the family businesses. That means he wanted you away.”
“I know it’s a good thing, but I’ve been battling with this anger about being kept in the dark.”
She places a hand on mine and smiles. “He was keeping you in the light. Bright and looking forward. Trouble is, you made your way to the dark side like the rest of us. Our parents can only do so much to keep us out of harm’s way. Sometimes, we find it on our own.”
“Or it comes barreling into a restaurant with guns blazing,” I say sarcastically.
She laughs. “That too. It’s going to be fine though. I promise. It always is.”
“You’re telling me this sort of thing has happened before?”
She scrunches her nose. “What’s spoken about at the dinner table stays at the dinner table.”
I nod in understanding. Her knowing everything and more makes me feel a little better. At least now I have someone in the family to talk to.
“Thanks, Sienna. You’ve made me feel better about this for the first time in days. You’re a good friend.”
She hits me in the side. “I’m your cousin, bitch. And we’re totally going out. I need a drink.”
“No way. I’m staying here until the doctor says my father’s woke up.”
She rolls her eyes and then leans in to kiss my cheek. “Do what you wish. Especially if you’re doing it with Jesse!” She waggles her brows, and I shush her. “You owe me so many details. Lots and lots of dirty ones. Like how I found you in a sheet in your kitchen.”
One of the aunts looks over at us. I give Sienna the wide-eyed stare of death.
“Fine! Tomorrow, I’ll call and tell you. Just keep your mouth shut, okay?” That gives me enough time to fill in the blanks, especially with details that don’t have to do with Jesse being an agent.
We say our good-byes, and I hang back in the waiting room. My mother leaves to go downstairs and fill out paperwork. Gia goes with her for support. I stay and wait for more news from the doctor.
“Excuse me.” A nurse gets my attention. “Are you family of Raphael Sorrentino?”
I jump to my feet. “Yes.”
“You may go in now,” a nurse says.
I wasn’t planning on seeing him. I’m still upset with him. Hurt and betrayed. Just because he’s in the hospital doesn’t mean I forgive him. I may be devastated by his actions, but I don’t want to approach him like that when he’s in the recovery ward and healing.
The nurse is standing by the now-open door, waiting for me to follow. I pause, looking toward the elevator, waiting for my mother to return. She doesn’t, so I follow the nurse.
We walk down the narrow hallway toward the signs that say Intensive Care Recovery Ward.
The nurse pulls back a curtain, and I’m shocked at the sight of my father. His stomach is bloated, and he has a breathing tube in his nose. The machines beside him beep. It’s not in unison, and it could possibly drive a sane person mad with their chimes.
There’s a chair on the left side of the bed. I take it and stare at his profile.
He looks good. His skin is pink, and his breathing is steady. I painted him as a monster in my mind. Now that he’s lying here, so vulnerable, I can’t help but feel this horrible pain cringe inside my throat. The thought of losing him is unbearable.
“Amelia?” he whispers, and I lean forward.
“You’re awake.” I wipe a tear from my cheek.
“Why are you here?” He can’t hide the disappointment in his reaction at the sight of me.
“You were shot, Dad. You had surgery. We all came to see you.”
“I didn’t want you back here,” he states, and my shoulders fall. He doesn’t want me. “Don’t look like that. You get me wrong. I’m happy you’re here, but you shouldn’t see me like this. Some things are best left in private.”
“Most things are best kept within the family. I’m family.”
His eyes well up, and he gasps for air, making one of his machines chirp out of rhythm. Tears roll down his cheeks.
“What’s happening? Are you in pain?”
“No. No. I’m just so happy to see you.” He grabs my hand with his
, and it has an IV stuck to the top of it. His hand is cold and black and blue, and he squeezes my hand with it despite how banged up it looks.
I swallow and then take a huge shaky breath. My anger is coupled with devotion. At the heart of any girl is a love for her daddy, no matter how old she gets. He was a hero.
“Dad, I know about the Lugazzis. I was still in the room when one of them came in. But you weren’t there to protect me. You left.”
He talks with a hoarse voice, “I tried to get to you, but the shooting started, and I didn’t have a weapon. I climbed out the window and ran around the back of the building to find you. I went through the kitchen to get to the bar, but it was empty. I figured you must have gone through the dining room. Those doors are bulletproof, so I knew you would be safe in there. Your uncle was shot, and the Lugazzis were surrounding the building. Frankie had a car near the kitchen, where I crawled in. We got away. I found out the next day that you’d hidden in the bushes. I must have driven right by you. I can’t imagine how scared you must have been.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this? I was home for two days, and you wouldn’t talk to me. I didn’t know where you were. You’d vanished.”
“I didn’t know what to say. Your mother said you were asking questions, and I don’t have answers for you.”
I need to tell him about the lottery and the task I’ve been given, or he, Mom, and Gia will die. But I can’t while he’s in this bed. He needs to heal first.
“Amelia.” He pulls me toward him, and his voice is a low whisper. “There’s a reason I’m alive. Men don’t shoot other men point-blank in the abdomen. They aim for here.” He taps his heart. “Or here.” His pointer finger pushes against his temple. I cringe, recalling the feel of the steel of a gun against my own head. “This was a warning.”
A rush of cold air swoops up my back. “For whom?” When he doesn’t respond, bile rises in my throat because I know the answer to that. “It was for me, wasn’t it?”
His mouth turns down in disgust. “This is not business for you, Amelia. I shouldn’t have even said that.”
“When would you have said something? If I hadn’t walked in here, you never would have told me. You’d have talked to Frankie, Vic, Joey, Enzo … anyone but the one it actually involved. I’m a grown woman, one who has experienced more in this world of yours than you know. You have to start talking to me.”
Body of Trust: A Romantic Suspense Novel Page 13
