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ELISEO
I HADN'T SEEN NONNO AND NONNA IN A LITTLE OVER FIVE YEARS AND WITH GOOD REASON.
My father's adopted parents were hell raisers. They only crawled out of their cave in Sicily to rain mayhem or to brew an unforeseen storm where all was calm.
Till about the age of ten, my brain was filled with what I assumed was loving and nurturing memories of my grandparent and it was only when I passed the age of innocence, when I finally realised that my grandparents were the villains and not the heroes.
"Perché?"
Why? Why!
I threw one punch. Then another. A repeated rhythm.
I'd been feeling very irritable for the past two weeks and only I knew why. Pent up sexual frustration. Punch. Press and too much paper work. Punch. Punch. Swamped with college assignments. Punch. Punch. Punch.
"They've already landed," Romeo watched me wearily from the entrance of our very own home-built gym, his buff arms crossed over his chest defensively, "Sergio has gone to pick them up. Give it an hour or two and they will probably be here."
I swung even harder.
Cazzo. Fuck me.
"Did they tell you why?" The question slipped out of my lips in disdain, misery creeping in the more I thought of all the reasons why they could be paying us a sudden visit.
My grandparents rarely left Italy because they hated anywhere that wasn't Europe. More than anything, my grandparents also absolutely despised America and had even claimed years ago after their last visit that the air here had tasted 'stale' and 'foul'.
So why the hell were they flying out on a plane to come and stay in this state for a week?
No doubt the scheming pair had a motive in mind and I wanted no part of it.
"Of course they didn't tell me why," Romeo replied plainly, "Why would they?"
My grandparents were also fond of surprises, dropping bombs on people when they expected it least.
Almost too literally.
"Does Turgenev know?" I persisted further.
The more I thought about it, the more I dreaded it. It was always better knowing they were on one side of the world while we were on the other. Away from them. Safe from them.
"He knows everything." Was Romeo's easy response to my question.
Romeo was probably right. The Russian had been watching us like a hawk, monitoring our every move in case of a slip up. If he'd heard that the nonni were in the city, he would make sure that anything that was about to unravel in their time of visitation would be run by him. There was nobody who hated the two problematic old hags more than he did for reasons than ran thicker than blood.
