Tino was a thousand times more nervous about meeting this bitch than he was about seeing his father again. He knew his father. He hated him, but he knew what to expect from Frankie.
He’d been raised to fear the wife since he first sucked in air.
Tino didn’t know what the wife had to be so pissed off about. So her husband boned another woman. Big deal. Tino’s ma was dead, and the wife was still living it up in Dyker Heights.
And it was posh.
These people had so much fucking space. Big brick houses, with tall black fences. Manicured green lawns. There was more grass than Central Park. To Tino, who grew up in a small, rent-regulated apartment, it just looked so open and wasteful.
They drove past a golf course.
A friggin’ golf course.
In New York City.
No wonder the Italians had abandoned East Harlem and Little Italy had been reduced to a few good restaurants and a guided tour of mafia murders.
Twenty-first-century mobsters had Dyker Heights.
They could blend in with all the doctors and lawyers, ’cause why the hell not?
Harlem. Hell’s Kitchen. Little Italy.
Bullshit.
Maybe fifty years ago.
Now slumming like that was for the goomahs and the bastards they gave birth to. Real gangsters raised their families in the suburbs.
“This one has an attitude,” Miss Laura said as she opened the car door. “Big-time.”
“You think this one has attitude.” Frankie Moretti walked past the big wrought-iron gate that opened electronically in the driveway. “Try dealing with the other one. They got stugots like their father.”
Tino turned and glared at him for that.
“What?” Frankie laughed, looking completely unfazed by Tino’s fury over his life being ripped apart. “You wanna take a shot at your old man?”
Tino made a gagging sound.
Like he was father of the fucking year or something.
“Smart-ass.” Frankie leaned past Miss Laura to smack Tino’s head. “How’s your ankle?”
“It’s my leg.” Tino refrained from mentioning it was super sweet of Frankie to send his government lackey to make sure Tino was loaded in the hospital instead of coming down himself. “It’s broken. That’s how it is.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” Frankie asked Miss Laura. “Mary’s not gonna take him. It could fucking fall off for all she cares.”
“Take him to Dr. Acciai in Bensonhurst. He’ll get it taken care of for you. I’ll have them send everything over to him.”
“When?”
“He should go in a few days.”
“Minchia.” Frankie groaned in frustration and eyed Tino. “I work for a living. Do you know how to take the bus?”
Tino gave his father a look of disbelief. “Yeah. I can wipe my own ass too.”
“See. He’ll just take himself.”
“You’re gonna let a twelve-year-old take the bus by himself with a broken leg? Have you looked at him? He’s too pretty. Someone will grab him for sure,” Miss Laura said in disbelief. “Come on, Frankie, no. I’m gonna lose my job.”
“He’s fine. He can take care of himself.” Frankie waved off the concern. When she huffed in annoyance, he sighed. “I’ll have his brother take him. Grab your shit, Tino.”
Tino suspected his father was nailing Miss Laura. Frankie stayed there, hovering with his hand on the driver’s-side door as Tino fought with getting out of the car.
Tino hopped on his good foot while he pulled the crutches out of the back. Then he stood there, staring at the house that was more like a fucking castle for mafia royalty. All fenced in and hidden, but the top of it rose out of the trees like a gray-bricked monster.
“I can’t meet you later. The wife’s not exactly pleased with me right now,” Frankie whispered under his breath. “She’s been on one since last night.”
Tino rolled his eyes. He should probably warn Nova about Miss Bad Touch. If Frankie was her flavor, she’d have her hands all over Nova with her comfort and concern.
Nova looked so much like their father it always gave Tino whiplash.
Tino studied Frankie again, noticing he hadn’t walked away from the social worker, despite the wife. Nova might look like him, but Nova’s brain hadn’t come from Frankie, because this asshole was not smart. He was not slick. He might have a big pair of stugots, but that was about it.
“Where are the boys staying if she’s so pissed off they’re here?” Miss Laura asked.
“They have their own place over the garage. A bachelor pad. That sounds good, doesn’t it, pal?”
Tino wouldn’t even acknowledge that. Pal? He was gonna pull a Nova and puke on someone’s shoes. Instead he just worked on lifting his feet and staying balanced on the crutches for as long as possible.
Unfortunately, he had both his feet up when he saw the face hovering above the high gate, hidden by long hair that was inky black and shiny in the rays of sunlight filtering in through the trees and vines.
The fence had to be fifteen feet high. He had no idea what that girl was standing on or how she’d crawled up on the other side to be hanging there, but that wasn’t what had him busting his ass on the driveway.