Page 45 of Forbidden Pregnancy (The Buffalo Italian Mob Family #2)

Yiayia

M y grandmother issued a straight command as I stumbled through the gates, an excited smile plastered on my perpetually freckled face, “Come, Galanos.”

“Yiayia! The puppy followed me home!”

She smiled. Yiayia was always beautiful. Even in her old age. I spent all my days with her. I went to school sometimes , but whenever I wanted to skip, she would scream at Papa and keep me home on her lap. I would brush her hair. I would zip her dresses. I would sit at her feet in the grass.

As I walked into her garden she smiled at me and then the dog.

“If you want him, he’s yours.”

I stooped down to touch the puppy. A surge of warmth flooded me. I would protect him and make him mean. And that way whenever Loukas and Stavros decided to push me down a hill or hit me, my little pup could fight back.

“I want to name him Harry Potter.”

“Sure. You will need to take good care of him.”

“Okay.”

I touched the dog. I still remember how the puppy smelled and how excited he was. I’m sorry.

For six weeks, I spent every minute of my time with that dog. I loved him. I loved that dog more than I loved anyone. When Yiayia was busy with her friends, I played with the dog. My siblings were too old. Cassia still lived with her mother.

I was alone — except for Harry Potter, who eventually became Harry . The last time I saw the dog was a bright, sunny day. I should have been in school, but I demanded the neighbor’s son skip school as well to play with me.

I had a brilliant idea of turning Harry into a bloodhound who could help me hunt down my “prey” — the friend I’d invited — and then we would play fight with sticks once I found him. Usually, these games ended better for me than my friends.

We got to stick fighting after Harry got distracted by a butterfly and we brought the stick fighting inside. Yiayia and her friend from church were drinking tea. She grabbed us by the collars and thrust us along the route we’d entered, grumbling at the tracks at first and then outright yelling.

I thought she’d hit me, she was so angry. But then her anger subsided and I thought I was safe. Relief flooded through me. I could always offer to clean it up, even if Yiayia never let me clean up.

Once her friend and mine left, she sat in the kitchen quietly sipping tea while I played with Harry on the porch.

“Galanos. Go inside,” she said, coming out of the kitchen with a calm expression on her face and a wicked look she cast at Harry. I knew she wanted to hurt him from the look on her face, although someone less practiced might not have recognized her rage for what it was.

I remembered not wanting to leave Harry. I begged and cried. She never raised her voice, but she kept insisting. Eventually I left. Once I was inside, I knew what was coming.

I tried to cover my ears. Two gunshots later and I knew what she’d done. A sick feeling overwhelmed me, but I couldn’t allow myself to vomit. She’d make me clean that up. But back then, I couldn’t bring myself to push hard against her. I was a child… impotent to the commands of my grandmother.

When she came inside I was pacing and telling myself that I’d punish her. That I’d shoot her. But I was only a boy. So I did what boys do.

“You’re a BITCH!” I yelled — a word I’d picked up from Lou fighting with his girlfriend at the time.

Yiayia said nothing.

“You’re an old bitch! I fucking hate you! I fucking hate you, cunt.”

Once I’d finished that sentence, I’d run out of swear words. I was six. I thought cunt, fuck and bitch were plenty.

“Are you done?” Yiayia asked calmly, as if she hadn’t just executed my beloved pet. My only friend.

“BITCH!” I yelled emphatically.

“Do not overreact. I killed the puppy to help you understand something, Galanos. You respect your elders, first. And second, you never become attached to living things. They will always die or disappoint you.”

“I hate you,” I seethed, meaning every word of it. I imagined squeezing her neck and watching her eyes bulge out. The thought made me smile. That’s my diagnosis, isn’t it?

“I know. You hate me now. Come, I will get you ice-cream and teach you how to hurt that little friend of yours properly. I don’t want a display.”

I didn’t want to put Harry out of my mind. I wanted to be angry with her. But I was six. And Yiayia was the only parent I knew. Whatever she did must have been right, so killing Harry must have been right.

I still miss that dog. I got his name tattooed somewhere most people don’t see. Yiayia wanted me to become cold. I think it worked.

The only person who casts doubt on that is Latrice Boyd .