Queen of Secrets, page 26
The sound of car horns flooded my ears.
My body jerked right to left. Oncoming car lights flashed, stinging my dazed vision.
“Fuck. Get up, get up, God damn it,” Rose screamed and swerved.
“Wha-what’s going on?” I mumbled, half awake.
“Oh shit,” Rose yelled. “Light me a cigarette, quick. I must have fallen asleep at the wheel.” Her face looked as white as a ghost.
I reached in the glove box for her smokes and lit her a cigarette. She took a deep drag and slapped her face a few times. As smoke enveloped the car, the lights and noise of a siren came from behind us.
“Fuck. We’re gettin’ pulled over,” she yelled and grabbed for her purse. “Here. My gun’s in there. Don’t get it out now. Just keep it by your feet. If anything gets crazy, shoot him in the head.”
“In the head? What? Are you fucking kidding me? You shouldn’t have been driving. We should have stayed the night somewhere. Jesus Christ,” I yelled through a dry throat.
Rose gave me a dirty look and stopped the car. My heart pounded. I looked in the side mirror to give myself a once-over. Veins in my neck popped through my skin, and my hands dripped with sweat. How would I be able to shoot the gun if it slipped out of my hand? Rose inspected herself in the rearview mirror. She pulled the ashy cigarette from her mouth and licked her red-stained lips.
The officer came up along the driver’s side door and eyed Rose’s car. “License and registration, please,” he said. “I noticed that you had trouble staying between the lines. You okay, miss?”
“Oh, yes, Officer, yes,” she said as she pulled out her paperwork from the glove compartment and handed it to him.
“And New York plates? What are you two fine ladies doing so far away from home?” he asked while looking inside the car. Thank God for the blanket that draped over the back seat.
“Officer,” I said with a smile, trying to be convincing. “About a week ago, she got a letter that her brother died in the war. His plane was shot down.”
To follow the act, Rose put on the fake tears and began to cry.
“And we just came back from the funeral. You can see, she’s still real shaken up. Why don’t you let me drive, Rose?”
“I have a few cousins stationed in the navy right now. It’s some crazy times for our country. Hey, look, I understand. Why don’t you take the next shift for this young lady so she can calm down? I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” He handed back her license.
We both got out of the car and switched seats. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sorry to have done that. It’s just I’ve been so shaken up about the whole thing, really,” Rose managed to get out.
“No problem. You be careful now.”
“Yes, thanks, Officer,” I said, smiling back at him.
I started the car and got back onto the highway.
After a few miles of awkward silence, Rose lost it. Like a flick of a switch, she became unhinged. She punched the dashboard and stomped the floor so hard that she accidently kicked her purse.
The gun went off.
Bang!
The sound rang through me and shook my insides. I pulled off the highway and slammed on the brakes. Smoke from the tires clouded around us. She’d shot a hole right through the floor of the car.
“Look at what you did,” I screamed at her. “You could’ve killed us. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I hate those fucking pigs. They think they’re gonna get me? The fuck they are. You should have shot him, Vi,” she said with burning eyes. “You should have shot him right in the head and let that pig bleed all over the God damn highway. Ah. I ain’t neva going to prison again. Neva,” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Shoot a cop? Are you fucking crazy? You’re lucky I got us out of it. You didn’t say shit! What if you’ve damaged the engine? Then what, huh? You think I’m gonna hitchhike home or, better yet, call Frank to come get me? He’ll kill us both!”
“Pop the fuckin’ hood,” Rose belted out, then went to check the engine.
I sat, thinking of excuses to tell Frank when she shut the hood and came back to the passenger’s side.
“The bullet didn’t touch the engine or the tires. We’re fine.”
“How do you know?” I asked coldly.
“I used to screw a mechanic. That’s how. Let’s get the hell outta here before another cop comes. This time I will shoot,” she said, then lit a cigarette.
To test the car, I pushed down on the accelerator, and we lurched forward. I took a deep breath, eased back on the highway, and made my way home.
We didn’t talk much on the ride back. Her violent outburst made things strange between us. We both wanted to be rid of each other. To pursue any unwanted conversation seemed pointless. I’d drive and then once she was coherent enough, she’d drive. We only stopped for coffee and gas a few times. We drove cautiously to avoid unwanted attention from the cops. Any more prolonged time with these drugs in the car could mean further entanglement with the law. So, we drove with purpose.
We arrived before dawn. Luckily, Frank’s car wasn’t there. If he had seen us, he would’ve been furious. It would have cost me a beating and who-knows-what for Rose. I wanted to get out of that car and into my house. Away from Rose, away from it all. To avoid any more awkward exchanges between us, I scooped up my stuff from the front seat and slammed the car door.
“Hey, you better not tell nobody. I’ll fucking come for you,” she said in a clipped tone. She got out, walked to the trunk, and threw my suitcase at me.
As she got back into the driver’s seat, I charged her, stood over her window, and looked her straight in the eye. “Is that a threat? I just saved your ass.” Angry spit flew out of my mouth and onto her face.
She lit another cigarette and blew the smoke right back into my face.
“You just better not say nothin’. Look, I’m sorry. Yeah, yeah, I owe you one.”
“I’ll never do this again, Rose. Ever. There’s something wrong with you. You’re crazy,” I belted out.
She looked back at me like she knew what I said was true but didn’t have the balls to admit it to herself, much less to me. The truth of it was in the air between us now, lingering, ready to sting her to the core.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll call you tomorra,” she said unapologetically.
“No. Just leave me alone! Never call me again. I have enough problems. Keep the money. I don’t want it.” I searched frantically for my keys.
She screeched out of my driveway onto the street. She was on her way to deliver the stuff to whomever, wherever. I didn’t care. I never wanted to see her again. To think that I might have killed a police officer. What would that have meant for my life?
It was one thing to be married to a gangster. It was an entirely different thing to live like one. The more I thought about Rose, the more I was convinced she was crazy. Her need for power would always be a motivation to stay in this life, but with the way things went for her, I didn’t know how much longer she’d stay alive. After what I’d witnessed, I was done playing with fire. These were dangerous games. As I unlocked the front door, I was absolutely sure of two things: my luck had run out a long time ago, and roses always have thorns.
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As Rose’s tires screeched down my street, I yanked my purse off my shoulder and tossed it on the stairs. Suitcase in hand, I threw it into the garage and slammed the door without taking out a single thing to wash, then paced the living room.
“Never again,” I said as my footprints burned holes in the carpet.
Happy that Frank wasn’t home yet, I took a deep breath. I was in no mood for an argument or to be interrogated. Nor was I about to whip up something to eat for my master. No. I was too angry to wait on anyone.
Frank would fly off the handle if he knew some Cuban drug lord tried to have sex with me, that I was involved in a drug deal, and almost shot a cop. He’d never want that kind of heat. It was one thing to kill other members in various families and rats, but gunning down a policeman in broad daylight was on a whole new level. Not to mention the problem such an event would cause between him and Jimmy. Jimmy was loyal to Frank, and vice versa, but not at the expense of his future family. I was done trusting women outside my family.
Jumbled up with suppressed thoughts, my hands curled up into balls. “God damn you, Rose,” I yelled, then punched the pillows on the couch.
After a few minutes of screaming and pounding furniture, I’d used up all my energy. Adrenaline left my body hollow and limp. As long as I never saw Rose again, I’d shelve the whole thing in my mind. Case closed. Time to move on.
Shaky from the drugs and the adrenaline, I needed to decompress. I marched upstairs and turned on the shower. I wanted to get the smell of the day’s events off my body. I hoped the water would wash away any wrongdoing.
After the shower, I felt relaxed and more in control. I came downstairs to get a drink of water and tripped on my purse.
“God damn it,” I yelled.
I bent down, snatched up my purse, and found a piece of newspaper. In my anger, I must have inadvertently shoved it in my purse when I gathered my things. I remember Rose blotting her lips with it before we went into the Cuban’s house. Ready to toss it in the kitchen trash, I caught a glimpse of a man standing in a field full of vines.
Gaetano.
The room spun and my legs wobbled. I fell onto the kitchen floor and drew in big gulps of air. With shaky hands, I read the headline out loud.
“NORTHERN CALIFORNIA’S YOUNGEST WINEMAKER AND CONNOISSEUR IS POURING OUT SUCCESS IN CALIFORNIA’S NAPA VALLEY”
There he was—the man of my dreams. The only man I’d ever loved. The man who represented my innocence. My Guy. He looked as handsome as ever, holding a bottle of his wine and smiling my favorite crooked smile. And it was more than his physical self. He looked regal, like a true businessman. He was now an entrepreneur in one of the biggest industries in the country.
He’d cut his hair. It made him look serious and business-like. But those eyes, those same dreamy eyes, stared back at me and into my soul. It seemed as though all my questions were answered in this one picture. He looked happy, living his dream. He’d done what he said he would do. He was no longer the immigrant boy I’d taught to read and write. No. The man on the front page of the newspaper was a boss in every sense of the word.
I took another deep breath and continued to read.
Italian Immigrant Gaetano Sanna, California’s youngest winemaker, is helping to make Northern California a prime vacation destination. Sanna has made his father’s dream a reality. The son of Efrem Sanna has commercialized this new booming industry by creating a place where visitors can taste wine and enjoy a top-of-the-line restaurant and exclusive hotel.
Guests wake to a private tour, which includes learning how to cultivate, produce, and manufacture wine from start to finish.
The restaurant offers some of the best Italian cuisine in the Bay area, serving everything from breakfast to dinner with only the finest ingredients.
Sanna intends to build a swimming pool and a spa for his future guests to rest, relax, and enjoy themselves while sipping on some of the finest wines in the country.
“I want people to taste the wine and enjoy themselves. I want this winery to serve as a place of love and commitment to community,” says Sanna.
Sanna wants to make the wine country a place, not just for wine aficionados to visit, but for lovers to come on their honeymoons and for families to enjoy. He thinks with the future amenities, like the Olympic-sized swimming pool and spa, the hotel and restaurant will attract more guests.
When asked what motivated him to become a pioneer in this market, he replied, “My father helped, of course, but someone special encouraged me along the way, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Il mio sole, la mia vita. My sun, my life.”
When pressed on who that someone was, Sanna would not comment further. With summer coming, he is open for business.
My ears rang, and I hyperventilated. For fear of passing out, I put my head between my knees. I was sure Gaetano meant me. I was his sun. In my heart, this meant he still loved me. This was his way of sending me a message. How could I tell him I still loved him? Did that even matter anymore? What could I do? Our lives had moved so far apart and not just geographically.
I held the newspaper close to my heart and prayed. This article was God’s way of showing me there were no coincidences in life. There was a reason why I’d accidentally grabbed that piece of newspaper out of Rose’s car and why it fell into my hands. Divine intervention.
With my new understanding and reaffirmed faith, my mind and body went into overload. When I looked back at what I’d been through the past few days—from sipping drinks on a beautiful beach to almost shooting a cop and back to this—this article reminded me of a past I’d worked so hard to forget. A feeling of disgust came over me so strong that I dropped the newspaper and ran to the bathroom to throw up.
After purging bad decisions and sad memories, I went to the kitchen, picked up the article, and hid it in a place Frank wouldn’t think to look—a box of sanitary napkins.
I didn’t belong here. With no real friends, Frank always gone, and no connection to his family, I was right back where I started almost two years earlier—trapped and alone.
With every stride I paced, I planned a way out. I always came back to the same conclusion. I’d never be away from this life. Only if Frank were killed or put in jail would I be free. I didn’t love Frank, but he provided for me. Was financial support enough to stay committed to a loveless marriage for the rest of my life? My gaze crumbled, and I dropped to my knees.
The answer was no.
About a month later, Rose got busted for a petty crime. Turns out she had a few priors, so they gave her six months. Jimmy was heartbroken and asked if I would write to her and talk some sense into her. I told him I didn’t want to get involved. Truth was, no amount of words would change Rose.
On top of that, a war brewed between the families. The Sambino family was angry at the Molananos for the Cantoni rap. With news of the bank robberies and Officer Tewey’s accusations into the overall business, word on the street was that Frank had gotten careless. The cover-up, the robberies, and the impending investigation meant heat for everyone. It slowed business, and no one liked that.
The Molanano and Sambino families had worked together in the past, but this was the second time Frank was close to being pinched. To the mob, that looked sloppy—just as Officer Tewey said. The mob might warn once, but not twice. They get rid of loose ends, no matter whose son you are.
Frank’s father told the Don about what had happened with the robberies and the cop. Don Molanano said he’d arrange a meeting with the Sambinos to mend fences. But Frank said there was always a chance that when he and his father went in, they might not come out.
The war put Frank on edge as the day of the meeting got closer. We fought every day. And when we weren’t fighting, he took out his anxiety in other ways, which often involved rough sex mixed with booze. Almost every day, I lathered myself with makeup to cover the bruises. I was too embarrassed to look at myself in the mirror.
To escape the pain, I took pills. One in the morning and one at night seemed to help me cope with all the problems. When I wasn’t calming Frank down, I worried for my family back home. I wanted to crawl into a ball and throw the covers over my head. And I did that a lot.
I was most nervous the day of the sit-down because, like the feds, the families kept an eye on us. They looked for patterns. They knew when I went to the store, and they knew when and where to attack. And since they knew where Frank and his father would be that day, they might try to do a hit on him in transport. Not knowing if they were gonna shoot up the house, I prayed I wouldn’t have to pay a life-or-death consequence for one of Frank’s mistakes. My hands shook as I drank my coffee.
“Calm down.” Frank took my coffee cup from my hands to set it down. He offered an awkward hug, then said, “It’s gonna be all right. I won’t let them hurt you. Jimmy and the guys are gonna come over ere, and if that Sambino son of a bitch really wants a war, then we’ll give him one.” He finished tying his tie. “If things get really bad, I’ve made arrangements for you to get back to California.”
For a split second, I thought about Frank being shot and there was no feeling. His death only represented a way out. “Well, be careful,” I mumbled, then dropped my eyes from his gaze.
Jimmy and his guys showed up. With a kiss on the cheek, Frank went out the front door. The guys came prepared—all of them with guns. One guy in the back had a tommy gun, in case some son of a bitch tried to jump the fence.
During this whole ordeal, I hadn’t been feeling well. I blamed the stress and weaning myself off the pills. With no energy and a constant foggy brain, I needed to be clear-minded if anything were to happen. But after a day or two of not taking the pills, I got the shakes and felt sick to my stomach.
While I detoxed, the guys took shifts eating and patrolling. Before Frank left, he asked me to feed the guys. I made trays of food while they protected me and our home.
“Hey, the lasagna’s great, Vi. And the sausage and peppas . . . maronn,” Jimmy said as he continued to stuff his face.
“Thanks, Jimmy. Is it okay if I open a window in here? The smell of the garlic is making me feel sick for some reason.”
“Yeah, sure, but only the ones that look out to the backyard,” Jimmy said and wiped the sauce off his face. “Hey, have you had the chance to write to Rosie yet? She’s homesick, poor kid. I miss her a lot.”
“Sorry, no, Jimmy, I haven’t. With everything that’s gone on lately, I’ve been too worried to write.”
“Yeah, fucking Sambino pieces of shit. They want a war, we’ll give ’em a war.” He grabbed for his gun.
I sat at the kitchen table and stared at him. I knew he was heartbroken, but it made him look weak and pathetic, even with his gun at his side. Rose didn’t love him and the second she got out of jail, she’d make her move. I just didn’t have the heart to tell him.
