didn’t include coffee making, apparently.
Sal had twin daughters—Francesca and Barbara—and no sons. They were nine years younger than me, and I didn’t know them very well, but I liked them, which was curious, considering I didn’t like my aunt or uncle very much. When they were younger, they’d looked like little ducklings waddling after their mother, who was as rounded and blonde as Sal was dark and sharp. Aunt Theresa had Marilyn Monroe hair and none of her style. She was always made up—nails done, makeup on—but she always looked garish and unnatural, like a zebra draped in hot-pink velvet or a baboon swathed in lace. I wrote a song about Aunt Theresa living in the zoo when I was twelve. It was funny but mean, and when I sang it for Pop, he wouldn’t allow me to play my piano for a month. I’d never been able to get it out of my head, though. Some things are like that. Cruel and . . . accurate.
It didn’t help that Theresa wasn’t kind or brave or interesting. And she didn’t like me. Or Pop. She pretended to, but I think she was jealous of Sal’s affection for my dad. And I think she was afraid Sal would leave it all to me—his big, bloody empire—and her daughters, rightful heirs to his ill-gotten gain, would be dependent on her . . . or worse, their husbands. Theresa endured it all for them.
She was the daughter of Carlos Reina, a mob boss out of Chicago. Pop told me once that she was kept in a box her whole life and let out only long enough to move into another. It was a good match for Salvatore Vitale, but not so good for Theresa Reina. Sal strengthened his alliances and broadened his family. Theresa became the wife of a man just like her father, and a man completely uninterested in her.
“You be nice to her, Benito,” my pop always said. “She’s a sad woman. Lonely. Your mother always felt sorry for her. Theresa tried for about ten years to have those girls. They saved her life. Just like you and your mother saved mine.”
Sal was careful about many things. He was careful about the men around him. The men he hired, the men he trusted, the words he said, and the deals he made. But he wasn’t especially careful with Theresa, as evidenced by Carla’s presence in the house.
“Carla’s your new . . . maid?” I asked.
“Carla wants to be a star, but she’s got a lot to learn. I have Terrence teaching her some songs. Maybe you could work with her too. Maybe write her a song. I know she likes you.” Sal pinned me with his dark eyes as he handed me a cup of coffee. Black. I took it.
“Carla can’t sing,” I said.
“Neither can you, yet people still want your songs.”
“They don’t want me singing them.”
“She doesn’t have to be the best singer. Nobody at the club will be listening anyway. She can hold a tune and she can fill out a dress. She’ll do fine.”
“I’m sure she will.” Sal would make sure of it. I wasn’t sure what was in it for him, though, long term.
“It seems we’ve both taken some little birds under our wings,” he added.
I was grateful I hadn’t yet raised the cup to my lips. I would have dropped it. I stirred in a packet of sugar, feigning calm.
“Terrence said you went and heard Esther Mine. You and Jack,” Sal murmured.
The fear for my father became fear of another sort. I simply held my uncle’s gaze, saying nothing. I didn’t know where to step, so I didn’t step at all.
“And last night you went back again. You must see something you like.”
I didn’t ask him how he knew where we’d spent the evening. It would imply that we’d been hiding it from him.
“She can sing,” I said. My voice was calm, pitched exactly like his.
“She is very good. I’ve heard her myself. I play cards at Shimmy’s once in a while. It’s a dump . . . but you learn a lot from people when you’re playing poker.”
“Pop mentioned that.”
“And did he tell you her story?”
“He knew her father.”
“Yes. And I knew her mother. A long time ago.”
His eyes flicked to the picture on the wall. “Esther isn’t as good as her mother was. Or as beautiful. But maybe it is simply my preference for one woman over another.” He shrugged. “It ruins her for