The Family Snitch by Francesca Fontana

Author:Francesca Fontana [Fontana, Francesca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pushkin Press
Published: 2026-02-03T00:00:00+00:00

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Mia never saw the new apartment until a deal had been made. Al found the three-bedroom—cozy, second-story, not far from Cal and Ellen—on the South Side, where the city began to sprawl into suburbs. On the first floor of the brick two-flat lived the homeowner, their new landlord, along with his wife and son. Al paid the first few months’ rent up front, in cash, and the next week he picked up Mia and brought her to their new home.

As she took in the place, the owner leaned against the wall in the front room, eating mini candy bars from his coat pocket. He appeared older than he really was. Cancer, he said. Mia inspected each room, keeping up small talk so as to not make the man uncomfortable. She scanned every windowpane, every outlet. She spent a long time examining the floors. Al hovered around the periphery, in his leather jacket, chewing gum.

Mia called him over, into the bedroom across from the master, the one that would be Frankie’s room. “He has to replace the carpet.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Look at it. It’s too old, it’s not sanitary, it has to be clean—she could get sick.” He said nothing. “I won’t bring her here.”

Al shrugged—he always called her a hypochondriac—and wandered back out to the landlord. She couldn’t hear Al’s low voice, but she made out the man’s reply. “Sure, I’ll take it out. That’s no problem.” Then, louder, so she could hear: “That’s no problem, honey—I’ll get new carpet in each room for you, how’s that sound?” When she returned to the front room, Al was holding his wad of cash, tying it back up with its rubber band.

The landlord asked her about the hospital where her baby had been born: Northwestern. These days, he was always going back and forth, too—doctor to home and back again. He walked them out, said he’d pray for the baby. He took out another chocolate and peeled off the wrapper.

The next time Mia came to the apartment, Al and his brother had moved in all the furniture. Boxes sat in the kitchen. There was new carpet in each room, and the man was dead.

Chicago, 1996

Mia recognized the woman standing in the doorway of the apartment. She’d heard the knocking; she thought Al ordered a pizza. Then she heard the yelling.

The woman was a regular at the Gym. She was huge—pregnant. Her eyes bulged as she looked from Al to Mia. The woman had a suspicion, so she followed Al home. And she had been right. “He—he was supposed to tell you,” she said. It was all she could say.

Mia told her to leave. Behind the closed door, she made herself clear to Al. This was her daughter’s home. She didn’t care what he did, but it was never to cross that threshold.

It wasn’t long before she enrolled in classes at the community college. She learned American Sign Language, and a professor recommended her for a job in the suburbs. An elementary school needed an interpreter.

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