a glance at italy

FRANCESCA

MY EYES POP open as the car pulls up to a sprawling mansion. Bodyguards are everywhere, patrolling the grounds. I step out of the car and a butler quickly whisks away our luggage.

Antonio comes around the car and wraps an arm around my waist. An elderly woman emerges from the mansion, her hands clasped behind her back.

Two muscular men with rifles slung over their shoulders follow her.

“Get the suitcases,” she commands before turning to us with a smile. “You’re early, my boy?” she asks.

“Finished work early,” Antonio replies. His voice is unusually warm when he speaks to her.

“Fantastic! This is your wife?” she asks, her gaze shifting to me.

“Yes. Francesca Giordano, ~Nonna~.” My eyes widen as I realize that her husband is the Godfather.

“Hello, ma’am,” I manage to squeak out, feeling embarrassed by my nervousness.

The older woman squints at me. I feel a wave of fear wash over me. I desperately want her to like me. But then she chuckles.

“You’re very pretty, dear. Even more beautiful than Toni described you years ago!”

My eyes widen even more. Years? He talked about me? I’m not sure how to feel about that. But a warm, fuzzy feeling starts to grow in the pit of my stomach.

“Oh…” I trail off, trying to act nonchalant—as if it doesn’t matter that he talked about me to his family, that he called me beautiful.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say.

“Oof.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Call me ~Nonna~. No need for formalities.”~

I find myself liking her and I’m relieved that she seems to accept me. Or, this could all be an act. I’m not sure, but so far she seems genuine.

It’s surprising, really, because older women in the Family often try to assert their dominance over the younger ones to maintain their status.

~Nonna~, with the Godfather as her husband, is already powerful and experienced.

I realize that one day I might be in her position, trying to assert my power and guide other women, maybe my daughter or daughter-in-law, through the world of crime.

I’m not sure how to feel about that.

“Toni, go do whatever. Francesca is coming with me.” She grabs my hand and leads me into the lavish mansion.

Unlike our home, there’s only one grand staircase leading to the second floor. There, it splits into two more staircases on opposite sides of the room.

The walls are a golden beige. The black wood of the railings gives the place an opulent feel. The floors are tiled and a stunning chandelier hangs from the ceiling.

“You have a beautiful house,” I tell her.

She simply smiles at me. “I know, darling. I designed it.”

I admire her confidence and self-love. She has a bold aura that tells me she’s kind to those who are kind to her, and not so kind to those who don’t deserve it.

“Your husband is useless,” she whispers. My eyes widen as I look around. We’re slowly climbing the stairs. Antonio has already disappeared upstairs.

He didn’t even glance at me, and that honestly hurts. Not in a humiliating way, but it just makes me feel...down. I can’t quite explain it.

“What?” I ask, taken aback.

She chuckles at my reaction before heading in the opposite direction Antonio went. I’m just glad he didn’t hear her. I don’t know how he’d react. Would it hurt him?

“Don’t worry, Doll. Toni may be a great don but he’s not a great husband. I bet you’d agree. After all, you wait for him every night to come home,” she says.

“He is a fine don,” I agree. I can’t tell her whether he comes home late or not. I don’t know her well enough to share that information. It would hint at his whereabouts.

It would also suggest that our home is unguarded until late.

The upstairs is as grand as the downstairs. Back home, we have three floors, and I hate the top one. Here, there are only two floors, but they’re spacious and grand. ~Nonna~ leads me into a living room.

The room is filled with light from the many windows. The walls are also a golden beige. Light brown couches are arranged in the center.

A dark tea table sits in the middle of the room. Pictures of previous loyal soldiers and criminals adorn the walls. It feels like a library, or an interview room.

Books are stacked on shelves and a deer head is mounted on the wall. I feel intimidated, but I try not to show it.

“Have a seat,” she says.

I’m nervous. I’ve just come off a long flight and I’m really tired. The time difference is also taking its toll.

“Thank you,” I mutter. It feels like an interrogation.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks.

I don’t like tea, so I politely decline.

“I don’t like tea either,” she says.

“How did you know I don’t like tea?”

She laughs at my surprised expression. “In the mob, my child, no one is your true friend.

“The only difference between men and women is that men play politics outside the house and we play it inside.

“You have to be very observant to keep up, especially if you want to establish your own dominance among the mafiosos and mafiosas.”

“Even the men?” I ask, intrigued.

She smiles. The few wrinkles on the sides of her face show that she doesn’t smile often.

“Even the men, darling. Why do you think your husband respects me so much? Enough to leave you with me, a complete stranger, without any questions?”

~Because you’re his grandma~, I want to say, but I hold my tongue.

“No, it’s not because I’m his ~nonna~ or because I watched him grow up. It’s because I have authority here. He wouldn’t dare question me, and he knows that,” she says.

I can’t help but smile. “You can read me like a book,” I admit.

Her gaze turns icy and my heart skips a beat. “Don’t ever admit that to anyone, Francesca. You’d be handing them the power to use against you.”

She taps her head as she sits down, crossing her legs just like I do. “Keep them guessing. If you don’t know what you’re doing, make sure they don’t either.

“It’s all about manipulation, but you’ll understand that soon enough. One day you’ll be in my shoes, giving the same advice to your daughter-in-law.”

I listen to her, even though I’m not sure why we’re having this conversation. Is this some kind of bonding moment?

I nod in response.

“Speak up, Doll,” she instructs.

The image of Antonio flashes in my mind and I can’t help but smile. He calls me that often, usually when he’s annoyed with me.

“I understand,” I assure her.

She gives me a brief smile. “You’re a good woman, just like Bella was.”

“Bella?” I ask, confused. This is the first time I’ve heard of her.

“Toni’s mother. A good woman. Raffaello didn’t deserve her,” she explains.

“Where is she now?” I ask, my voice softer, as if I already know the answer.

A sad smile appears on her face. “She’s dead.”

I gasp. “How?”

Her eyes turn cold. “Murdered in cold blood by the one person she trusted the most. The only person she truly loved.”

“Who?” I whisper.

Her lips curl into a cruel smile. “Your husband, of course.”