I’d feel better if it was a slam.
The disapproval on Rosa’s face just makes me feel worse. “What are you looking at, woman?”
“A man making everyone miserable, just because he’s miserable himself.” She shakes her head, muttering more in Italian that I can’t catch.
“If you have something to say, fucking say it.” I sound more dangerous than I ever have when speaking to her, but I don’t regret it. This ismyhouse, for Christ’s sake. I won’t have people disrespecting me in it.
But Rosa is not cowed. She folds her arms, leans back against the counter opposite, and gives it to me. “This might be your house, but you’re doing badly by everyone under your roof. That boy upstairs, Sammy, me—and yourself, too. Get your head screwed on straight.”
“What do you want from me, Rosa? If you wanted a hero, you’re working for the wrong guy.”
Rosa snorts. “It’s true, you’re not a good man. But you’re a better one than this. Sammy adores you. He doesn’t deserve to be insulted for it. And as for that boy upstairs?—”
“He’snot a boy!” I slam my fist down on the counter next to the coffee cup.
Why does everyone insist on calling him that? He’s a grown-ass man who wasn’t able to take care of himself, and he should bethankful he ended up with me, the one fucker in New York City with a legitimate reason to kill him whocan’t.
Rosa leans over, takes my coffee cup away, and dumps it out in the sink. “As for that boy upstairs,” she goes on calmly, “you should be ashamed of yourself. Now get out of here and let me get back to working for you.”
The sarcasm drips off her tongue, and I feel like shit for acting as though she and Sammy are nothing more than staff. The truth is, I would die for them as well. That’s why I’m so mad at being treated like this, spoken to like this, by people who should know me better.
But if I keep going like this, I’ll find myself out of a housekeeper in the next five seconds. I’m pretty sure I’ve reached Rosa’s limit. Vito would probably follow her out the door. And then Sammy.
“I’ll be glad to fucking get out of here,” I tell her. “Tell Vito to pull around front in the car and wait for me there.”
I spend the rest of the day doing the only thing I seem to be good at, which is making people hurt. There are quite a few crews that need encouragement to pull their weight right now, and I’m happy to explain to them the error of their ways.
Once my hands are sore and aching, I can finally think straight again. Rosa was right, even though I don’t want her to be. Having the Clemenza in the house is making me crazy. He belongs in the basement. The sooner he gets better, and the sooner we figure out who’s hunting his line, the sooner I can put him back there.
That means I need to take good care of him over the next few days to hurry things along.
When I get back home in the evening, I head down into the kitchen. Sammy’s there, eating dinner with Rosa, his back to the door. He doesn’t turn even though Vito comes in from the side door and gives me a nod, telling me the car is put away for the night. Rosa stands expectantly, wiping her hands down her apron to smooth it.
“Rosa, I need a tray. Two meals.”
She nods and starts putting it together. As I go past Sammy, I ruffle his hair exactly the way I always do. “You keep out of trouble today?”
He pulls away with a scowl, but I know I’m forgiven when he says, “Always.”
“Good to hear.”
Vito happily sits down to the meal Rosa has kept hot for him, sneaking a peek at her as she bustles around. She pretends to ignore it, but her eyes slide his way when he starts eating. Those two have been circling each other for years now. Maybe one day they’ll get it together. But it’s not my business, and I have enough of my own to take care of.
“Should I send it in the dumbwaiter?” Rosa asks when the tray is ready.
“I’ll take it up myself.”
It’s about as close to an apology as she’s going to get, but the look of approval on her face tells me she’s accepted it. She puts it into my hands and then turns back to fuss over Sammy and Vito.
At least the air’s been cleared downstairs.
Time to face the fog that always comes over me near the Clemenza. I head upstairs slowly, since I don’t want to drop the tray. Slow and steady, up all those flights of stairs, instead of taking the elevator. Gives me a few extra minutes to get my head on straight.
I set the tray down on a side table in the hallway near my room and fish out the door key from my pocket. I’ve kept it with me all day, a reminder of what was waiting for me back home as I beat some sense into my own men.
Big Gee likes to run a tight ship, and I’ve never complained before. Under the old Don, I didn’t get as much of a chance to get my hands dirty. I was proud when Big Gee started calling on me more. Annoyed when Sebastiano called for restraint, if there was any discussion had, since Big Gee ain’t much for discussion. Seb does what he can, but the Boss knows his own mind. I guess that’s why he’s the Boss.
But as I unlock the door and turn back for the tray, see my thick, red knuckles close around the dainty little thing, I wonder for the first time if Seb’s right. Sometimes a beat-down isn’t the best answer. Sometimes you gotta win hearts and minds instead of break bones.