“Richest single man in town!” Jessie says. “And hot as a tin roof to boot!” She laughs. “I can still say that. I might be old, but I’m not dead yet! They never did have a chance though. I think if any of the girls in town interested him in the slightest, he would have grabbed one of them up long before now. Not like it used to be, I guess.”
“How did it used to be?”
“Back in the day, the Orsos—and the Ramsays, too, for that matter—never had a relationship with someone from town. Rosa Orso came from Chicago originally, and her mother came from New York—from an Irish family. That created a bit of a stir. Rosa was related to one of the big Chicago families, rumor has it. The older Orso brother who died so horribly last year, he was engaged to a woman in Seattle. I think they might have even been betrothed! I know that woman Antony Orso was dating a few years back was run right out of town when she got knocked up. It was quite the scandal! Those families always marry each other, not outsiders.”
“You make them sound like royalty.”
“Aren’t they, though? I know you’re young, but you aren’t blind.”
“Well, yes, I’ve seen the way Nate’s treated. But what did you mean by ‘those families’? Which families?”
“Well, you know…Italians. Italians from certain families.” Jessie laughs and waves her hands around in the air a bit, which doesn’t seem to indicate anything. “Though I suppose there are Irish families, too. There’s history to back that up already. You’re Irish, aren’t you? All that beautiful red hair!”
“Um, a bit. Scots, too.” I think about this for a moment. Yes, Aunt Ginny had been both Irish and Scottish, but me? “Honestly, I don’t know for sure.”
“Well, we’re all a bit like that, aren’t we? I mean, take my family—aside from the obvious, I’ve got Spanish and some Native American in me! And my dearly departed husband was English and white as a sheet!” She laughs.
She continues on, but I’m no longer listening. Those Italian families. A plethora of movies about crime lords, the mobs in Chicago during prohibition, and most anything Edward G. Robinson was ever in scroll past my mind’s eye like a DIY video set just a little too fast to keep up with the information.
Is Jessie saying that the Orsos are a…a crime family?
How many times have I asked Nate about his work only to be met with vague answers and misdirection? Anytime business is mentioned in my presence, Nate and Antony sequester themselves from the group to deal with it. What about all the family deaths—including Nate’s father though he has yet to mention anything about it? I wouldn’t even know his father was dead if it weren’t for Nora. And what kind of business has an emergency so late in the night, causing Nate to rush out instead of staying with me? To top it off, he still hasn’t called me today.
It all makes sense now. I understand the reverence and fear of the people around us every time we go out. I know why Nate walks ahead, ignoring any line of people, and is immediately ushered to the best table, the best seat, the best view. I know why he’s brought a bottle of the best wine—on the house, of course. It’s too much for a simple real estate mogul—even a really good one.
No one in the family has an actual job. From what Nate has said, they all have very expensive hobbies—from cars to boats to traveling abroad just to get that perfect picture with the Pyramids of Giza in the background—but no defined work titles. Even Antony and his law degree doesn’t seem to actually practice any law.
It all makes perfect sense now. Whatever the Orso family does, it’s not entirely legal. Sure, the real estate part of it is undoubtedly profitable, but there’s more to it than that. I’d heard bits and pieces of Nate’s hushed phone calls with Antony, none of which seemed to relate to real estate, and he’d always brush it off if I asked him about it. If it were all legitimate, Nate wouldn’t feel the need to change the subject.
Nate and Antony have both referenced business associates in Chicago, Seattle, and New York. When I asked about who they were, Nate replied with, “No one you need to concern yourself with.”
Nate is a gangster.
A generous, sweet, handsome gangster.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“What?” I haven’t heard anything Jessie has said for the last few minutes, and now she’s asking me a question.
“Did you enjoy your time with Nate yesterday?”
For the briefest moment, I think she means did I enjoy the sex, but then I realize she’s asking about the festival.
“It was wonderful!” I say with what has to look like a fake smile. I can’t think about the festival now—my head is churning. “Um, I’d never had maple sugar candy before. Oh, and the fireworks were incredible!”
“Next weekend it will be even bigger,” Jessie says. “More fireworks, more food, more music. I love the maple syrup festival! Now, hunny, tell me everything.”
“Everything?” I take a deep breath and try to concentrate on something other than images of Nate carrying a violin case and wearing a fedora. “Everything about what?”
“About you and Nate, of course! Are things getting serious with you two? Have you been to their house?”
“Yes, I’ve been to the house a few times now. They have family dinners every week.”
“Oh, wow! I had no idea! Tell me all about it!”
“Well, we eat,” I say with a chuckle, “and then usually play pool. Once we watched a movie in their home theatre.”
“Hmm.” Jessie seems disappointed.