I Bought His Love, Then He Became the Don novel · Chapter 10 of 76

Chapter 10: The Scar

"He's alive?" I said.

It came out before I could stop it.

Damiano's face did something strange. Like I'd hit him somewhere he hadn't guarded.

"He's eighty-four," he said. "He's very alive. He's going to cry on you. I'm telling you now so you're ready."

The house was a big old brick place two streets off Taylor, with a porch and a green front door.

There was a fig tree in the side yard, taller than the fence.

Dad looked up at it from the back of Damiano's car.

"Somebody's going to wrap that thing for winter," he said. "Or it dies."

"He knows, Dad."

"Who knows?"

The green door flew open before the car had stopped.

A small round man in a brown cardigan came down the porch steps faster than any eighty-four-year-old should.

He had flour on his hands and white hair sticking up.

"Lucia!"

I got out of the car.

Pasquale Santangelo grabbed my face in both floury hands and kissed both of my cheeks, hard.

Then he held me back at arm's length and looked at me.

His eyes filled up.

"Madonna," he said. "What did they do to you? Come inside. Sit."

"Mr. Santangelo..."

"Nonno. You call me Nonno. You always called me Nonno."

I hadn't said the word in five years.

Then he saw Dad struggling out of the car with his new cane and his taped ribs.

He let go of me and went straight to him.

"You're the father."

"I'm the father," Dad said.

"Joe. Pasquale." They shook hands. "You play scopa?"

"I play everything."

"Good. You're going to lose."

Damiano carried our two suitcases up the steps without a word.

Inside it smelled like onions and tomatoes and something baking.

The kitchen was enormous and old-fashioned, with a long wooden table that had knife marks in it.

Pasquale sat us down and put food in front of us before our coats were off.

Lentil soup. Bread. A plate of sliced pears with cheese.

"Eat," he said.

Dad ate.

I picked up my spoon.

Pasquale stood over me with his hands on his hips until I'd had three spoonfuls.

Then he nodded and went back to the stove.

Damiano leaned in the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed.

He didn't sit down.

"Nonno, she just got here."

"And look at her. I'm supposed to wait?"

Pasquale wiped his hands on a towel and came back to the table.

He pulled out the chair next to mine and sat in it, close.

"I want to show you something."

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