“That sucks,” he says, sympathetically.
“It does. And our lease is going to be up here soon, but I don’t think she’s going to renew again. Her boyfriend now lives in the city, and I don’t know how she thinks to cram all of us in his two-bedroom apartment, but it seems like that’s her new plan.”
“He have kids?”
“No. He’s young.” I shake my head, fatigued just thinking about my mother’s relationships.
“Bet you’ll be glad to go to college, get away from it all,” he says.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to afford it. Lena’s going to Boston College; she wanted me to go there with her, but there’s no way. I’m going to take a year off, get a job, get everything sorted. Then we’ll see.”
“They have scholarships,” he pointed out.
I shrug, not really wanting to talk about it. “What about you? Are you going off to college, or staying local?”
“No college,” he says, looking at the pizza instead of me.
Frowning, I ask, “Why?” It’s not like his family can’t afford it.
His lips tug up in a tiny, humorless smile. “Don’t need it in my line of work.”
Ah, well… sure. I swallow, watching him as he continues to avoid my gaze. “Is it… um… I mean, obviously I only know what I’ve seen in the movies and TV shows, but you couldn’t just opt out, if you wanted?”
Shaking his head slightly, he says, “No. Mateo would have to let me out, and he never would.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s an asshole.”
I nod, glancing down at my pizza. “Who’s Mateo again? He’s the boss? Or…?”
“Yeah, more or less. His dad’s still the head of the family from a patriarchal sense, but Mateo’s the de facto head.”
“Is it like The Sopranos?” I ask, immediately feeling dumb when he smirks at me.
“No.” He laughs a little, dropping his pizza on the plate. “Actually, my family’s not exactly what you’re thinking. We’re not part of the original Sicilian mafia. Al Capone, all that stuff you’ve seen—that’s not really us.”
“Oh. It’s not? But I thought…”
“No. My family started it here—not in Italy, I’ve never been there, I probably never will. We aren’t them, it’s just… we’re an Italian crime family that goes back four generations—what are people gonna call us, you know?”
“So you’re not…?” I’m frowning, confused. “What’s the difference?”
“We just do things our own way. We’re like self-made bad guys, I guess. Think of the actual mob like old money, and my family like new money. Outsiders might just have one name for us, but to us, there’s a distinction. Like, in the actual mafia, it’s not as blood-obsessed as my family. We have people—soldiers, associates—who aren’t related to us, but the core people? All family. With only one exception, all blood related. Our family has broods of children—my father’s one of seven. It’s patriarchal—Mateo’s dad was the boss before him, his dad was the boss before him, his dad was the boss before him. Mateo doesn’t have a son yet, but when he does…”
“Next boss,” I conclude.
He nods once. “Unless something happened to interrupt the line, of course. If someone ever successfully assassinates Mateo, things might change.”
“Jeeze,” I say, eyes wide. “No love lost?”
“Hm?”
I smile slightly. “It’s just weird to hear someone speak so casually of a family member potentially being assassinated.”
“They’re all bastards,” he says, lowly. “Every man in my family. Mateo’s line’s the worst though. His dad’s a sick fuck, and Mateo didn’t turn out much better.”
“What about your dad?” I ask, playing with my straw.
“Sick fuck. If the last name is Morelli and they possess a penis, just assume they’re sick fucks.”
I crack a smile. “You’re not a sick fuck.”
“We’ll see,” he says, as if it doesn’t really matter. Picking up his pizza, he says, “Anyway, we shouldn’t really be talking about this.”
“I like getting to know things about your life,” I tell him.
Nodding slightly, he says, “I understand that, but I don’t want to involve you in that stuff. I want to keep you separate.”
“I won’t say anything to anyone,” I tell him, plucking another piece of sausage off my pizza. “It must be exhausting, worrying about keeping your whole life secret and segmented like that. You don’t have to do that with me.”
I look up and catch him watching me, a fond gleam in his eye that instantly unleashes a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I offer a shy smile in response, then I ruin it by popping another sausage into my mouth.
Chapter Eight
“Your boyfriend was talking to some other chick before school—they looked cozy.”
I look up as Lena’s tray smacks the cafeteria table, noting she looks both smug and bitchy. “Excuse me?”
“Just thought I’d tell you,” she states.
“What girl?” I ask, frowning slightly.
“A really pretty one. Think Minka Kelly. I don’t have any classes with her, so I don’t know.” Affecting a fake look of surprise, she says, “I guess I won’t have to make out with him after all!”