The Godfather's Revenge by Mark Winegardner

Author:Mark Winegardner
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2006-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

IN HER HEART, IN THE PIT OF HER STOMACH, Francesca knew where all the troubles in her family were leading: to her. She hadn’t talked about it to anyone, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it, either. She’d killed her husband. She’d lost her temper, that famous family temper, her father’s legacy, and she’d killed her husband with his own decadent sports car. She wanted desperately to go to confession and be absolved from this mortal sin, but it wouldn’t work: she didn’t exactly regret what she’d done. Billy had betrayed her. He was going to hurt her family, and he’d already been hurting her, sleeping with that woman he’d had on the side since law school (and lying about it). So what if that whore had been blamed for killing him? There was justice in that, too. It had actually felt good to do what she’d done, even in the face of his broken and bloodied body. Especially that, she hated to admit. The adrenaline it had unleashed, the relief she’d felt: it would be dishonest to forget about that. On the other hand, she was not a monster. She couldn’t help but be torn about what she’d done. She’d killed her husband, and she’d be rotting in jail right now if her family hadn’t taken care of things for her. Her little boy, Sonny, the light of her life, would be without her. She’d be without him. That was unthinkable. But now, as this mess raged on with Tom Hagen, it seemed more and more clear to her that what she had done was going to catch up to her sooner or later—and probably sooner.

Thank God she was a twin, so at least she could feel like Kathy understood some of this without it needing to be said. She felt sorry for the members of her family who weren’t twins. Which was all of them, actually, except for Aunt Connie, whose twin brother died in the womb. Poor Connie had been surrounded by death even before she was born. How must that make Connie feel? Who knew? In fairness, it wasn’t just Connie. Nobody talked about it. In fact, Francesca had learned about the dead twin a few months ago, at Christmas, when Connie’s godfather, Ozzie Altobello, had come over and stayed too long and drunk too much wine and sat in a corner, weeping, and telling the story to Kathy and Francesca, who’d been aghast. When they’d asked Connie about it the next day, she’d abruptly changed the subject. When they’d asked their uncle about it, Michael confirmed that it was true but changed the subject almost as swiftly. Forty-one years later, it was still too high on the topics list. No one ever talked about Francesca’s dead child, either: Carmela, born prematurely, who’d lived for only one day.

Outside, Little Sonny exploded with laughter, and over and over yelled, “Touchdown!”

“You know, if you put a kitchen match between your teeth,” Connie said, pointing toward the box of them over the stove, “the onions won’t cause all those tears.

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