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Papa turns back around to face him, his expression hard.
“We are moving, Dario. England is where we will go in a month, or less.”
My stomach drops.
“No.” Dario says, his voice low and dangerous. “You can’t make this decision to pack us up and leave. Not now that I’ve made my life here. Not now that I’m so close to being inducted!”
Papa shakes his head.
“It has already been decided.”
Dario doesn’t like hearing that.
“You decided!”
He snaps at our father, stepping forward.
“No.” Papa repeats in a controlled voice. “The Don decided.Alessandro.He thinks—he says—that it is safer if we move there.”
Dario doesn’t understand.
“Who is it safer for? Mama isdead,Papa, and now you want to run away instead of finding the people behind it!”
Sobs bubble out of my throat at that very second, and I know I can’t take it any longer.
Running down the stairs, I clutch Mr. Buttons close to my chest, only stopping when I’m at the very bottom so I won’t get any broken glass in my feet.
“Stop it!”
I shout, hearing my voice crack.
Both Papa and Dario turn to look at me, their angry faces softening immediately.
“Chiara…”
Papa’s voice is quiet now, like he wants me to stop crying.
Dario steps closer to me, reaching out so I’ll take his hand in mine, but I don’t move.
“We didn’t mean to argue.”
I don’t care.
Feeling hot tears rolling down my cheeks, I continue shouting at them both.
“Mama wouldn’t want you both to fight! She loves you both, and she would hate to see you both fighting like this!”
For a moment, they don’t say anything, and they don’t move.
Then Dario crouches down in front of me, pulling me into his arms. His chest is warm and solid, and he places his chin above my head.
“I’m sorry for shouting at Papa like that, Chiara. I didn’t mean it.”
I cry louder as I wrap my arms around my older brother, letting Mr. Buttons fall to the floor.
Papa steps forward, wrapping his arms around both of us, pulling us closer into his chest. His hands stroke our heads, and I hear how fast his heart is beating in his own chest as he takes deep breaths.
“I am sorry, Chiara.” Papa says, his voice rough with emotion. “And I am sorry for how I spoke to you, Dario.”