Queen of Secrets, page 32
I rubbed the metal between my fingers. “Can you help me put it on?”
“Yes, after I examine the wound.”
I ground my teeth together as the nurse peeled away the heavy bandage from my forehead.
“It looks nice and clean,” she said, gently probing it.
“That’s good.”
“As a fellow nurse, I’m sure you know the routine. As it heals, it may itch, but try to avoid scratching it so that germs don’t get in.”
“I understand.”
“We’ve called in an antibacterial ointment to help speed up the healing process to your pharmacy along with some anti-anxiety medicine to help you sleep. You’ve been through a serious ordeal.”
“Okay.” I shifted my gaze away from hers as flashbacks flooded my mind.
“If it starts to get red or hot to the touch, make sure to call your primary physician so you can follow up with some oral antibiotics, but overall, it’s healing nicely. You’ll need to make an appointment with your doctor in the next few days to remove the stitches.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll make an appointment.”
She extended her hand to the necklace. I placed it in her palm, then she clasped it behind my neck.
“I want to see my face,” I said as my stomach flipped in circles.
“Okay, I can help you to the bathroom.” She helped me out of bed.
A little woozy, I stepped in front of the mirror. Immediately, tears surfaced. The gash was a good two inches long. It ran above my right eyebrow and hung down toward my temple. Tiny strands of stitching material stuck out from it like hairs on a caterpillar.
I was hideous.
Marcus had taken everything from me. My money, my self-esteem, and now he’d permanently altered my appearance. I’d never look the same. The scar would be a constant reminder of my life with him. No amount of ice or makeup would hide this.
Then Ms. G.’s words rang into my head, loud and clear.
I was a survivor and my time had come.
For once, I was strong.
I’d saved my son.
I lived.
I drew the medal up to my mouth and pressed a kiss. “Thank you, Mrs. Passarelli. I know you were with me that night,” I prayed.
Weeks passed. We settled into our new environment at the ranch. Men worked on the big house. Marcus was in jail, booked on violations from domestic violence to a felony possession of a stolen firearm, assault with a deadly weapon, and kidnapping. We later found out that he was also involved with trying to sell a stolen car. The depths of his problems brought him down in big ways.
With Marcus’s court date a few months away, I was nervous. I felt better knowing that Justice Pasquale Caruso would preside over the case. He was the son of a Paolo Caruso, the man Ms. G. had tended to with the vicious dog bites in her father’s clinic years ago. He’d always promised her a favor for a favor, so she made the call in our defense. Like she’d always said, she had a lot of friends.
My kids adjusted to life on the ranch. Ms. G. showed Leticia how to implement some homeopathic treatments and the power of touch techniques. And when she wasn’t with Leticia, she taught Darnell new card tricks and how to cook, with my supervision, of course. I’d been in talks with a cosmetic surgeon and learned I was up against a few surgeries. I wanted to start the process soon. I tried not to feel sorry for myself and focused on the bond we’d made and how far we’d come.
Standing on this historic land, I peered over at my new home, nestled among the beautiful San Jose foothills. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe.
“Hey, Ms. G., you ready to work in the garden?”
“Yes. It’s time. When the tomatoes are ready, I’ll show you how to can them so we can make the gravy. And one day, God willing, I’ll teach you how to make ravioli.”
She’d forgotten.
“Sounds great,” I said and smiled to keep my chin from quivering, reminded of her need for me and my need and love for her.
As we dug holes, working alongside each other, the sun touched my face, and the wind tickled my arm.
“Perfect kind of day, Ms. G. The sun and wind together.” I smiled at her.
“Yes, it is,” she confirmed, then beamed. She dropped her shovel, shuffled over, and put her arm around me. “Like my father used to say—the best part of this day is that it’s filled with hope and possibilities.” She winked at me.
“Endless possibilities,” I said with hopeful eyes.
We shared a grin, then looked out into the distance.
We were free.
East San Jose Foothills, Giordano Estate
May 2003
Barbara
Ms. G. lay in her bed with her foot propped up on a mound of pillows.
“I ain’t eating that crap.” She pushed aside the pasta I’d made for her. “It ain’t even real sauce. I can tell. You expect me to eat crap from a jar?”
“Well, I’m just happy you had your Life Alert necklace on. But I don’t want you in the yard by yourself. We’ve talked about this.”
“Yeah, yeah, stop treating me like a baby,” she protested.
“You have to eat to take your pain medication.”
“I’m fine. Just an ankle sprain, is all.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.”
“Hey, my godson asked about you the other day when he called to check in on me. You know, he’s a good kid. Comes from good stock,” she said proudly, changing the subject.
“Oh, he did, did he? I can’t get involved, Ms. G. After hearing about you and Frank, how could I get involved with a gangster? Besides, who’d want me now? I have two kids, I am forty-three years old with a ton of baggage, and now this.” I pointed at the huge scar on my forehead.
“You could do a lot worse than Alessandro Sunseri. And from the looks of it, you already have,” she said.
“Thanks a lot,” I muttered, then shook my head at her.
“You’re a smart, attractive young lady. You need to get back out there and give it a shot. And if he doesn’t treat cha good, he’ll have to answer to me. Alex has a past too. When his wife left with the kid, he had to do some soul-searching, just like you’re doing now. I can tell he was taken with you that day at the deli.”
“I don’t know. Not sure I’m ready.” I rubbed at the edges of my scar.
“I wanna show you something. Go in my hope chest. You’ll have to dig for it. It’s a pink box.”
“Okay.” I walked over to the big chest at the end of her bed.
As I dug through the chest, I shuffled artifacts of her life. She had various old records of Frank Sinatra and an old leather briefcase. Once I reached the bottom, I touched what felt like a shoebox and dragged it up.
“This?”
“That’s the one,” she said with big eyes and took it from my hands. She wiped off a little dust and opened it. Inside were some dried flowers and an envelope. She handed it to me. “Take a look for yourself.”
The envelope was yellowed from age. Inside were some pictures and a few letters. First was a black-and-white photo of Ms. G. and Gaetano, standing in front of a big metal fence with a sign that read Antonelli Farms. This was her time picking prunes. Ms. G. looked so young and beautiful. With her hair in a French braid and her tattered overalls, she looked at the camera like her heart was full.
Gaetano stood a good six feet tall. He was beyond handsome, like a Hollywood movie star. His hair was just as she’d described it—soft waves that hung down over his forehead. And his eyes were like none I’d ever seen. Long dark lashes spread over his almond-shaped eyes. They were calm and peaceful. Dreamy, just like she’d said. I turned over the photo. On the back, in Ms. G.’s writing, Antonelli Farms 1939.
Behind that picture in the stack was another picture of the two of them standing in a vineyard. This time, the two young lovers had their arms around each other. Vines surrounded them, and sunlight shined on their faces. I turned the photo over. Sanna Winery 1940.
The last picture in the stack was of the two of them standing side by side in front of a large building with giant pillars. On the back of the picture, it said Rome with my Guy 1947.
Wait . . .
When did she go to Italy? How did I miss this?
“Wait a minute, Ms. G. You never told me that you went to Rome. This can’t be right?”
“What do you mean? Of course, it’s right. Let me see that,” she clipped, then grabbed the picture out of my hands.
“When did you go to Italy with Gaetano? I thought Gaetano met another woman. You said she came to your mother’s funeral and everything. I don’t get it.”
Ms. G. smiled down at her beloved in the picture.
“So, wait a minute. You came back and found Gaetano again?”
“It was after the war when Gaetano Sanna came back into my life. Changed my world forever. Take a seat. You need to hear the rest of the story. It’s one worth telling,” she mused, then smiled fondly at her grape grower.
Word-of-mouth and honest reviews are critical to an author’s success. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at your favorite online retailer.
Thanks for reading Queen of Secrets!
Coming soon . . .
Crown of Confessions
Book 2 in the Mafia Matriarch Series
E.J. Tanda lives in Northern California with her husband and three sons. Growing up, she was surrounded by a large Italian family. With a rich, cultural background guiding her writing, she weaves her heritage throughout her stories. She graduated from Southern New Hampshire University with a degree in English and creative writing. When she isn’t writing, she travels the globe to gain experiences for her next book.
First, I want to thank all the people who supported Queen of Secrets through to its completion. You have been incredibly patient and supportive along the way. I hope you enjoy this story and that it finds a place into your heart pocket.
To my 101-year-old grandmother—my Nani: I love you and hope I did our little story justice. It has been such a gift to have you in my life throughout my writing journey. Thanks for the many phone calls, for telling me the stories of the past, and for sharing your life with me. This story brought us even closer. Because of you, I am a storyteller now too!
To my husband, Eric—my rock: I love you. Thanks for being an extra pair of eyes and for dedicating your afternoon calls to me to help me get this story into shape. And thanks for wiping my tears and building me back up when I didn’t think I could do it.
My boys, Michael Patrick and Justin: let this book serve as a reminder to never give up on your dreams and to stay resilient. Thanks for cheering me on throughout this process. I love you, my silly rabbits.
Dad, thanks for all the “sit-down” convos and for raising me on Godfather movies. Your love and guidance mean the world to me. Mom, thanks for all the unwavering support. You are a great little editor. Love you both very much!
To my sister, Samantha: thanks for all the positive messages and texts on days I wanted to throw my laptop out the window.
To L.A. Mitchell: best writing coach and editor in the world. Thank you for believing in me and for pushing me to make this the best story it could be. I will be forever grateful to you and value our friendship. Just thinking about these last two years and our work together puts a giant lump in my throat. *Visceral goes here* You are awesome!
A huge thank you to all my beta readers who selflessly took time out of their busy lives to read and review Queen of Secrets. You helped make my dreams come true. Michael and Annie Tanda, Bill Zavlaris, Barbara Riggio, Vicki Langone, Mathew Morrone, Marco Di Ianni, Karin Barbaria, Kristie Bender, Kari Schoch, Kevin Gildea, Monet Ortega Kerr, Bob and Linda Langone, Joanne Zavlaris, and last, but definitely not least, to Christine Grissom, for being a fellow team mom, one of my beta readers, and for referring me to L.A. Mitchell. Team moms rock!
Many thanks to my sensitivity readers: Nicole Langone Traoré and Jill Devinny-Peterson. Your input was invaluable. I really appreciate both of you for your support.
Thanks to the creative team at 360 Web Design. Special thanks to Charles Donaldson and Annette Frei. You guys are amazing! I absolutely love what you’ve done with my website and look forward to working with you in the future.
To my proofreader, Emily A. Lawrence: thanks for all your hard work in polishing and refining this story. Such an honor to work with you!
To Tatiana Vila: thank you for all your creative help in making this cover sexy and bad ass! You are a creative genius. Can’t wait to see what you come up with for book two.
Thanks to Stacey Blake for formatting my novel. You did a fabulous job! I will never forget how incredibly understanding you were with my deadline when I was going through some hard times. You are a good human, and I will never forget that.
To Kelly Way: thank you for reviewing my story and for providing your expert legal counsel. And thanks for all the business convos and guidance these past few years. I appreciate you!
To Jonathon and Deanne Watts: thanks for all your help and for handling things so expeditiously. It was a pleasure to work with you both.
And to my street team for your incredible support and enduring enthusiasm. You have been by my side since day one. I’m so blessed to have you all in my life to take this journey with me.
Additional thanks:
To Caroline Leech for creating my style sheet. Thank you for reading the story with a historical lens and for doing such a thorough job. I appreciate all your hard work.
To Migi Oey, who listened to my vision and applied her artistic talents to create fictional logos and a six-scene watercolor portrait that hangs in my office. Every time I look at it, it reminds me of how these pictures in my mind finally came to life through your hands. Thank you!
To Aimee Martello: thank you for your creative expertise and for the graphic design support with the promotional and marketing content.
To anyone suffering from domestic abuse, drug addiction, or thoughts of suicide, I hope this book serves as a beacon of hope and possibility. We share a common bond. Please know that you are never alone.
E.J.Tanda, Queen of Secrets
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“Yes, after I examine the wound.”
I ground my teeth together as the nurse peeled away the heavy bandage from my forehead.
“It looks nice and clean,” she said, gently probing it.
“That’s good.”
“As a fellow nurse, I’m sure you know the routine. As it heals, it may itch, but try to avoid scratching it so that germs don’t get in.”
“I understand.”
“We’ve called in an antibacterial ointment to help speed up the healing process to your pharmacy along with some anti-anxiety medicine to help you sleep. You’ve been through a serious ordeal.”
“Okay.” I shifted my gaze away from hers as flashbacks flooded my mind.
“If it starts to get red or hot to the touch, make sure to call your primary physician so you can follow up with some oral antibiotics, but overall, it’s healing nicely. You’ll need to make an appointment with your doctor in the next few days to remove the stitches.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll make an appointment.”
She extended her hand to the necklace. I placed it in her palm, then she clasped it behind my neck.
“I want to see my face,” I said as my stomach flipped in circles.
“Okay, I can help you to the bathroom.” She helped me out of bed.
A little woozy, I stepped in front of the mirror. Immediately, tears surfaced. The gash was a good two inches long. It ran above my right eyebrow and hung down toward my temple. Tiny strands of stitching material stuck out from it like hairs on a caterpillar.
I was hideous.
Marcus had taken everything from me. My money, my self-esteem, and now he’d permanently altered my appearance. I’d never look the same. The scar would be a constant reminder of my life with him. No amount of ice or makeup would hide this.
Then Ms. G.’s words rang into my head, loud and clear.
I was a survivor and my time had come.
For once, I was strong.
I’d saved my son.
I lived.
I drew the medal up to my mouth and pressed a kiss. “Thank you, Mrs. Passarelli. I know you were with me that night,” I prayed.
Weeks passed. We settled into our new environment at the ranch. Men worked on the big house. Marcus was in jail, booked on violations from domestic violence to a felony possession of a stolen firearm, assault with a deadly weapon, and kidnapping. We later found out that he was also involved with trying to sell a stolen car. The depths of his problems brought him down in big ways.
With Marcus’s court date a few months away, I was nervous. I felt better knowing that Justice Pasquale Caruso would preside over the case. He was the son of a Paolo Caruso, the man Ms. G. had tended to with the vicious dog bites in her father’s clinic years ago. He’d always promised her a favor for a favor, so she made the call in our defense. Like she’d always said, she had a lot of friends.
My kids adjusted to life on the ranch. Ms. G. showed Leticia how to implement some homeopathic treatments and the power of touch techniques. And when she wasn’t with Leticia, she taught Darnell new card tricks and how to cook, with my supervision, of course. I’d been in talks with a cosmetic surgeon and learned I was up against a few surgeries. I wanted to start the process soon. I tried not to feel sorry for myself and focused on the bond we’d made and how far we’d come.
Standing on this historic land, I peered over at my new home, nestled among the beautiful San Jose foothills. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe.
“Hey, Ms. G., you ready to work in the garden?”
“Yes. It’s time. When the tomatoes are ready, I’ll show you how to can them so we can make the gravy. And one day, God willing, I’ll teach you how to make ravioli.”
She’d forgotten.
“Sounds great,” I said and smiled to keep my chin from quivering, reminded of her need for me and my need and love for her.
As we dug holes, working alongside each other, the sun touched my face, and the wind tickled my arm.
“Perfect kind of day, Ms. G. The sun and wind together.” I smiled at her.
“Yes, it is,” she confirmed, then beamed. She dropped her shovel, shuffled over, and put her arm around me. “Like my father used to say—the best part of this day is that it’s filled with hope and possibilities.” She winked at me.
“Endless possibilities,” I said with hopeful eyes.
We shared a grin, then looked out into the distance.
We were free.
East San Jose Foothills, Giordano Estate
May 2003
Barbara
Ms. G. lay in her bed with her foot propped up on a mound of pillows.
“I ain’t eating that crap.” She pushed aside the pasta I’d made for her. “It ain’t even real sauce. I can tell. You expect me to eat crap from a jar?”
“Well, I’m just happy you had your Life Alert necklace on. But I don’t want you in the yard by yourself. We’ve talked about this.”
“Yeah, yeah, stop treating me like a baby,” she protested.
“You have to eat to take your pain medication.”
“I’m fine. Just an ankle sprain, is all.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.”
“Hey, my godson asked about you the other day when he called to check in on me. You know, he’s a good kid. Comes from good stock,” she said proudly, changing the subject.
“Oh, he did, did he? I can’t get involved, Ms. G. After hearing about you and Frank, how could I get involved with a gangster? Besides, who’d want me now? I have two kids, I am forty-three years old with a ton of baggage, and now this.” I pointed at the huge scar on my forehead.
“You could do a lot worse than Alessandro Sunseri. And from the looks of it, you already have,” she said.
“Thanks a lot,” I muttered, then shook my head at her.
“You’re a smart, attractive young lady. You need to get back out there and give it a shot. And if he doesn’t treat cha good, he’ll have to answer to me. Alex has a past too. When his wife left with the kid, he had to do some soul-searching, just like you’re doing now. I can tell he was taken with you that day at the deli.”
“I don’t know. Not sure I’m ready.” I rubbed at the edges of my scar.
“I wanna show you something. Go in my hope chest. You’ll have to dig for it. It’s a pink box.”
“Okay.” I walked over to the big chest at the end of her bed.
As I dug through the chest, I shuffled artifacts of her life. She had various old records of Frank Sinatra and an old leather briefcase. Once I reached the bottom, I touched what felt like a shoebox and dragged it up.
“This?”
“That’s the one,” she said with big eyes and took it from my hands. She wiped off a little dust and opened it. Inside were some dried flowers and an envelope. She handed it to me. “Take a look for yourself.”
The envelope was yellowed from age. Inside were some pictures and a few letters. First was a black-and-white photo of Ms. G. and Gaetano, standing in front of a big metal fence with a sign that read Antonelli Farms. This was her time picking prunes. Ms. G. looked so young and beautiful. With her hair in a French braid and her tattered overalls, she looked at the camera like her heart was full.
Gaetano stood a good six feet tall. He was beyond handsome, like a Hollywood movie star. His hair was just as she’d described it—soft waves that hung down over his forehead. And his eyes were like none I’d ever seen. Long dark lashes spread over his almond-shaped eyes. They were calm and peaceful. Dreamy, just like she’d said. I turned over the photo. On the back, in Ms. G.’s writing, Antonelli Farms 1939.
Behind that picture in the stack was another picture of the two of them standing in a vineyard. This time, the two young lovers had their arms around each other. Vines surrounded them, and sunlight shined on their faces. I turned the photo over. Sanna Winery 1940.
The last picture in the stack was of the two of them standing side by side in front of a large building with giant pillars. On the back of the picture, it said Rome with my Guy 1947.
Wait . . .
When did she go to Italy? How did I miss this?
“Wait a minute, Ms. G. You never told me that you went to Rome. This can’t be right?”
“What do you mean? Of course, it’s right. Let me see that,” she clipped, then grabbed the picture out of my hands.
“When did you go to Italy with Gaetano? I thought Gaetano met another woman. You said she came to your mother’s funeral and everything. I don’t get it.”
Ms. G. smiled down at her beloved in the picture.
“So, wait a minute. You came back and found Gaetano again?”
“It was after the war when Gaetano Sanna came back into my life. Changed my world forever. Take a seat. You need to hear the rest of the story. It’s one worth telling,” she mused, then smiled fondly at her grape grower.
Word-of-mouth and honest reviews are critical to an author’s success. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at your favorite online retailer.
Thanks for reading Queen of Secrets!
Coming soon . . .
Crown of Confessions
Book 2 in the Mafia Matriarch Series
E.J. Tanda lives in Northern California with her husband and three sons. Growing up, she was surrounded by a large Italian family. With a rich, cultural background guiding her writing, she weaves her heritage throughout her stories. She graduated from Southern New Hampshire University with a degree in English and creative writing. When she isn’t writing, she travels the globe to gain experiences for her next book.
First, I want to thank all the people who supported Queen of Secrets through to its completion. You have been incredibly patient and supportive along the way. I hope you enjoy this story and that it finds a place into your heart pocket.
To my 101-year-old grandmother—my Nani: I love you and hope I did our little story justice. It has been such a gift to have you in my life throughout my writing journey. Thanks for the many phone calls, for telling me the stories of the past, and for sharing your life with me. This story brought us even closer. Because of you, I am a storyteller now too!
To my husband, Eric—my rock: I love you. Thanks for being an extra pair of eyes and for dedicating your afternoon calls to me to help me get this story into shape. And thanks for wiping my tears and building me back up when I didn’t think I could do it.
My boys, Michael Patrick and Justin: let this book serve as a reminder to never give up on your dreams and to stay resilient. Thanks for cheering me on throughout this process. I love you, my silly rabbits.
Dad, thanks for all the “sit-down” convos and for raising me on Godfather movies. Your love and guidance mean the world to me. Mom, thanks for all the unwavering support. You are a great little editor. Love you both very much!
To my sister, Samantha: thanks for all the positive messages and texts on days I wanted to throw my laptop out the window.
To L.A. Mitchell: best writing coach and editor in the world. Thank you for believing in me and for pushing me to make this the best story it could be. I will be forever grateful to you and value our friendship. Just thinking about these last two years and our work together puts a giant lump in my throat. *Visceral goes here* You are awesome!
A huge thank you to all my beta readers who selflessly took time out of their busy lives to read and review Queen of Secrets. You helped make my dreams come true. Michael and Annie Tanda, Bill Zavlaris, Barbara Riggio, Vicki Langone, Mathew Morrone, Marco Di Ianni, Karin Barbaria, Kristie Bender, Kari Schoch, Kevin Gildea, Monet Ortega Kerr, Bob and Linda Langone, Joanne Zavlaris, and last, but definitely not least, to Christine Grissom, for being a fellow team mom, one of my beta readers, and for referring me to L.A. Mitchell. Team moms rock!
Many thanks to my sensitivity readers: Nicole Langone Traoré and Jill Devinny-Peterson. Your input was invaluable. I really appreciate both of you for your support.
Thanks to the creative team at 360 Web Design. Special thanks to Charles Donaldson and Annette Frei. You guys are amazing! I absolutely love what you’ve done with my website and look forward to working with you in the future.
To my proofreader, Emily A. Lawrence: thanks for all your hard work in polishing and refining this story. Such an honor to work with you!
To Tatiana Vila: thank you for all your creative help in making this cover sexy and bad ass! You are a creative genius. Can’t wait to see what you come up with for book two.
Thanks to Stacey Blake for formatting my novel. You did a fabulous job! I will never forget how incredibly understanding you were with my deadline when I was going through some hard times. You are a good human, and I will never forget that.
To Kelly Way: thank you for reviewing my story and for providing your expert legal counsel. And thanks for all the business convos and guidance these past few years. I appreciate you!
To Jonathon and Deanne Watts: thanks for all your help and for handling things so expeditiously. It was a pleasure to work with you both.
And to my street team for your incredible support and enduring enthusiasm. You have been by my side since day one. I’m so blessed to have you all in my life to take this journey with me.
Additional thanks:
To Caroline Leech for creating my style sheet. Thank you for reading the story with a historical lens and for doing such a thorough job. I appreciate all your hard work.
To Migi Oey, who listened to my vision and applied her artistic talents to create fictional logos and a six-scene watercolor portrait that hangs in my office. Every time I look at it, it reminds me of how these pictures in my mind finally came to life through your hands. Thank you!
To Aimee Martello: thank you for your creative expertise and for the graphic design support with the promotional and marketing content.
To anyone suffering from domestic abuse, drug addiction, or thoughts of suicide, I hope this book serves as a beacon of hope and possibility. We share a common bond. Please know that you are never alone.
E.J.Tanda, Queen of Secrets
