This man has zero patience, Letty thought.
“Mr. Capadonno, if you don’t simmer down in there, I’m going to have to up your dose of Zoloft! Don’t get yourself all worked up over some crappy spaghetti, now!” Letty bit back.
Mr. Capadonno had come to expect a little bit of attitude with his dinner. It seemed to amuse him.
What a pain in the ass.
Letty yelled out to the parlor from the state of the art kitchen on the other side of the house. Seriously. This kitchen is to die for. I probably shouldn’t say that too loud. These people will make my wish a freaking reality, Letty thought.
Taking a deep breath, Letty took a moment for herself. Letty was a smart woman, so how does a woman like that come to work in the home of Carrion’s most reputable mobster? In a word? Persuasion. What Michael Capadonno wants, Michael Capadonno gets.
I’ve known the Capadonnos for a long time. I know them well. Too well, if you ask me. I was Michael’s eldest son, Miles’s, girlfriend for three years, during my teenage years. It didn’t end well. In fact, it was an era that I wish I could forget, altogether. After running into some trouble with the crime family, Miles was arrested, and I never heard from him again. To say I was hurt is an understatement. That hurt matured into anger, but in the end, the experience has made me a stronger woman. Nobody fucks with Letty Alves. Nobody. I’m the toughest thing in a pair of stiletto pumps. I’m strong because I have to be. When you let your guard down you get hurt, and sorry, I’ve come too far in this life to fall into old habits. Life definitely has a habit of throwing some serious curves, though. I’ve got too much going for me to let some old feelings bring me down.
Who would have thought that after Letty’s history with the Capadonnos that she’d end up working for them? Definitely not Letty.
No, I’m not running jobs for the mob. Don’t be so judgey! I’m a nurse. Working for Atlantic Home Healthcare, I provide care to many patients. That is, until Mr. Capadonno hired me full-time. He is a fickle man. A true pain in the ass. But Mr. Capadonno is a generous boss. He pays me well, and he is understanding when I need to leave early because of my son, Gabriel, who is only two years old. With that being said, we spend a lot of time together. He teases me about my rich Mexican heritage. It’s not my fault my father decided to paint the Mexican flag on his garage door! I tease him about being an old washed-up mobster. Michael reminds me a little of my own father, except my dad doesn’t have a criminal record, street cred, or an army of mafiosos ready to do his bidding. My dad is a plumber. Okay, so maybe they aren’t that similar at all. They do both happen to make me laugh, though, and are fiercely protective of me. Mr. Capadonno has been kind to me, and he watches out for me from the confines of his hospital bed. Despite his reputation as a stone cold killer, he doesn’t look so tough lying in bed. The colorectal cancer had emaciated the man he once was. His fight has gone on for seven years. He’s proven he’s a fighter… a warrior… but he is losing his fight.
Dishing out the pasta onto a large plate, Letty prepared to pour a generous serving of spaghetti sauce onto Mr. Capadonno’s plate. A wicked smile crossed her face.
“Mr. Capadonno! Would you like spaghetti sauce on your pasta? If so, how much?” Letty asked, knowing that her use of the word sauce would grate on his nerves.
I can hear him grumble from the kitchen. I can’t help but laugh.
“C’mon! You’ve been working for me for how long? It’s gravy! Get it right!” Michael Capadonno yelled back in a raspy voice. He sounded out of breath.
Smiling, Letty replied, “Mr. Capadonno! I put gravy on my turkey at Thanksgiving! This is not gravy! It’s red!”
The grumbling continued.
“Jesus Christ, Letty… It’s a good thing you know your shit. Can’t find no Italian girls ’round here that do half you do! Friggin sauce,” Michael griped.
“You’ve got that right! That’s because all you mobsters spoil your girls rotten. I’m not afraid of a little hard work…” Letty replied. “All right! Your pasta and sauce is coming right up!”
“For Christ’s sake, Letty! It’s gravy! GRAVY! My great-grandmother is probably rollin’ in her grave! This is an Italian household. It’s gravy!” Michael yelled into the kitchen at her.
Silently, Letty continued laughing at Michael as she bent over herself in the kitchen. Her stomach hurt from laughing so hard.
My next line should make him roar with contempt.
“Well, Mr. Capadonno,” Letty asked in an innocent enough voice, “who bought this stuff, then? The jar says sauce.”