My father could have given Sal a pass—he did for Emilio's younger brother. He just chose not to. It hadn't made sense at the time, but I understand it now. He was making room for Leo, to give him his own crew. My stomach turns. Getting rid of Sal because he was a rat is one thing; doing so in order to promote another is disgusting.
"I miss him, too," she says, her voice low. I nod. "But let's not worry ourselves over that, okay?" She cups my face with her hands and wipes my tears away. I gave her a small smile.
"I'm okay. Really," I lie. When my father told me not to call Sal "Uncle" anymore, I knew the same went for Caterina. She isn't exactly out, but she'll never be back in either.
"We make our choices in life, Miele. Remember that." She smiles sadly and looks up, her entire body going stiff before retreating down to the first floor. I look behind me to find my twin brother, Michael. I let out a heavy sigh and start for my room, ignoring his footsteps behind me.
"What's got you so upset?" he asks. I wave him off and enter my room, only to have him follow. "You want me to call Tony?" I plop down on my bed and cover my head with my pillow.
"Okay, I'm getting Tony," Michael warns. I scream into the pillow before throwing it at him. Tony is our cousin, Gloria and Emilio's son, and he is a total hothead. He’s a few years older than us and, once he got his button, pretty much taught Michael everything he knows about the family. It isn't really allowed—talking to someone outside of the family about business—but we are a different kind of family than the one my father runs. We’re a family linked by blood and kept together by love. But Tony joined the family, so I guess he doesn't really belong to us anymore.
"Leave Tony out of it." I narrow my eyes at him. Michael is what Adriana calls "beefy"—tall and muscular. He’s my twin brother, sure, but whatever similarities we had went out the window once he hit puberty. I stayed short and gangly, while Michael started looking like the spitting image of our father. By the age of thirteen, he was more man than boy, and my father started treating him as such. Meanwhile, he wants me to be the girl who never grows up. There is no such thing as fair in the Mancuso household.
"So then tell me what's got you upset," Michael says and sits down beside me. I shrug, not wanting to get into it. Michael used to understand me, but lately he’s all about the family. God forbid I complain about something. He tells me that’s just the way it is and I need to get used to it. But that’s easy for him to say, being a guy. I didn't have the privilege of being born with a penis and will probably pay for that for the rest of my life.
"Come on, Al. Tell me."
I let out an exasperated sigh. If I don't tell him, I'll be hearing about it all summer long.
"I overheard Dad and Leo talking," I mumble. Michael smiles wide. That just pisses me off. Michael and Leo get along well. I guess Michael figures I could do worse, too.
"This is a good thing, Alex," Michael says encouragingly. "Dad could have picked one of those stupido princepes for you, ya know." I roll my eyes.
"Oh yeah, you're one to talk. You're a princepe yourself, dumbass." I smile and elbow him in the gut. His smile makes me feel better. It always has. He’s a good brother, no matter how much I complain about him.
"Anyway," I say, "It's not about that. I just thought I'd have a choice, ya know? I knew Dad would have to approve and all, but I thought that I'd at least get a chance to date someone and decide for myself whether I like him or not." Michael's smile falls and he nods.
"I get it." He put his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him. I lean in, taking whatever comfort I can get. "You want me to talk to him for you?" My eyes light up, hopeful. He scoffs and starts laughing so hard I think he’s going to choke on air.
"You think I'm going to talk to ‘The Iceman’ for you?" He snorts, using the name my father’s men call him. Yeah, Michael is a real bad ass using different mafia-related nicknames when my father can't hear him, but to his face it’s all "yes, sir" and "no, sir."
There are two hard knocks on my bedroom door. My father. When the door opens, I see his tired face staring back at us. He walks in and slumps into the chair by my vanity, a faint amusement in his eyes.
"’The Iceman’, huh?" Carlo says. Michael's face falls. He looks at his feet and starts wringing his hands together. "If you're going to talk about people, son, you need to be brave enough to say it to their face."
I don't like this. I've seen it before with Tony. My father’s grooming my brother so when he’s ready to earn his bones his attitude will command respect. My eyes dart away in discomfort. This is not what I want for my brother.
Michael is so smart and has such a big heart. Our mother wouldn't have wanted this for him, and she wouldn't have wanted it for my future husband, either. If she were here, she'd rein my father in, in her own quiet way. She would distract him from all of these little lessons he’s trying to impart upon my brother. She would be so much better at it than I am.