back door, hands raised in the air, practically sprinting toward Horse for a hug.
“Holy crap, your grandma can move. How old is she?”
“Ninety-two.”
Horse walked over, and she gripped him in a bear hug. Horse grunted.
Man, she looks strong. Then I realized that she was Paolo’s grandma, too. It was strange trying to imagine him as a child playing at this house with his brother and cousins, running on the giant lawn, being bear-hugged by this crazy woman.
The woman released Horse and then looked at me and rattled away in Italian.
He shook his head and answered whatever question she’d asked.
“What’s she saying?” I asked.
“She asked who you are and why you’re so skinny.”
I laughed. “Sorry?”
“She thinks no one loves you because you don’t have any meat on your bones.”
Well, that was a first. For the record, I’d never been called skinny. I had an average build, average height, and average curves.
“Uh, thanks?” I said.
The woman reached for my hand and pulled me inside as she rambled at Horse. I guessed it was some lecture about settling down or visiting more often—typical grandma stuff. It was sweet enough to almost make me drop my guard. Almost. That said, I had to do my best to remember where I was and get the hell out of there quickly.
When we entered the home, the smell of garlic and onions and something delicious instantly hit me.
“Welcome to my grandma’s kitchen,” said Horse. The room was enormous—two industrial-size stainless steel refrigerators, two dishwashers, two banks of ovens, a brick pizza oven, and an enormous cooktop in the center island. “She really loves to cook, and with a family our size there’s always someone to feed.”
Horse chatted a bit with his grandma and then turned to me. “She says she made some fresh meatballs this morning, but she’s got to heat them up. Why don’t I show you around while she does that?”
I wanted to tell him we really should leave, but again, I thought about making a scene. Not a good idea. “Sure. Thanks.” I smiled at the old woman. “ Grazie .”
She dipped her head and waved us off.
Horse led me out into a very large, formal dining room with a long, dark cherrywood table in the middle big enough to seat about forty people. The chairs were upholstered with shiny gold brocade, and two enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the gold-trimmed ceiling.
Seeing me take it all in with a sort of disgusted fascination, Horse said, “My grandmother is old school when it comes to decorating.”
I tried to mask my judgmental thoughts with a cool smile and a shrug. “Grandmothers.”
Horse then showed me the theater, living room, library, and a few guest rooms. The place smelled like a museum and looked like a shrine to their heresy, including a mug-shot wall and news-clippings wall—arrests and murders and such.
Horse must’ve noticed my eyes popping from my head, because he said, “It’s not what you think. She likes to show them as reminders to everyone, especially her grandchildren, of what will happen if they go back to the old ways.”
“Old ways?”
“Let’s just say there’ve been a lot of changes in the family businesses over the past few years.”
I really didn’t want to know details, so I nodded politely.
“And this is the game room.” Horse pushed open a set of double doors. Inside were about twenty men of various ages, mostly plump, all smoking cigars, sitting around a large poker table. In the center of the table was a pile of cash mixed with chips and some guns.
Crap, is that a brick of coke? It sure the hell looked like it.
I tried to hide my fear slash shock, but it wasn’t easy; I think my eyes naturally wanted to jump out of my head.
Horse immediately pushed his hand behind my back to reassure me. “Is it poker night?” he said in English, seeming genuinely shocked.
“I thought you said she lived alone?” I whispered to Horse.
“She does,” he whispered back, “but
“Holy crap, your grandma can move. How old is she?”
“Ninety-two.”
Horse walked over, and she gripped him in a bear hug. Horse grunted.
Man, she looks strong. Then I realized that she was Paolo’s grandma, too. It was strange trying to imagine him as a child playing at this house with his brother and cousins, running on the giant lawn, being bear-hugged by this crazy woman.
The woman released Horse and then looked at me and rattled away in Italian.
He shook his head and answered whatever question she’d asked.
“What’s she saying?” I asked.
“She asked who you are and why you’re so skinny.”
I laughed. “Sorry?”
“She thinks no one loves you because you don’t have any meat on your bones.”
Well, that was a first. For the record, I’d never been called skinny. I had an average build, average height, and average curves.
“Uh, thanks?” I said.
The woman reached for my hand and pulled me inside as she rambled at Horse. I guessed it was some lecture about settling down or visiting more often—typical grandma stuff. It was sweet enough to almost make me drop my guard. Almost. That said, I had to do my best to remember where I was and get the hell out of there quickly.
When we entered the home, the smell of garlic and onions and something delicious instantly hit me.
“Welcome to my grandma’s kitchen,” said Horse. The room was enormous—two industrial-size stainless steel refrigerators, two dishwashers, two banks of ovens, a brick pizza oven, and an enormous cooktop in the center island. “She really loves to cook, and with a family our size there’s always someone to feed.”
Horse chatted a bit with his grandma and then turned to me. “She says she made some fresh meatballs this morning, but she’s got to heat them up. Why don’t I show you around while she does that?”
I wanted to tell him we really should leave, but again, I thought about making a scene. Not a good idea. “Sure. Thanks.” I smiled at the old woman. “ Grazie .”
She dipped her head and waved us off.
Horse led me out into a very large, formal dining room with a long, dark cherrywood table in the middle big enough to seat about forty people. The chairs were upholstered with shiny gold brocade, and two enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the gold-trimmed ceiling.
Seeing me take it all in with a sort of disgusted fascination, Horse said, “My grandmother is old school when it comes to decorating.”
I tried to mask my judgmental thoughts with a cool smile and a shrug. “Grandmothers.”
Horse then showed me the theater, living room, library, and a few guest rooms. The place smelled like a museum and looked like a shrine to their heresy, including a mug-shot wall and news-clippings wall—arrests and murders and such.
Horse must’ve noticed my eyes popping from my head, because he said, “It’s not what you think. She likes to show them as reminders to everyone, especially her grandchildren, of what will happen if they go back to the old ways.”
“Old ways?”
“Let’s just say there’ve been a lot of changes in the family businesses over the past few years.”
I really didn’t want to know details, so I nodded politely.
“And this is the game room.” Horse pushed open a set of double doors. Inside were about twenty men of various ages, mostly plump, all smoking cigars, sitting around a large poker table. In the center of the table was a pile of cash mixed with chips and some guns.
Crap, is that a brick of coke? It sure the hell looked like it.
I tried to hide my fear slash shock, but it wasn’t easy; I think my eyes naturally wanted to jump out of my head.
Horse immediately pushed his hand behind my back to reassure me. “Is it poker night?” he said in English, seeming genuinely shocked.
“I thought you said she lived alone?” I whispered to Horse.
“She does,” he whispered back, “but
Similar Books
