Respect by Aleatha Romig
Was my son really that inclined to pitch? “Will he?” I asked.
“Quite possibly. He was drafted from the minors. At ten years old, that’s a big deal. Maybe sometime you should see him play. He’s good.”
“I will. Just let me know when his games are.”
“Right. I hope you don’t mind that I wait to tell him until I see the whites of your eyes. I’ve watched too many times as he’s looked up at the stands and been disappointed.”
My knuckles blanched as I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Just say whatever you want to say. You’ve been pissed off at me over something since the party.”
“I’m not pissed at you! It’s not always about you.”
My head nodded, her tone confirming my original observation.
“I’m not,” she went on. “I’m sad. And it’s upsetting when you disappoint Lennox.”
My gaze shot back to the rearview mirror. If he were listening to what we were saying, he wasn’t showing it. “What is he playing in the backseat?”
“It’s a Game Boy.” She laughed. “But don’t call it a game. It’s a system. He’ll correct you in a second.”
“He’ll correct me?”
“Yes.” Angelina laughed. “In a heartbeat. I’m pretty sure he takes after his father.”
I was thinking his mother but whatever. “So...a Game Boy is what?” I was up on a lot of technology, but kids’ toys aren’t really my thing. Cellular telephones, however, were amazing. No longer a bag plugged into the car, my latest cellular phone was the size of a pack of cigarettes, fit into a pocket, and flipped open like a prop from Star Trek. “It looks like a fancy calculator.”
“Oren, really? He’s ten. Why would he be staring at a calculator? We got it for him for Christmas almost a year ago and it’s been practically attached to his hand ever since. It’s a small console that plays games. He can control what happens. Right now he’s obsessed with baseball. I would bet he’s playing the newest MVP baseball game.”
I thought about her description of our son. “So he’s always right, and he likes to control things?” I was most certain he was more like his mother.
“Yes. Sound familiar?”
“Very.” Before I got myself in more trouble I asked, “Whatever happened to reading?”
She grinned. “It’s 1996. The turn of the millennium is coming. You know, Y2K? It’s time to get with the program.”
“You know, I don’t try to disappoint him. It’s—”
Her hand came up, not allowing me to finish, not that I could blame her. I wasn’t saying anything new: Work. Family. Commitments. Same excuses I’d been giving forever.
I reached over and splaying my fingers, covered her knee with my hand. “I’m sorry if I’m the reason you’re sad.”
“You’re not. Remember, it’s not always about you.”
That was a relief, but why was she sad? Instead of asking, I turned her way and squeezed the knee under my grasp. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I almost can’t say it. I’m having trouble comprehending that it’s true.”
She definitely had my curiosity. “Try,” I encouraged.
“That girl who was serving drinks at Aunt Rose’s...”
I nodded. I’d seen the girl. Angelina had even chastised me for not thanking her when she brought me a beer. The next time she brought one, I did. I didn’t consider myself ungrateful; it was that the girl was doing her job. People aren’t thanked for their jobs. Granted, she seemed young, but it was her job nonetheless.
“She’s fifteen years old.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, she looked young.”
Again Angelina looked over her shoulder as she lowered her voice. “Just turned fifteen.” She shook her head. “Bella had told me a little about her, but Aunt Rose filled me in today on all the details. The whole thing makes me sick.”
“Baby, you’ve lost me completely.”
Her voice became even softer. “Uncle Carmine doesn’t want anyone to know who she is. Vincent found her.”
“Vincent found her...? He found her on the street? In a crack house? A foster home? What?”
“He found her in Chicago. He’s been looking for her for three years.”
My eyes opened wide and stared at my wife as if for a moment I forgot I was driving. “No.” It was the only word that came to me.
Angelina nodded. “Yes. The information is still fuzzy. What Vincent did find out was that after the husband died, the mother was drinking and in need of cash. She sent Silvia to Chicago to live and work under the radar. After the shooting, she followed. Apparently, she didn’t feel safe in New York. From what Aunt Rose has learned, the mother lived with a friend for a while before making her way back into the life she knew—a goomah—sleeping with anyone for a roof over her head. The reason Silvia was hard to locate was because the mother basically sold her for domestic help. According to Aunt Rose, Vincent said he found her because eventually she had been moved to another home. She began working for some distant cousins. That was about to end because her mother’s current boyfriend found out about her and decided she could make them more money doing other things. He decided it would be a good idea to auction the girl.”
My gut twisted. “I’ve heard that shit like that happens, but seriously?”
“It happens,” she said. “I’ve heard stories that I’ll never forget.”
“Was she?” I almost didn’t want to know. “Was she auctioned?”
“Uncle Carmine called in a few favors. Her mother’s boyfriend works a crew for a capo under a boss that Uncle Carmine knows. The mother’s name isn’t Greco any longer—she’s been married a few times between boyfriends.”
“It’s only been three years and she’s married a few times?”
“I know, right? I’m just sick. I can’t imagine what that poor girl has seen and heard...and now this.”
“What happened?”
“The boss Uncle Carmine spoke to knew about the history. He knew Silvia’s brother was the one who shot Uncle Carmine. He apologized for not bringing the girl to Uncle Carmine’s attention earlier. He told him that if Uncle Carmine wanted her, he’d tell the mother she was gone. No questions asked. No money exchanged. A life for a debt.”
“He bought her?”
“Somehow.” Angelina’s hands went in the air. “I don’t know if he paid. I don’t think I want to know. According to Aunt Rose, Silvia doesn’t fully understand what was about to happen to her. Her mother told her some story years ago about how she was old enough to earn more money and help pay their debt. She told Silvia they’d never see one another again, but that was okay. She’s an adult now and whatever she does is for the good of her family.”
Again my knuckles whitened from my grip on the innocent steering wheel. “An adult? She’s fifteen.”
“Barely. What do we expect? The woman sent her son to pay a man’s debt at nineteen.”
I shook my head. “Can you imagine what could have happened to the girl?”
“God yes, Oren. I’ve been sick about it all afternoon. I tried to talk to her a little. She’s shy and so sweet and innocent. She thinks she’s Aunt Rose’s maid. She should be worried about school and boys, not cleaning and cooking and not whatever else her mother had in mind.”
“What about the bitch of a mom and that boyfriend? Did Vincent just let them get by with this?”
Angelina shook her head. “I didn’t ask. I don’t think I want to know. I mean, I would hope they’re no longer around. Then again, if they’re living in some godforsaken shithole, that’s what they deserve.
“I’m sickened with myself. It upsets me that I want them to find harm—to burn in Hell for what they did to an innocent girl—but I do. I really do. People like that don’t deserve children.”
I swallowed my thoughts as we exited the interstate. All afternoon, I’d been worried about bringing up a business opportunity to Carmine. That was why we didn’t make church. I was ironing out some of the particular
“Well, thank God Silvia has lasted this long. The thing is that Uncle Carmine and Aunt Rose are worried that if people in the family find out who she is...that her brother...who he was...what he did...they’re worried about what could happen to her. I mean there were people at Uncle Carmine’s today who would say that the girl owes a debt to our family.” Angelina’s hands went in the air. “She’s a child.”
Loosening my grip of the wheel, I reached over to Angelina. She turned her hand over on her leg, palm up so our fingers could come together and intertwine. “She’s in good hands. Your aunt and uncle will keep her safe.”
It was true. Where the world saw criminals and killers in Carmine and Vincent, we were privy to two men who’d made it their mission to find this child and save her from her family’s poor decisions.
As I pulled our car through the gate to our house, Angelina sighed and laid her head against the seat. “I wish we could help.”
I recalled something Carmine had said at the gathering. He’d asked me if Angelina was happy and then said she wanted a daughter. I’d been taken aback, knowing we’d both agreed to only one child. A daughter could be safe, but there were no guarantees we wouldn’t have another boy. I pushed away the idea that there was any possibility that his comment had something to do with this girl.
That would be ludicrous.
Securing the car inside the garage, the thought was forgotten, replaced by Angelina’s question.
“We could watch a movie? All three of us?”
I tried not to grimace. It was Sunday night, but if I went to my home office, I could get a few hours of work accomplished.
When I didn’t respond fast enough and Lennox opened the car door, his headphones still in place, Angelina answered for me. “Never mind, I’ll read.”
I forced a smile. “You like to read.”
Chapter 29
“You’re going to California?” Angelina asked, her voice a higher pitch than normal. “Oren, we have plans this weekend. You said you’d try to make Lennox’s game. He’s started as pitcher the last three games and his father hasn’t been to one. And then, Saturday night, Melanie and her husband invited us to a barbeque at their house. You like Jim. They’re the ones who had the Super Bowl party. I asked you, and you said yes. Now, I’ll have to go alone.”
I shook my head as I added another shirt to the suitcase. “I didn’t plan this trip.”
Her hands slapped the sides of her jean-covered legs. “Of course not. You never do. You also didn’t say no.”
“I can’t say no to your uncle.”
“I don’t understand. What business does Uncle Carmine and Vinny have in California, and why do you need to go?”
“He wasn’t very specific, something about negotiating. He said I could help and learn in the process.”
“And it has to be this weekend?” she asked again.
Standing, I reached for her shoulders. “Mio angelo, I asked the boss to approve a multifamily-territory deal that I have in the works. If it goes through, the potential for us and for the families is limitless. It’s a great investment for this improving economy. Your uncle said he would give his okay if I’d do this. He also said something about a gift for you.”
She sighed and turned toward the bouquet of daisies I’d brought home to tell her the news of my impending trip. “I don’t want a damn gift. I want my husband home. I want a family weekend.”
My brows arched. “I guess that’s what I’m getting with Vinny. And if you don’t want gifts, throw the damn flowers away.”
“That’s not the family weekend that I had in mind. And I don’t think the flowers should be sacrificed just because they were bought by the wrong person, for the wrong reason.”
“I bought them to tell you that I love you.”
“No, you bought them to soften the blow of your leaving.” Her neck straightened. “I could call Uncle Carmine and talk to him.”
“You could, but then it makes me look weak.”
“You’re not weak, Oren. You’re over-obligated.”
Didn’t I fucking know that?
“You need to learn to say no,” she went on. “I mean, to someone besides me.”
I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “But, baby, I’ll say yes when I get back.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I will keep it. I’ll have Julie clear next weekend. How about we go somewhere? It’s nearly summer, we could go to the coast? A weekend drive along the shore?”
“Lennox has a game next Saturday, and he can’t miss it.”
Letting go of her shoulders, I turned toward the bed and closed my suitcase. “Sounds like you’re the one telling me no.” Which wasn’t an unusual scenario either.
As I turned to kiss her goodbye, Angelina turned away. “Just go, Oren. We’ll be here if you ever have time, or maybe we won’t.”
“That’s just wonderful. This is your family.”
“Really, Oren? I thought you said they were ours?”
Her parting words added more acid to my already-bubbling stomach. This trip was different. I felt it in my bones. Even though I’d discussed the jewelry stores with Vincent, I’d agitated Carmine by not talking to him first. Another time, I would have been told to work out the details with Vincent and then confirm with him.
It seemed like as time passed since the shooting, talking to Carmine had become more difficult. Angelina and I still had Sunday dinner at least once a month in Windsor Terrace, yet Carmine was more and more reserved. It was as if he’d built a wall slowly, brick by brick, around himself.
This trip was to prove to him that I still had the family’s best interests in mind and that I wasn’t stepping over him to other dons. It was a show of family allegiance. All he’d told me was that I was to watch, help, and learn from Vincent.
One favor for a friend.
I didn’t know his friend, nor did I owe his friend a favor. But I knew Carmine, and if this favor was what I thought it would be, I dreaded it with the better part of my being. If this trip was what I anticipated, I wasn’t sure there’d be a better part of my being left.
Sunday evening in a hotel suite in Los Angeles, I heard the instructions I’d been dreading.
“Come on, Oren. How many years have you been a part of us?”
Sitting back in the soft chair, I lifted my feet to the coffee table. “Maybe part of me thought the millions of dollars I’ve secured for the Costello family would be enough.”
Vincent nodded. “You’re a damn good earner. You’re also fucking great at keeping your books crystal clean. Pop wants collateral.”
“I’ve never taken a life.”
He lifted his chin. “What about William Ashley?”
“What about William Ashley?” I asked.
William Ashley owned an electrical-materials distribution center in Pennsylvania. We were about to embark on a deal when the feds decided I needed another audit. I had some revenue I couldn’t account for, so since we were in negotiations, I had access to Ashley’s books and cooked them. Instead of Demetri, his company had the revenue. He didn’t know it was even there until the feds looked at our impending deal. Suddenly, I wasn’t the target of their racketeering case—he was. Of course, he couldn’t justify the extra four hundred G’s.
I lost money on the deal, but when the charges were made public, Ashley took his own life. His wife had left him, ashamed of his illegal doings. It was more than he could handle.
“You don’t think you’re responsible?” Vincent asked, his opinion clear in his tone.
I swirled the cheap whiskey from the room’s liquor cabine
“No, but he did that because of what happened...because of what you did.”
“I saved Demetri, and it didn’t hurt the Costellos either.”
Vinny shrugged. “We lost a few hundred G’s.”
“I’ve more than made that up over the years.”
“The point is that we do what we do for honor and respect. This man, Pop calls him old man Montague. He helped Pop out of a jam years ago. The other day, he called in a favor. Pop feels that the man’s entitled. Honoring debts is what keeps us respected. You help us. We’ll help you.
“This man that we’re about to off—Collins—he’s the old man’s son-in-law.”
It was the old dilapidated house all over again. Vincent was talking about murder as if it were a trip to the supermarket. The difference between the two of us was that I hated chewing gum.
“The old man spilled his guts to Pop,” Vinny went on. “Something about this dick threatening to divorce the old man’s snooty daughter and taking their kid. The old man won’t have it. He has his share of dealings and doesn’t want anything public. He wants Collins out of the picture before he has a chance to cause any problems for his business or his family.
“Think about that,” he said. “Think how Pop would feel if you or Bella wanted to skip town with one of his grandchildren.”