Page 61 of Deliverance

Momma shook her head. "No, your uncle."

"Uncle Marco?"

She drank half of the new glass. "Your father worked for Giovanni."

"Frank's father," I acknowledged. I already knew he had.

"Yes." She nodded. "Your father and Marco sold drugs for him."

"They did? I thought Uncle Marco was head of security for Giovanni?"

"They started out selling drugs until …" A tear slid down her cheek.

I reached over and ran my hand along her shoulders. "It's okay—"

"It's not okay!" She started to cry harder. "I've been living with this for thirty-one years. I've been pretending that blood is thicker than water."

"You can tell me," I probed.

After a few moments, she finally uttered the words I never thought I'd hear. "Your uncle killed your father."

"What?" I stood, scooting my chair back across the linoleum. "What do you mean Uncle Marco killed him?" I was angry at my uncle for killing my mother's husband, and not because it was my father. I didn't have emotion when it came to him because I never knew him. My outrage was for my mother and what she must have dealt with seeing her husband's killer every day.

"Your father was selling the drugs for more than he was supposed to and pocketing the rest."

"Why would he do that, knowing who he was working for?"

Momma sniffed. "Having a kid is expensive."

"But why did Uncle Marco kill him?" I sat back down. "Weren't they selling together or something?"

"Giovanni ordered him to do it."

I stared at her for several moments. I'd heard Frank had killed a guy over the same thing, but it had been Frank who had done the deed, rather than ordering someone else—the mark’s own family member—to do it. "And you let that asshole in your house every fucking day?"

"You think I have a choice?" she cried.

"Giovanni has been dead for many years, and I know Uncle Marco got out when he died."

"That's true, but I was afraid he'd kill me if he ever found out I knew. I had to pretend that I believed it had been a carjacking."

"How did you find out?"

She took a deep breath. "Marco got drunk one night when you were about six, and it slipped. He told me a lot of things about the Russos and what they do, and we argued, but the next morning, he didn't remember. I kept it that way because I was scared of what he'd do to you and me."

"Couldn't you have just distanced yourself from him? I mean, shit, he comes here every day."

Momma shrugged. "I never wanted him to be suspicious of my actions, and I never wanted the Russos to know that I knew because I was scared they'd kill me. I had to keep the secret."

"Fuck," I breathed. "This is why we're going to California. We're going to start a new life."

"Have you thought about what you're saying?"

"Meaning the only way to do that is to go on the run either from Frank or the police?"

"And maybe your uncle."

"Fuck Uncle Marco. We don't need him."