Accidental Mobster (3 page)

“Don't worry. I'll send someone to your place to get your stuff.”

“They won't know what I need!” I say quickly.

“How about everything?”

“Everything?” I have still not moved from my seat. “Just how long am I staying here?”

Gino shrugs. “Don't know. Might be a while.” He closes the door and motions for me to follow him. I can feel my chest tighten. How can I be intimidated by a mansion? Certainly most teenagers would be thrilled with the idea of moving from a tiny house to an enormous one in a matter of a day. The problem is, this isn't really my house and this isn't really my family, and no matter how amazing this place may be, this isn't my home.

“Danny, come on!” Gino's voice is muffled outside the SUV. I take a deep breath, open the door, and step out onto a cobblestone driveway. Gino is staring up at the house, shaking his head. “The fact that this house looks more like it should be in Arizona than in Jersey always annoys me when I bring someone new over. But Ronnie loves the architecture, so we've got stucco walls and a tile roof. Ridiculous!” Gino turns to me. “Just remember, a happy wife makes a happy life!” He laughs and starts walking toward the front door.

“Great,” I say, a little sarcastically. “But I don't even have a girlfriend. Although driving a Lexus might help.” I point my thumb over my shoulder at the SUV. Gino chuckles. “Hah! Don't even think about it! But we'll work on the girlfriend thing.”

He grins. “I think this is going to be fun.”

I give him a weak smile. “Maybe. I'm still not sure I haven't been kidnapped.”

Gino shakes his head. “Kid, if you've been kidnapped, this is the best day of your life.”

And with that, he continues up the driveway and through the front door, leaving me standing alone, with a bloody washcloth in my hand and a sense that my life may have changed forever.

Veronica “Ronnie” Vigliotti could pass for a TV mom. First of all, she's petite, but slender in a gorgeous and curvy way, not an “I eat only celery and carrots” way. She has dark, reddish-brown hair and dark blue eyes that are strangely warm. Whereas my mom has tanned every drop of moisture out of her skin and looks like a dried apricot, Ronnie's skin is smooth and fair, with a hint of color from taking in just the right amount of sun. I do not even have a chance to examine the oversized hallway (or, as I would later be informed, the
foyer
) before I am wrapped in her small, strong arms.

After hugging me fiercely (I wonder where such a tiny woman gets so much strength), Ronnie takes my shoulders and holds me at arm's length, looking me up and down. “Look at you.
Look
at you.” She gasps, smiling. Her voice carries the same Jersey accent as Gino's, just lighter and prettier. “You are adorable,” she breathes, “I mean—
handsome.
Who would have thought such a darling boy would have come from Penny and—”

“Ronnie!” Gino coughs, interrupting her. I see him shoot her a warning look. “Take it easy. You'll scare him away. Look at him, like a deer in headlights.” Gino's eyes seem to communicate something to her he isn't going to say out loud, because she puts her hand to her mouth right away. Gino turns to me. “She has that effect on a lot of the kids' friends.” He lowers his voice to a spooky whisper. “One encounter with Ronnie and they never come back.”

Ronnie grins and slaps him playfully. I have never seen two married people behave like that, and I immediately feel uncomfortable.

“The kids! We must introduce them!” Ronnie moves to the foot of the staircase, an elegant curving structure that is a perfect match for the white marble that decorates the large hall. In fact, I'm pretty sure my house might fit in this house's hallway.
Just
the hallway.

“Jules! Vince!”

Ronnie's one flaw, I think, is that the volume of her voice might be able to bring down a smaller, less sturdy house.

“Jules, Vince, now!”

I have to keep myself from covering my ears. Suddenly, I hear a shriek of frustration coming from the top of the stairs.

“Mom, seriously!
Seriously!
” A teenage girl is at the top of the steps, blue eyes blazing, her brown curly hair brushing against flushed cheeks. “I. Am. On. The. Phone!” The girl pronounces each word as a single sentence. “And it's
Julia
. You didn't name me
Jules
. It's Julia!”

A tiny, furry, black and tan terrier sits yapping at her feet. She glares at it, raising one finger in the air. “Shut up, Baxter!” Baxter pays her no attention. Julia is pretty. No, she is
beautiful
. She looks much like her mother, with the same wavy reddish-brown hair and blue eyes, but Julia has the height that Ronnie lacks. I try not to stare, and I can feel my jaw dropping lower than what would certainly be considered “cool,” but this girl is hot. Very, very hot. And I immediately know that she is
way
out of my league and that, for some reason, she already dislikes me. In fact, at the moment, she seems to hate everyone.

Julia lifts her cell phone to her ear and turns away from her parents. “I'm sorry, honey. Gino and Ronnie can be
so
frustrating! Yes, I know you have a big test…I can't help you study tomorrow, I'm getting my hair cut…”

“Julia.” Gino says the name in a low voice, but it is enough to make Julia jump and turn around.

Gino glares up at his daughter. “If you don't come down now, the only person cutting your hair will be me. Can you say, buzz cut?”

Julia's eyes widen. “I'll call you back,” she tells her caller, then she snaps the phone shut and stiffly walks down the stairs, as a queen would come down to meet her subjects. Baxter follows, yapping excitedly until he sees Gino—then he quickly struggles back up the staircase.

Gino continues to glare at his daughter. “It's
Dad
, Julia, not
Gino
. It will always be
Dad
. As long as I'm paying the bills, that's the way it will
always
be.”

Julia rolls her eyes. Twice. “
Fine
,” she says. But obviously, she makes clear with her face, it isn't fine.

Ronnie motions toward me. “Julia, this is Danny. He'll be staying with us for a while.”

Julia finally notices me. She studies me intently for a few moments, her eyes quickly jumping from one feature to the next, finally settling on the stitches on my forehead. I stare back at her, knowing that my face is turning red. Then she quickly dismisses me, her beautiful eyes flicking back to her parents. “Why?” she asks, not too kindly.

“Because he needs a place to stay,” Gino says firmly. “And I'm his godfather.”

Julia takes this information in with no expression. “Will he be going to school with us?”

“Perhaps.”

I am more surprised than Julia by this piece of news. She simply turns on her heel and arrogantly lifts her head. “Just don't expect me to be a tour guide,” she sniffs before heading back up the stairs. A burly teenage boy passes her at the top and descends the steps in a few huge leaps.

“Hey, Dad, Joe said he just got a Camaro on the lot that's in perfect condition! He said he'd give us a great deal!”

Gino appears unmoved by his son's enthusiasm. “He said he'd give
us
a deal?”

“Oh, come on! You said you'd help me get a car!” wails the teenager, whom I know must be Gino's son, Vince. He is tall, like his sister, but where she is graceful and slim, Vince is bulky, with dark eyes and scruffy black hair. Vince glances at me, his eyes quickly finding the stitches on my head, before directing his attention back to his father.

“I told you I'd help you with half,” Gino is saying. “Now, if you think you can come up with the other half needed for a Camaro—”

Vince's face turns red. “Oh yeah, right, like you don't have the money to help me get this car!”

Gino's voice is almost as cool as it had been with the loud, obnoxious Barb Kluwer.

“I'm not your bank, Vince. It's my money, and I decide when and where it gets spent, not you.”

I am a little unsettled by Gino's tone. With the exception of a few bursts of laughter, he seems to be an extremely calm guy with a tough guy exterior. But something about the edge in Gino's voice makes me uneasy.

Vince throws his hands in the air dramatically. “Fine! I'll go find a crappy car, and you can come pick me up when it breaks down at school and everyone makes fun of me!” Vince runs back up the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. His hammering footsteps cause the whole structure to tremble.

Gino and Ronnie ignore him, turning their attention once more to me. “Well, we already ate dinner,” Ronnie says casually, as though her almost two hundred pound son were not about to take down the entire house. “But, Danny, we've got leftovers. How does macaroni and cheese sound? Mine is strictly homemade!” She looks at me expectantly, but she doesn't need to worry. I am so hungry, I would eat just about anything; macaroni and cheese sounds, well, unbelievably great.

Ronnie directs me through the enormous living room to the equally enormous kitchen and nudges me into a seat at the large oak table. I sit silently once more, racking my brain for something to say, but I am too exhausted to make conversation. Gino has disappeared for the moment.

“Here you go!” says Ronnie, placing an oversized bowl of steaming macaroni and cheese in front of me. “Now, if you need anything else, you just let me know. Or help yourself—this is your home.” She pauses, uncertainly. “At least, it's your home as long as you want to stay here.” She turns back to the kitchen and begins unloading the dishwasher. After a few moments of nothing but the sound of clattering dishes (and several delicious mouthfuls of mac and cheese for me), Ronnie again makes an attempt at conversation.

“So, Danny,” she says casually, her Jersey accent shaping the sound of her words.

“What grade are you going into this year?”

I swallow quickly. Too quickly. The hot macaroni burns my throat on its way to my stomach. “Uh, ninth grade. I'll be a freshman—unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately? No, that's fantastic!” Ronnie says it like she truly means it. “High school is wonderful!”

I feel sure that high school was probably a good experience for Ronnie. If her daughter Julia is any indication, Ronnie has never struggled in the looks department. And let's face it, in high school, few kids see past a person's appearance. I look okay, but being poor has a limiting effect on my wardrobe, and therefore, my overall reputation. My ratty jeans may have been cool had they come from a socially approved, expensive mall store, but jeans from the local Save-Much are less than acceptable to my peers.

Ronnie ignores the fact that I have not responded. “Danny, you'll just love high school. The dances, the dating—it's all so much fun! And now you'll get to go to Vince and Julia's school. It's just a fantastic place!”

I stare at her, but she is too busy jamming silverware into their slots in a drawer to notice.

I might not be going back to Ridley,
I realize and feel as though Gino has not been completely honest with me. Have they removed me from my home for good? Is my mother abandoning me, giving me to strangers?

I guess circumstances could be worse. The Vigliottis are obviously wealthy—Mom may be thinking that she is doing this for my own good. And maybe this is for my own good, and I am being ungrateful for being taken in by such a family. But even with the kindness shown to me by Gino and Ronnie, I can't help but feel lonely at this particular moment. And now that my stomach is full, I feel like the only thing that might bring me any comfort is sleep. Thankfully, Ronnie seems to notice my exhaustion. “Hey, let's get you set up in one of the spare bedrooms,” she says gently, taking my empty bowl from me and placing it in the sink. “I've got one that will be perfect—toward the back of the house on the ground floor. No one will bother you there.”

It is just the thing I need to hear.

* * * *

The morning sun hits me full in the face. I open my eyes wearily, expecting to see my bedroom in my house in Ridley. Several moments pass before I realize that I am in a sunny guest room towards the back of the Vigliotti's small mansion, that I am in a bed that would fit at least two more people my size, and that there is a furry little creature who is curled up and snoring, his head resting on my foot.

“Baxter?” I call quietly, trying to remember how the dog had come to be in my room. And, for that matter, how did its dwarfish little body make it up onto this big bed? The dog lifts his head lazily at the sound of his name. “Who are these people you live with?” I ask, gazing into the little black eyes that stare back at me intently. Dad once told me that someone could determine a dog's intelligence by whether it was able to make eye contact. Whether this is true or not, Dad also believes that pets are dirty and too expensive and that they should be avoided at all costs. Except, I think, that with the occasional rat in our house, a small terrier or a cat would have been useful in my home.

Baxter, however, is not a dog that appears to have spent much time running after rats—or, for that matter, running at all. For being as small as he is, Baxter has a rather round belly that hints of too much food and an absence of any meaningful exercise. But I have to admit, he is a cute little guy, even if he is definitely not the most macho pet a person could own. I stay in bed several minutes, letting myself enjoy the softness of the mattress and the silky sheets. I have never, ever slept in a bed like this. Once, at my grandmother's house, I was able to sleep in a queen size bed; however, it was not nearly as nice as this bed, and the springs creaked whenever I rolled over. My bed at home is far worse—in fact, it is not even a bed, but a futon Dad bought at a yard sale. But this bed is not the only item that makes staying at the Vigliotti house so amazing—the room is quiet, protecting me from any noise coming from other parts of the house. This is also a stark contrast to my house, because I can't remember a morning that I did not wake up to slamming doors and shouting between my parents.