Michael told me not to talk to anybody, and I did it anyway. Had I done something wrong? It didn't feel all that wrong in the moment, but the way Tony is glaring at me I think I made a mistake. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything to Officer Davis.
I back away into the corner of the room, tears falling down my face. Gloria catches onto the sudden change in my demeanor. Standing before me, concern lacing her aging features, she asks me what’s wrong. I don't want to tell her, but I have to figure a few things out and she likely had more answers than I did in that moment.
"Who is Angelo Fortino?" I ask in hushed tones. Her eyes go wide and she leans in. My father and Emilio have had several conversations in his office about Fortino’s warehouse and the money they’ve been making. He must be important.
"How do you know that name?" she says.
"I hear stuff," I say, about to leave it at that. But there’s something in Gloria's face that tells me I can trust her with this. "Michael said he was going to Angelo Fortino's place. He was shot and I…" I can't finish the sentence.
"Oh God, Alex. No," she pleads, her hand on her mouth. All I can do is nod my head. I did. Whatever she’s formulating in her brain is likely right. What other reason would Tony have for telling me I’m dead to him? For what other reason would he disown me?
"Angelo Fortino oversees the meth lab, Alex, as part of your father's newly-acquired business." My blood runs cold with her words. Meth lab? I thought that the rumors about my dad getting into the drug business were all talk. I didn't know that he had really gotten mixed up in that junk. I never could have imagined it. So why is Michael fighting with this meth guy?
But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that I gave an outsider the location of the meth lab. Even if I hadn't known what information I was handing over, I talked. Images of Sal, lying in his coffin with the bullet hole in his throat flood my mind. I reach up and place my hand over my throat protectively. They can't kill me for this, can they? I’m the principessa—mafia royalty. Surely, my father won't allow it.
I stumble out of the room, sick to my stomach. Gloria hovers behind me. In the hallway, Agent Wilks has Uncle Emilio in handcuffs and is handing him off to another agent. I scream loudly and run forward, but am held back by Gloria.
"Fighting them won't do any good. Just don't say a word. We'll figure this out as soon as he leaves." I nod at her instructions. Agent Wilks says a few words to the other agent and then turns Emilio and walks toward us.
"Mrs. Vescovi, Miss Mancuso," he greets us, looking a bit too eager. "Emilio Vescovi is being held by the F.B.I. in an investigation relating to the cooking and distribution of methamphetamine, along with Carlo Mancuso and Angelo Fortino, and Michael Mancuso is being held as an accomplice."
"What, how?" I yell. My hands shake in fear as I fight back the frustrated tears that threaten fall. Beneath the fear and frustration is the realization of the consequences of my choice.
My father was arrested once, but that was before my mother died, years ago, and I didn't really understand what was going on then. The arresting officers were very professional and didn’t even handcuff him in the house. It wasn’t until I sneaked a peek out of the living room window that I saw them put handcuffs on him and load him into the back of an unmarked police car. Until then they had told me he had a business meeting to attend. And I had believed it.
"Mr. Fortino has found himself in a bit of trouble and so have his associates—Mr. Mancuso and Mr. Vescovi. The kid was on site when we pulled up." Agent Wilks smirks. He leans forward and claps his hand on my shoulder. "Tough break, kid," he says and walks off.
My knees give way and I crash to the floor. The sudden impact sends a throbbing pain through my legs up to my hips. Sobs rack my body, making it hard to breathe. In and out, it’s that simple, and yet my lungs can't manage it. My breaths come in short, hyper pants, my lungs strain to keep up. I’m not prone to panic attacks, but I imagine this is what one would feel like—my chest constricts, my lungs burn, and I feel like I’m going to come out of my skin. Or just stop breathing entirely.
Gloria peels me off the floor and uses her body as a prop to keep me upright. It can't have been easy; my frame feels like Jell-O.