Page 22

Past

T ruman’s brow is furrowed, his mouth parted, creating a perfect O shape as he scours the headlines.

“What?” I ask. I stand and drag my chair next to his to read over his shoulder.

He slaps his phone against his chest. “This is bad, Kid. Like, really dark stuff. I don’t think you wanna know.”

I pierce him with a glare. “This is my life apparently. I definitely want to know, Truman.” Unease and indecision flicker across his face. “Just… just tell me.”

Truman’s shoulders sag and he hands the phone to me. I take it gingerly, anxiety creeping up my spine.

‘Crazy’ Antonio Scarfo, The Unhinged Mobster Who Started a Mob War; Murdered family identified as FBI investigate biggest Mob Family power grab in decades; Antonio Scarfo, Italian mafia ‘massacre mastermind’ missing.

My stomach contracts painfully at the headlines. I scroll the page. “Are all these about Papa?” I ask, stunned and confused.

Truman nods. I hand the phone back to him shaking my head. “He never lifted a hand to me. Never once raised his voice in anger really. He was so gentle. Stern, but gentle. I don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let’s look up your name. See what happens.”

I swallow thickly and nod. “Okay.”

Baby Testa unaccounted for in Testa family massacre; Manhunt for Scarfo related to baby Testa.

The list goes on and on. Truman clicks a button and suddenly the result page is all photos. The picture from the letter appears as well as a handful of others. I gasp.

The family from my nightmare.

“According to the news,” Truman says and points to a photo, “that’s you. And your real family.”

I reach out and touch the photo. A new page loads.

“Oh crap, sorry.” I say. But Truman doesn’t seem irritated.

“No worries. You just opened the article that the picture was featured in. Do you want to read it?”

“Can you read it to me?” I ask. I can’t think straight let alone focus my eyes on the tiny words.

“The man accused of gunning down four members of a Miami Mafia family and two security guards (not identified yet), Antonio Scarfo, had been embroiled in an extensive feud with the family and had once shot at one of them, according to police records obtained by The Times.

Shortly before 10 a.m. on Aug. 6, 2010, Miami-Dade officers responded to a shooting in the Coconut Grove neighborhood.

They found Dario Testa with his arm around his wife, Bianca, who had her hand around her son, Emilio’s, ankle.

Their other son, Alfonso, was face down at the kitchen table in a plate of food, a deputy wrote in a report.

The third Testa Child, Evany, is presumed missing.

After gunning down Dario, 40; Bianca, 33; Emilio, 10; and Alfonso, 7, Scarfo fled the home, it is thought, with Evany, 3. ”

My stomach roils and I feel as though I’m going to be sick. I put my hand over my mouth but Truman keeps reading.

“Scarfo has an active warrant for his arrest on six counts of murder and a series of special allegations including aggravated homicide, larceny, assault, racketeering, extortion, trafficking, and now kidnapping. The Scarfo family is the one of the wealthiest organized crime families in the nation. It is believed the Scarfo hit on the Testa family was a power grab within the organized syndicate.”

What kind of people do this sort of thing? Vomit rises and I lunge for the sink and wretch. Truman looks to me. I sniffle and turn to him.

“I’m ok. Keep going.”

He wrinkles his brow but continues. “Leonardo Testa, Dario’s younger brother, 34, has released a statement on behalf of the surviving extended family members.

‘We are devastated over the loss of my brother and his family. We have a tip line set up and a hundred-thousand-dollar reward for the safe return of my niece Evany. If you have any information regarding the crime, please call 1-888-555-TIPS.’”

“Kid, this is huge. This is… wild . You’re definitely in over your head. I really think we should call the cops. They might put you in WIT SEC or something. This is straight up a movie plot.”

“What’s WIT SEC?” I ask.

“Witness protection. They give you a new identity and set you up with a new life to keep you off the radar and safe. Like instead of Kid…wait, what’s your last name?”

I stare at him, mind whirling.

“Um, I don’t know,” I say slowly. It never occurred to me before now. It’s always been me and Papa. No school, no friends, so no need to ever bring up a last name. “Why would I need that? I didn’t do anything. I was three! I was kidnapped.”

Truman stares at me like I have three heads. “I don’t know. You really don’t have a last name? What’s your dad put on the utility bills? Where’s your birth certificate or social security card? I’m just… talking. I gotta go home. We need a laptop. Do you have wifi?”

My brain hurts at all the words coming out of his mouth. Everything feels like it’s closing in on me. The cabin walls, my bones and skin. I’m suffocating.

“What? Internet? No.” Truman’s face falls.

“Crap. Ok. Well…we could go to the library. Use their computers. I think we need more information on the Testa and Scarfo families. I mean, they’re mafia…

you can’t just waltz into that world and reconnect with them.

Why would you even want to? That’s like, so dangerous. ”

“I don’t really know what the mafia is,” I say.

Truman’s cheeks puff out and he blows out a breath.

“This is above my pay grade. We need research and information. My parents are at work. I’ve got some movies you should see, and then we need to hit the library and print off all the information we can so we can come back here and read through it all. ”

“I…”

“Kid,” Truman slaps the table, the sharp sound makes me jump. “You’re not leaving this town until you have all the information to make a solid decision.”

I stare at Truman, mind spinning. I had never questioned my past before, never doubted the life Papa had created for me. But now, learning my family’s violent history, I feel lost, adrift.

“I don’t know anything,” I say softly. “My whole life has been a lie.”

Truman’s expression softens. He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his.

“I know this is a lot,” he says gently.

I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay. Where do we start?”

“Let’s go to my house. I’ve got some movies that will help explain the Mafia and give you an idea of what we’re dealing with.

Truman stands and tugs me to my feet. As we walk to his house, questions swarm my mind. Who was my real family? Why did Papa kill them? Was he forced or did he act of his own volition?

Either way, how could the man who lovingly braided my hair and kissed my skinned knees have committed such brutality?