“I know that,” she spat. “I’m not crazy.”
Vincent laughed dryly. The jury was still out on that. The doctors suspected Gia DeMarco suffered from early onset dementia, but Vincent leaned toward her simply refusing to move past her glory days. She didn’t want to admit life went on without her, that the world didn’t stop turning the day her husband died.
Usually lucid, every now and then she’d slip back to those times when Antonio DeMarco was the most powerful man in Chicago and Vincent still cared about making his parents proud.
“Some fresh air would be nice, don’t you think?”
Gia reached up and rubbed her right ear, ignoring Vincent for the third time. “My ear’s ringing. That old hag Gertrude next door must be talking about me.”
“Did you take aspirin today? That can cause ear ringing.”
“It’s not the medication,” she said. “It’s her.”
His mother was nothing if not superstitious. “Gertrude doesn’t seem like the gossiping type.”
“Like you could tell, Vincenzo. You have the judgment of an imbecile! You and your Irish—”
“Don’t start, Ma.” Vincent raised his voice as he cut her off. “I’m not going to listen to it again.”
Gia was quiet, as if considering whether or not to finish her thought, but finally changed the subject. “Your sister visits me all the time. I see Corrado more than I see you.”
It was a lie, but Vincent let it roll off his back.
“Now that’s what I call a good man,” she said. “Corrado’s loyal. Always has been. His only flaw is he never gave your sister any babies. I always wanted grandchildren.”
“You have grandchildren,” Vincent said. “Two of them.”
Gia scoffed but managed to keep her opinion to herself. She stared out the window, shaking her head. “You don’t care about me, Vincenzo. You never even take me outside anymore.”
* * *
Since the DeMarcos had moved to North Carolina, the boys had thrown a Halloween party every year. Vincent was hesitant to agree this year, but after a bit of pestering and a lot of promising, he caved with one strict rule—Haven was to be watched at all times.
o;You’re welcome,” she said as something from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Dr. DeMarco was staring at her again.
The home phone rang then, and everyone jumped at the shrill sound. Haven hadn’t heard it ring before. Her heart raced as Dr. DeMarco stood to grab it.
“What the fuck is that?”
Haven saw the baffled expression on Carmine’s face. “It’s the telephone.”
“No, I get that, but where did it come from?”
She shrugged as Dr. DeMarco answered the call. “DeMarco residence . . . Wait, slow down . . . How many hits did you say you had?” Haven tried not to listen, but he spoke loudly. “How is that possible?”
“Seriously,” Carmine said. “When did we get a phone?”
Dominic laughed. “Weeks ago.”
Dr. DeMarco raised his voice more. “Do it again. If it comes out the same the second time, we’ll redo the entire thing, but it has to be wrong. There’s no way it’s true.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Carmine asked.
“The better question, bro, is why didn’t you notice?”
“Keep it off the record,” Dr. DeMarco continued, speaking over all of them. “I don’t want this getting out until I can make sense of it. Capice?”
He tossed the phone down, ending the call, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His gaze drifted to Carmine and Haven, his expression unreadable, but the raging fire was back in his eyes. Standing, he snatched the cherry Coke right out of Carmine’s hand, spilling some on the floor as he stalked out of the room. A moment later something crashed in the kitchen, the sound of a glass smashing as it was thrown into the metal sink.