“Wanted to see how your training is going.” He smiles, flashing me a view of his pearly white teeth.
“I haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “Take a walk with me.” He gestures outside the shelter.
I have a brief moment of fear. After not hearing from him in a week he shows up and asks to take a walk. All of my internal alarms are going off.
He pushes off the wall to lean in close to me. “It's fine, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you.” he whispers, then pulls back from me showing off a cocky grin.
“No one piqued your interest?” A staff member asks as we help back to the entrance.
“Not today.” Gio flashes her a charming smile. “Come on, honey.” He presses a hand to my lower back, leading me out of the shelter.
We walk down the street, we’re in a nice area of downtown Providence only a few blocks away from my apartment building. The street is lined with cute shops that have wooden tables, metal chairs, and exposed brick. The hipster blueprint. We walk silently until we reach a residential area. It’s a historic district with old houses that have been redone. This is one of my favorite places to walk.
“You’re not training?” Gio asks, taking my non-answer from earlier as a no.
“Not really.” I mumble. Between work and school, my time is limited, plus I hate running.
“You need to run daily. I can have Charlie or Tony join you if you need it.”
“No.” I quickly answered. The idea of running with one of his goons makes my heart speed up. No thank you.
He cocks an eyebrow at my response. “Do you want me to join you?” he asks
“No,” I whisper, sounding unsure of myself.
He grins at that answer. “If you want me to make more time for you Annie, all you need to do is ask.”
I don't respond, there's nothing to say to that smug grin on his face. Besides, he's my employer, not a friend for me to hang out with.
It also doesn't help that my heart races when he's around.
“I love these old houses.” I tell him, changing the subject. “This one,” I point at the one we're passing. It's a charming two-story family home, a little run down and in need of love, but still adorable.
Gio’s lips turn to a straight line. “This has to be the worst one on the block. Why?”
I smile gazing at the house. Sure, it isn't as well maintained as the rest of the houses on the block, but it's the details that make it charming. It has an arched doorway, original brick, and ivy that grows up the side. “See the shutters?” I point to the black shutters on the front of the half with crescent moons cut out of the top and bottoms. “I love that detail.”
He stares at the house for a while, squinting his eyes. He doesn't see the charming details that I love.
“Hmm,” he hums. “To each his own.” He gives me a pitiful smile and continues walking.
“Fine,” I huff. “But it’s adorable. I stand by it.”
He chuckles. “Whatever you say, Annie.”
My childhood home holds too many memories for me.
It's a large two story family home built in a fancy Providence suburb near Federal Hill. The house is a product of the dream life Giuseppe and Maria DelGado built together, the dream that blew up the day she was gunned down.
I scrub a hand down my face as I look over the house. Mama would be disappointed if she saw it now. The landscaping is overgrown, the grass needs cut, and inside I’m sure to find piles of trash. Dad and Gemma are the only ones living here now, and neither are doing well without ma.
There used to be so much life here, and now, just humans who can’t hold themselves together for more than one meal a week.
Ma was the type of mother and wife who loved to take care of everyone. As a kid, I’d be greeted after school with the smell of fresh-baked cookies. She was involved in every committee, both at school and in the neighborhood. She volunteered, donated time and money, she helped everyone she could.
She was genuinely the best part of our family.
And they took her.
Ma and Dad, Maria and Giuseppe, had grown up a few miles away in Federal Hill, the hub of Italian immigrants and la Familia. This house was proof of the sacrifices and violence they had risen above.
Since Ma's death, everything was different in this house. Plants died, dishes sat in the sink, laundry was never cleaned. Gian and I had tried to hire help for dad and Gemma, but even with a maid the house was never as clean as ma would have liked. Dad and Gemma didn’t even notice most of the time, or if they did they didn’t care much.
I guess that’s the problem with grief.
You’re too numb to care.
I grab the tray of chicken parmesan and stuffed manicotti from my car. None of us can cook. Gian and I are lost causes when it comes to cooking, dad can’t even make toast, and Gemma refused to learn because she was, I quote, a feminist. Petey, a chef at one of my restaurants makes us a whole buffet now for our Sunday dinners. It’s not the same, but it’s better than starving.
“Gem says she’s not joining us.” Gian greets me at the front door with his arms crossed and his foot tapping, a normal stance for him.
“Nice to see you too.” I push through the door balancing the overstuffed trays of food.
“Yeah, yeah.”
