Death Do Us Part

I

Gia

A melancholic sense of familiarity washes over me as I recall that this isn't the first time I've sat in a bathroom stall struggling to breathe away the urge to cry, shuddery breaths entering through my mouth and leaving through my nose. That feels so insignificant compared to the breakdown I'm having now, but sixteen year old me still deserves to be excused for reaching her emotional threshold.
She wasn't strong enough to channel the pain of being the last at school to find out her boyfriend was cheating into revenge, and she cared entirely too much what people thought about her.
That was then and this is now. The current me doesn't get the same pass. This version of me fought her ass off to become an impenetrable wall of stolidity and control. How is it, that I attend one of the most competitive and elite fashion schools in the country, and I can't handle a little shit talking from snooty bitches I've never met?
To aid in my comfort, I imagine myself sprinting back downstairs to the hotel kitchen, swiping the sharpest knife I can find, and slipping out into the parking to pop the tires of all the women I heard say even a vaguely negative word about me. They'd surely deserve it, and it makes me smile to think of them desperately searching the parking lot for the culprit.
     I wouldn't even know which cars belonged to them, but maybe it would still be satisfying to slash tires at random, if only to provide myself some relief from the swirling emotions.
Those bitches are lucky that sixteen year old Giada Castellucci isn't here, because being an emotional basket case only fueled her insane methods of getting even, but I can't afford to be so reckless these days. I've got too much to lose.
The acceptance of defeat feels like a physical lump in my throat that gives the sensation of choking. I inhale deeply through my nose, pools of moisture collecting in the corners of my eyes as I swallow it down, reminding myself that it can only destroy me if I let it.
Would those women have been so crass and cruel if they'd known I was standing just on the other side of the open balcony window where they puffed on their cigarettes, gossiping and cackling like witches. Would their faces have gone red had I yanked open the curtain and revealed myself eavesdropping on their conversation about me.
Their words ring fresh in my head, each sentence more sickening than the last. I can't put into words my reasoning for standing there and putting myself through that, but I couldn't bring myself to walk away. I just had to hear what all they had to say.
     "That's her? That's the girl ending a twenty year rivalry between the Zanotti's and the Castellucci's'? She's miserable looking."
     "She looks like a Zombie," another woman agrees. Clouds of cigarette smoke are blown into the air, accompanied by mumbled agreements.
"Here I am expecting Helen of fucking Troy."
"Wouldn't you be miserable if your fiancé was nearly two hours late to your engagement party? She's got to be embarrassed that she doesn't have a ring yet. Lord knows I'd be embarrassed."
"I heard they haven't even met yet," one girl muses, taking an obnoxious slurp of her cocktail.
This is the point when I wanted to leave, to back away from that window and pretend I hadn't heard any of that, but my stomach felt too heavy to move, my feet like leaded weights pinning me to the spot.
"My cousin Gracie's engagement was just like that," another girl chimed in. "The man had a ring bought before he'd ever laid eyes on her."
A bitter taste fills the back of my throat, and what better way to wash down that taste than with the champagne I snagged from the hotel kitchens. I note how expensive it looks as I twist off the metal wiring binding the cork to the bottle, and let that thought comfort me. When hotel staff realizes this is missing, I can only hope they will bill it to my fiancé to be. Not that it would even put a dent in his pretty little bank account, but I'd still have the satisfaction of knowing what I did. With all that I love and cherish hanging in the balance of my behavior, I've had to resort to petty methods of satisfaction.
The cork is persistently lodged in the forest green bottle neck, but I've done this enough times to know that it will budge with returned persistence. My thumbs alone aren't strong enough, so I fumble in my purse for the pocket knife Enzo gave me.
The blade does the trick, bubbles hissing at me as the piece of wood sealing the bottle is pried open with a loud pop. The cork flies a few feet into the air before falling to the floor with a dull thud and rolling away.
     I pause, listening for sounds of life. I hadn't checked to make sure the bathroom was empty when I came scrambling in here, but I take the silence as a sign that I'm alone.
Tilting my head back, I waterfall the bubbly liquid into my mouth. It's really sweet and light, obviously a lot more well crafted than the cheap shit I'm used to chugging in my apartment with my friends before a night out.
I let the flavor sit on my tongue while I'm still sober enough to taste it, before filling my mouth again. I plan to get as tipsy as I can before someone comes to find me, and I have to go back out and face a party full of people who all know that my future marriage is a sham.
Well, all but a few people perhaps. There was one girl who made an attempt to stick up for me outside.
"I don't think their marriage is like your cousin Gracie's," she'd waited her turn to interject. "They've already met."
"And how would you know that?" The obvious leader of the cackling hyenas countered.
"Because my husband works closely with Dom. They met last fall when she was home on Thanksgiving break. He visits her at school in California all the time."
"Bullshit. Everyone knows Dom doesn't leave the East coast for anything but business. Certainly not for a woman. I hear he's being forced into the engagement by his family."
"And how would you know that?" My protector demands, mirroring the ring leaders earlier words.
"You think your the only one who's man tells you secrets? Please honey. I have ways of finding out what I want to know too, and I know Domenico Zanotti would never put a ring on a woman's finger unless it was out of obligation to his family."
It probably wouldn't have even hurt me if it wasn't all true, every bit of it.
A week ago, I flew back to the East coast for Spring Break. My parents expect Enzo and I home for ever major holiday, so it wasn't like I was blindsided by the trip, but halfway through the flight I got this awful weighty feeling in the pit of my stomach. My cousin was being peculiar and distant, and before we'd even landed, I'd surmised that something weird was going on, something I hadn't yet been clued in on.
Imagine my fucking surprise when I came back to the news that this semester at my school would be my last, that I'd be returning here this summer to prepare for a wedding... my wedding.
The reality of my life would make for a hilarious sitcom if it wasn't so fucking tragic. I'm guzzling champagne in a bathroom stall, working so hard not to cry and smear my makeup that it feels like I'm popping a blood vessel in my brain. Someone must have tucked themselves away in here for a smoke, because it reeks of nicotine.
My dress has a built in corset that is both digging into my ribs and abdomen, and cutting off a good portion of my air supply. I have no ring even though I'm set to get married at the end of the summer, and I've never even seen the man I'll be tied to for eternity, until death do us part.
     Half of the champagne bottle has been emptied by the time my head starts swimming, but it's still not enough to drown out the dialogue playing on a loop in my head, so I keep throwing back huge gulps.
     I've never finished a bottle of champagne to myself before, but I enjoy a challenge, and if my fiancé can show up hours late to our engagement party, why shouldn't I be able to get piss drunk? This whole thing is a big fucking joke anyway, one where the punch line is delivered at my expense.
     The hinges on the bathroom door screech as it flies open, heels clicking quickly against the tiled floor. Whoever it is is moving fast. I choke on the stream of alcohol cascading down my throat. The remaining liquid in the bottle sloshes around as I rest it my lap.
     "Gigi!" Someone hisses. "Are you in here?" My eyes roll violently to the back of my head. Of course they'd send Eva to look for me. My mom and dad are playing gracious host, and trying to save face with the guests because their future son in law appears to be missing in action.
     Her clicking heels come to a halt right in front of my hideout spot, and I swallow down the champagne I was holding in my mouth. She bangs on the door, so hard she rattles the hinges and the metal lock.
     "Gigi I know you're in there. What the hell are you doing wasting time in here?"
     "It is a bathroom. I'm peeing!"
     "Sounds like it."
     "Sorry you missed the stream. I was just finishing up. Can I do this in privacy?"
     "Are you smoking in here! You can't smoke in here!"
     "I don't smoke Eva!" She  raps her fist against the door again, sending angry shudders down my spine.
     "Well hurry the hell up will you? It reeks in here, and you've been gone too long. Everyone has started to notice. You can't just disappear from your own engagement party."
     Gripping my hand around the bottle tightly, I jerk the door open violently, my sisters deep brown eyes zeroing in on the champagne.
     "Oh so it's okay for him to not show up at all, but I have to smile like a little fairy princess and float around the room and mingle with people I don't give a shit about or even know? The night is ruined anyway."
     "He will be here," she narrows her eyes on me, snatching the bottle from my hand before I can react.
     "I was drinking that."
     "And now you're done drinking it." She scoffs, pouring the remaining liquid down the sink. She  tosses the empty bottle in the trash. "Who told you that you could drink? You're only twenty years old. Last I checked, the drinking age was still twenty one." Eva locks her long fingers around my wrist, the  deep red of her fingernails a perfect shade match to her dress and heels.
     She pulls me along and I stumble behind her, over to the lit up mirrors and a row of sinks. "Giada, you're sweating off your makeup. I worked so hard on this," she whines.
     If my sister hadn't accepted her fate as a full time care taker and baby breeder, she would have been an excellent makeup artist, but I'd never tell her that for fear that the compliment would go right to her head.
     "I'm gonna fix you up, we're gonna go downstairs, sober you up, and avoid mama and papa until the Zanotti's get here. You got it?"
     "Why am I old enough to get married, but drinking is frowned upon? I think if I'm too young for one thing, surely I should be too young for the other."
     "Nice try hun, but women have been getting married young since matrimony was invented. It's nothing new, especially not where we are from." As if I needed reminding that everything about our life is a different.
     "Yeah maybe in ten thousand B.C.," I argue. "It's the twenty first century Eva. Women can be lawyers and doctors."
     "I'm sorry, are you studying to become a doctor?" I want to knock the taunting smile off of her face, so just to resist my urges, I clasp my hands together as she begins dabbing at my face with blotting sheets.
     "I'm finishing my last semester of school and getting a bachelor's degree in less than two months. That's more than you can say. You never even went to college."
     "And why would I need college when I have a family and a husband to provide for me? You're being handed a gift and you don't even want it. Talk about silver spoon, little princess." Eva's eyes narrow to bitter slits.
     "I was doing something meaningful with my life!"
     "You think playing with sewing machines and fabric all day is meaningful?" She scoffs, brushing powder onto my nose. How does she even fit so much makeup into such a small purse?
     "I'll tell you what meaningful is. It's doing your duty, and taking care of your family with class and grace. I do it everyday and I'm happy to do it for the ones I love. You've been gone nearly two years. You've had time to play college girl, now it's time you come home and help end this twenty year blood bath."
     "It's not responsibility," I counter bitterly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep in the rest of what I want to say.
     "You've always been so selfish Gigi! How'd you get to be so goddamn selfish huh? Do you think Tino or Carlo or papa get to be selfish when they risk their lives everyday so their entire family can survive?"
     "Survive?" I choke out a laugh. "Eva we have three vacation homes, a yacht, and over fifteen different family businesses. We are beyond survival. At some point it's just greed."
     "Remind me how much your school tuition was again you little brat? Was it greed then? Was it greed when you cried like a little baby and begged papa and mama to let you go?"
     I'm silenced, swallowing down the bitter pill that is the truth. I suppose I do let my families extreme wealth bother me only when I want it to, unless of course it allows me a convenience, and for that I feel shallow.
     "You know how these things work anyway. You can kick and scream and try to run away all you want, but you can't escape who you are. You don't obey, papa will disown you. I'm not saying it wouldn't break his heart to do it, but how would it look for a man in his position to let you get away with such disrespect? As much as you treat your family like an inconvenience to you, you'd have nothing if you didn't have us. You remember that when you want to be ungrateful."
     Finished attacking my face with a powder brush, she bags all of her beauty products and nods her head for me to move toward the exit. "Let's go. I'm sure he will be here any minute."
     "Great, he'll catch the last fifteen minutes of the party," I mutter sharply.
     "The guests will stay longer I'm sure. The party doesn't start until the groom to be gets here."
     "I wouldn't really call him a groom to be yet." I hold up my empty ring finger as a not so subtle reminder. "I've yet to be proposed to, which hasn't at all been missed by the guests at an engagement party with no engagement ring and no groom!" Our voices echo off of the high ceilings as we find our way back to the third floor ballroom.
     "Relax yourself little sister. I have a very reliable source that tells me his mothers ring had to be flown here from Italy. He was just there for business, so I'm sure retrieving the ring from his mothers estate is what has taken him so long to return to the country."
     "Retrieving? It's a fucking ring? How hard could it be to get? And how is it that everyone knows more about my fiancé than I do?" I've said and thought the word Fiancé too many times since I've been home this week, and each time it feels like it's burning the back of my throat. I can't be someone's wife. I can't even cook or drive.
"What the hell does this guy even look like?"
     She grins at me for the first time tonight, and possibly the first time since I've been home, save for the tight lipped smile and loose hug she gave me at my arrival dinner.
     "If you'd taken an interest in asking about him instead of bitching all week, you'd know that he's very handsome. Like jaw dropping handsome. All of the Zanotti's are... the smug bastards." She mumbles the last part under her breath.
    That doesn't impress me in the slightest. The world is full of attractive men. I just flew home from the coast with some of the most attractive people on earth. You can throw a rock anywhere in Los Angeles and hit a model. Being good looking doesn't excuse Domenico Zanotti from being two hours late to his own engagement party, nor does it excuse him from being absent earlier this week when he was supposed to meet me for the first time at my families house.
     There was no part of me that was dying to meet him anyway, so I suppose I should be happy that mysterious business he wouldn't disclose with my papa kept him away longer than expected, but now I'm just annoyed.
     No one has ever stood me up before, and now this asshole has done it twice. I'll do everything I can to get this engagement called off, but in the likely event that I can't, I will make his life as my husband his worst version of hell.
     "Can we just give everyone their stupid cupcakes and send them all home? He didn't show up to the house on Tuesday. He's not coming now."
     "Pessimism isn't one of your better qualities." We are both lightly winded from the two flights of stairs we took up.
     Of course the elevator doors had to be down for maintenance tonight of all nights. "Mama and I spent a lot of time and effort to make this night perfect so do you think you could just smile and- what the fuck?" I follow the line of her panicked expression to ballroom doors, where guests are starting to trickle out into the wide hallway.
     "I don't know why I didn't think to place a bet with you. You would have taken it. I was so sure I was right, and now we can both see that I was."
     "Shut up Gigi," she fumes beside me. My mother stands smiling brightly by the exit, ushering guests out and graciously thanking them for coming.
     An older couple teeter their way toward us, the balding man grumbling about the no running elevator situation.
     The woman's eyes are trained on me. She wears an eggshell blue blazer, matching knee length skirt, and stockings with a rip running up the knee. She eyes me with what can't be mistaken for anything but sympathy. She attempts a smile and takes my hands in hers when she reaches me.
     I don't recall meeting her, but I was on the verge of a panic attack when I got here, and struggling to adjust to my new breathing capacity thanks to the most uncomfortable, restrictive dress I've ever worn. At least it's stunning.
     Upon arrival, the nervous energy I've carried with me all day went into overdrive, and the next hour became a flurry of faces, handshakes, and courteous kisses on the cheek. I could hardly keep track of the names and introductions of the first five people I met, so I just stopped paying attention and went through the motions after that. I guess I earned my right be compared to a zombie.
     "Congratulations again my dear. It was so lovely to meet you. Will you be doing a bridal shower?" All I can do is muster a faint smile. I have no idea what you even do at a bridal shower, if I'll have one, or when that will be.
     "She will. It's all in the calendar." My sister answers for me. "Who needs a wedding planner when you have family right?" They join in a chorus of laughter. "It was so lovely meeting you, Angela and Thomas. Take care. We'll be seeing you on Easter Sunday I'm sure."
I'd almost forgotten that all of the Zanotti's were extended an invitation to our church for Easter, though I don't think many of them will come. Italian Catholics are very partial to their places of worship, in their neighborhoods. Even if they weren't creatures of pride and habit, our families hate each other worse than the Montegues and the Capulets.
They are still learning to force themselves to get over their natural born instincts to rip each other to shreds. I can't see them being eager to celebrate holidays together anytime soon.
     Angela is still holding my hands, and it's with great restraint that I don't rip mine out of her grasp. I don't want anyone touching or grabbing me for the rest of the night, but that would be impolite of me, and it would give Eva a reason to yap in my ear about making a good impression for the rest of the night, so I let her hold my hands.
     "Don't be too hard on my nephew for not making it tonight. I'm sure he had a good reason." She pats the back of my hands and leaves me with a trail of her Chanel perfume burning my nose. What is it with rich old ladies and Chanel?
Your nephew is getting my foot up his ass lady. Have a good night.
     A flash of curly hair passes my peripheral vision, a phone screen illuminating a face that would be identical to mine were the features not so masculine. My younger brother is probably the person I've missed most since I've been away at school, and I never thought I'd be one of those sisters who got emotional at her little brother growing up, but it's been difficult not to let my eyes well up with tears every time I look at him.
     "Mom and pop want everyone in that little room in there in five minutes." Luca hardly looks up from his phone or acknowledges that he's speaking to us aside from a very brief, missable flicker of his eyes.
     "What room in where?" Eva calls after him as he strolls past us like we were just a passing thought, a small stop along his journey. Knowing my little brother, that journey is taking him to any dark corner of the building where he won't be caught smoking a joint.
     "The room with the flowers and balloons." The annoyed edge to his tone is unmissable, even over the hum of the departing guests.
     "Where the hell are you going?" Eva's narrowed gaze hits his back.
     "When they said everyone, they didn't mean me." We catch a flash of his sly grin over his shoulder before he slips through an exit to the balcony overlooking the front of the hotel.
     Of course he would have an excuse to be excluded from whatever family meeting is being assembled in the dressing room. He's only fifteen. He doesn't need to be involved in the family drama. Up until a few years ago, I had the same luxury, but once you become an adult, you're thrust into the reality of what it means to be a Castellucci.
     "Let's go." Eva attempts to tug me along like her little pet once more.
     "Stop touching me." I yank my hand from her grip. "Your touching privileges are revoked.... For the end of my life or your life, or whichever comes first."
     "You'll make a great wife," she says sardonically. "Why are you always in such a foul mood?" Her face twists up in disgust, and I wish it didn't pain me as much as it does that even if I explained everything I was feeling, she'd never understand.
She's lucky. She was actually romantically interested in her husband before they married. It was just coincidental that her then boyfriend Carlo Fumagalli's family was already established in weapon trading, and had access to routes and resources our family found useful.
     "Should I be in a good mood when I'm being traded like property?"
     "Oh don't be dramatic. I'm not arguing with you anymore tonight. Can you manage to keep your mouth closed?"
     I flip her off, a move that has my mother scurrying over to shield the crude symbol from the few remaining guests.
     "Giada Capri Castellucci," she hisses. "There are guests here. You keep your hand signs to yourself." She points over her shoulder. "Let's go girls, now. Your papa is waiting for us."
     Manicured hands against mine and Eva's backs, my mother ushers us through the now nearly empty ballroom. Her anxiety seems to transfer from the palm of her hands to me, which sucks because I was already feeling a lot of my own.
     That coupled with the way the room is starting to spin makes my legs feel like they might give out under me. I probably should have cooled it on the champagne.
     A group of about five or so women trail behind, loaded glances and smirks shot in my direction. These must be the trash talking tramps that hid in the shadows of the balcony while they spit on my name.
They wave to me, almost in unison, and I shudder at the sheer creepiness of their copycat behavior. They are all dressed alike, wearing gowns in similar styles but different colors.
     "Thank you so much for having us ladies. We are so sorry the night ended on such a sour note, but congratulations on your upcoming wedding sweetheart. We hope to see invites in the mail soon." I recognize the syrupy sweet voice as the leader of the tramps.
Bitch.
     My hand twitches at my side. If I let it have a mind if it's own, it would send them another crude hand sign, but there is enough tension in the air as it is, and I don't want to give my poor mother  a heart attack, so I settle for the satisfaction of pretending they don't exist.
     The three of us approach the dressing room, and even through the closed door we can hear muffled yelling. Mama pushes the door open and the scene before us is chaos. My father is red in the face, looking as though he might collapse. He clutches at his chest as my brother rolls around the room like a bulldozer, pushing over, throwing, and kicking anything in his path.
     "This is fucking bullshit! This is bullshit pop! He pulled this shit once already and now we're letting him do it again, on what should be one of the  most special  nights of my little sisters life! Fuck him! Fuck him and his lazy cock eyed father for letting him behave like an ape!"
     "Santino enough!" My mom raises her voice a few octaves higher than we are all used to. She's normally very calm and collected. "Sit down somewhere before you get us permanently kicked out of here. Gesù Cristo, you are behaving like an ape. Look at your father! He can't handle all of this chaos in his condition."
     My mothers flowing gown trails behind her as she rushes to her husbands side, lowering him into one of the chairs behind him. "Sit my love. You need to relax."
     "Stop hovering Elisa, I'm not in any condition," he insists, though the cocktail of medication he will be taking at home tonight, and the ones he will take when he wakes up in the morning, beg to differ. "I'm fine. I'm just fed up with this kid. What's with these young kids these days? Non hanno rispetto!"
     "Respect has to be taught," Tino chimes back in. "We keep letting him get away with shit like this and he will never respect us, let alone care if we respect him back, and I won't stand for that. Tell him you take back your blessing. Don't let him marry her."
     "Tino calm down. You're acting like maniac," Eva rolls her eyes.
     My brother rushes over to me like he's got wheels strapped to his feet, a fire in his eye that's only present when he's really worked up. He puts one hand on my shoulder and fixes me with a serious gaze, like he's about to drop life altering knowledge on me.
     "When he grows the balls to finally ask you to marry him like man Gigi, you tell him to go fuck himself."
     "Watch your mouth in front of the girls," my mom warns.
     "You know we can't do that Tino. Everything is..." my father exchanges a glance with my brother that's loaded with meaning I'm not allowed to understand. "It's too late for us to go back now. It would only insult them and start something none of us are ready to deal with right now. Just let it be and let me decide how to deal with this."
     "Are you though? Are you going to deal with this or are you just going to brush it off like you did earlier this week? Prior obligations my ass! He's probably partying with his boys somewhere. He claims his plane landed here this morning, yet he's nowhere to be fucking found?"
     Tucking a cigarette between his lips, Tino makes a show of looking around for the supposed man of the hour. "I don't see him. Eva do you see him? Gigi, do you see this fuckwad anywhere?"
     Exhaustion settles over me. I don't feel quite right, and it might have something to do with the bottle of champagne I would have finished had my sister not stopped me. I glance around the room briefly, humoring him.
     "I wouldn't know who I'm looking for. I've never fucking met the guy."
     "Gigi don't swear," both of my parents say together.
     "Never even fucking met the guy!" Tino echos. "You wanna know what? I've met the guy and he's a fucking scumbag."
     "I don't want to hear your mouth anymore. You're spouting nonsense! If you can't be calm then leave." My dad wheezes in his attempt to assert himself. He's developed some breathing problems this last year, problems that sound like they have gotten worse since I was home for Thanksgiving.
     "Cara Mia, come sit down." My father motions for  me to sit by his side. He's been avoiding me since he dropped the news in my lap that he's basically selling me.
     "It's fine papa, you don't have to explain anything to me. He's not coming... again. I don't care."
     "He wanted so badly to come. His father called, says something really urgent came up and that he would explain as soon as possible. I have no reason not to trust him."
Yeah... no reason aside from the fact that our families have been warring and killing each other since before I was born, all over territory and god knows what else.
     "He is soon to be our family, so I trust him. I'm sure his reason is as good as he says." My mother says this has if she believes it with her whole heart.
     "These things happen Gigi," my sister agrees. "He's a busy man and sometimes he can't pass down his duties to other people. He's the underboss."
All of them have put in their two cents, and I'm the only one that has nothing to say on the topic.
     "Can I go home and go to bed now?"
     "Yes, that's a great idea," my father nods, rising slowly from his seat. "Let's all go home and go to bed. It's been a long day, and I think we could all use some time to rest." I'm glad he agrees with at least one thing I've said tonight.
     My brother doesn't look ready for bed at all. He looks ready for murder, ignoring my moms disapproving look as she collects her purse and passes him. My sister follows suit.
     "I'll be by tomorrow for breakfast Gigi," Eva tells me. "I'll bring some of my bridal magazines. Summer weddings are really popular, so you should get a jump on dress hunting before the bridal stores get raided."
     "I'm sorry cara," my dad kisses my cheek, holding my face in his large hands. "This night wasn't supposed to go like this, but I want you to know that I will put him in his place. He will make this right."
     "I'm sure you will papa." I'm too tired for fake smiles.
     "Cool down Santino," my father trails his stern gaze to my brother. "I expect you'll have a level head when I see you tomorrow. Don't smoke that in here." He plucks the cigarette from Tino's hand just as he's about to light it, and the nicotine smell in the bathroom suddenly clicks. I saw the date Tino brought with him slipping out to the bathroom right as desserts were being brought out. She was gone for a while , and then Tino disappeared as well.
     "I told you this was a bad idea." Tino fumes, hands clenched at his sides.
     "And I told you that it's not your job to make decisions for this family. That responsibility still rests with me until I'm in the grave son. Remember your place, and clean this shit up before you leave." My mom waits for my dad at the door, draping her arm around him when he reaches her.
     "Where the hell is Luca? I need a joint," Santino grumbles, rolling his shoulders.
     "What did you just say?" My mother appears back in the doorframe just as quickly as she left, like an apparition.
     "I said where's Luca, he's been gone all night?" Tino covers smoothly.