DONATELLA – 30 DAYS AGO
“Has it been like this since Sunday?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Toby replied, stepping up behind me, blocking the sun with his body and casting a shadow over me. “The explosion came from the right side of the church; I don’t know if we should be thankful or not.”
“Not,” I replied angrily, stepping forward into the OS center, the facility my parents had built right in the heart of the city to honor their fathers, Orlando “Iron Hands” Giovanni and Sedric “The Butcher” Callahan. Two great men I’d never met, but grew up constantly reminded of. My mother rarely spoke of her father, but when I shipped off to boarding school in Italy, I’d heard stories of him. Those who did remember him spoke of him like he was the boogeyman. Some believed he wasn’t dead. That he was out there enjoying the mass fortune he’d “earned.”
My father on the other hand, couldn’t shut up about his father. Apparently, dear old grandfather hated his nickname so much, he forbade them to bring it up… I had no idea why, though, and it didn’t matter now. What did matter was their legacy. The edifice my parents had built in their honor was supposed to show how far our families had come. It wasn’t just a soup-kitchen or recreation center. It was reminder of their greatness, only the best of the best of the best went to it. First-class facilities, groceries, and even help with job search. Once a week, every week, we fed anyone who came through the door. The other six days it was open to the public to not only find work and train for better jobs, but for necessities like showers and haircuts. Even people who weren’t Irish or Italian came here… And now… Now it looked like a World War II Triage Center, all because of the Finnegan Brothers and their grunts had placed a bomb in our family church.
“Now I know why Ethan left for Boston so quickly, Tobias,” I said, walking down the corridor and looking at the sleeping mats that were all laid out. It’s easy to get revenge; the aftermath was the messy part.
“Why, ma’am?” He stood directly behind me, closer than I preferred in public.
I glanced over my shoulder at him, “Haven’t you realized my brother has only two facial expressions; Fear Me and Get the Fuck Out My Way, You Bore Me.”
He tried not to smirk, but I saw the corner of his lip turn up. And I couldn’t help but think that he was cute. His long, shoulder length dark-brown hair was pulled back into bun, his light brown eyes staring down at my lips.
“How many children?” I asked suddenly, turning from him and walking on.
“Twenty-nine,” he replied, following.
“And adults?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” I muttered to myself. The bombs went off on the right side of the church, the side where most of the parents sat in order to be able to see their kids in the children’s choir.
“Before, Ethan had the center open to any children whose guardians couldn’t be reached—”
“How nice,” I replied sarcastically, “but this center isn’t an orphanage. Are social services here?”
“Yes, however…”
“I hate dramatic pauses, Tobias,” I said as we walked towards the silver double doors to the main cafeteria.
“Ethan spoke to the major… This is a family matter.”
“Ethan.” I gritted my teeth.
“He simply wants to prove to the people that he will—”
“You don’t need to explain my brother’s reasoning. I know what he wants. I just don’t agree. Since I’m here and Ethan is not, we’re doing this my way and they’re going to have to go.”
“Dona, they’re children—”
“It’s not up for debate. And even if it was, it wouldn’t be a debate with you. The door.” I waited, allowing him to go in front me. He pushed the door open and the moment I stepped through, I wanted turn around and walk back right out.
Clenching my teeth, I wave my hand out to the chaos in front us. “You said twenty-nine children and fifteen adults… Does this look like forty-four people?”
His eyebrows furrowed together as he stared at the herd of people now in the cafeteria…the watering hole of grown-ass men and women, whom I’m sure weren’t in the church at all, stuffing their faces with our food.
“People are selfish by nature; they came because they heard the Callahan name and thought, ‘So what if I wasn’t affected directly, they can afford to give up a few extra plates, drinks, blankets…or straws.” I said the last one looking directly at the freckle-faced woman stuffing straws, into her daughter’s pockets. Of all things…straws?
“Ma’am.” I turned my head to the side as Greyson appeared beside me. His orange hair and thick beard didn’t make him stand out as much normal in this crowd…it was his large build that did that. “The kitchen said they’ve run out of breakfast and will need time to bring out more.”
“More food isn’t necessary,” I said, watching the line grow at the counter. “Less people are.”
“What do you need me to do?” Greyson asked, standing up straighter.
I glanced to Toby, waiting for him to stand up straighter as well. He forced a smile before doing the same.
“We can start asking people to leave,” he said.
“I’m not asking; get me a microphone,” I said, walking them to the front of the room when all of a sudden, a young voice yelled out.
“FIGHT!”
And like the craven people they were, everyone turned to watch yet no one attempted to stop it, not even my brother’s men.
Father, give me strength, I thought as moved toward the “fight”, Toby immediately pushing against the rising crowd.
“Take it back!”
“You take it back, you stupid—”
“GET OFF HIM!” a blonde-haired woman in her late forties screamed, pushing one of the boys away and hugging her son or grandson to herself. “How dare you?”
“He started it!” the other boy yelled, wiping his nose on his arm, ready to charge again. And if it wasn’t for his friends holding him back, he would have.
“Marco, stop!” One of them yelled as they tried to hold on to his arm.
“Say it again,” the boy—Marco, apparently—sneered at the other one. “Say it again! Call me Guido again!”
The moment the word came out of his mouth, more than few of the men who hadn’t been paying attention turned to look at the coward with blond hair.
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” he lied.
“How dare you make up such a lie!” she yelled back.
“I’m not lying—”
“You are, too!”
“And why don’t we just stop there,” I said politely, a fake smile on my face as I walked into the makeshift circle. Everyone’s eyes turned to me. “It’s been a stressful time for all of us—”
“I want an apology!” Marco yelled, yanking his arm away from his friends to stand on his own. He wasn’t look at me. I wasn’t sure if he could see anything other than the target of his rage. So, I stepped in front of him and snapped my fingers.
“Hi,” I smiled again. I just know I’m going to have massage my cheeks tonight. “Do you know who I am?”
He frowned, looking at me for long time, until one of his friends whispered more than a little loudly, “It’s Ethan Callahan’s sister.”
You little shit.
“Orlah.” A few others whispered.
“Ethan Callahan’s sister has a name and it’s Donatella.” I tried to speak with as little venom as possible. “And I said this fight is over. So, it’s over. Am I clear?”
His hands balled into fists, he breathed through his nose, but didn’t say anything.
“Thank you, Donatella, kids like him have no training or respect,” the woman said from behind me.
I turned slowly to face her. She put her hand on her son’s head, petting him as if he were a prized dog. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean? Kids like him?”
She tensed but didn’t back down, “I just mean kids who are spoiled. The ones always trying to blame other people for their problems.”
She’s joking. She had to be.
“He’s my problem!” Marco yelled at her.
“Marco, didn’t I say this fight was over?” He muttered something under his breath and turned to walk away. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”
If it wasn’t for the older, white haired, half-drunk man who put his hands-on Marco’s shoulders, he would have ignored me and kept walking.
“So, rude.” I shook my head and turned back to the woman “What is your name?”
“Claire Eilis, my husband works for your brother,” she said with a smug grin on her face; almost identical to the brat next to her lifting his chin as he glared at Marco.
“Really? Thank you for all your hard work. I haven’t met your husband personally, but I’m sure he’s a good man. Is this your son?” Keep smiling, Donatella. Just keep smiling.
“My nephew, Declan.”
“What a coincidence! I have an uncle named Declan too; do you know what the name means?”
The boy stepped forward, shaking his head and pretending to be innocent, “No, I don’t ma’am.”
“It means full of goodness,” I said, putting my hand on his head and petting him just like his aunt had done for a second before grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling his head back. “So why are you such a little shit?!”
“AH!” he reached up to grab my wrist. “Aunty!”
“Yes, Aunty Claire, please explain to me why your nephew is spitting out slurs in my center?” I asked, tilting my head to look at her clearly.
“He didn’t do that—”
“So, Marco here just decided that out of all the kids here, he was going to frame your nephew and disrespect me using a term not commonly used in Chicago, in order to…? I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to fill in the blanks for me, Aunty Claire. It must be the Guidette blood in me that makes it difficult to comprehend.”
“I… He—”
“In fact, the more I think about it,” I spoke, yanking more of the boy’s hair, “the less this whole situation makes sense. Who gave you the right to call me Donatella? Why is your nephew a little gobshite? If your husband works for my brother, I’m sure you don’t need to be here—?”
“We came to volunteer!”
“Tobias!” I called out, knowing he’d be somewhere close.
“Yes ma’am?”
“Is there a Claire Eilis on the volunteer’s list?”
He checked his phone and before saying; “No, ma’am.”
I gasped, still not letting go her nephew’s hair; “See, now I have more questions, but I don’t know if I can trust you, Aunty Claire. You seem like you’ve been lying to me. Are you lying to me, Aunty Claire?”
Her pink lips parted but she said nothing; she looked like a goldfish, her mouth opening and closing, her eyes wide and dead. So, I looked down to the boy in my grip trying his best not to cry. Toby came over to me, standing at my shoulder to whisper. “The kids are recording you.”
Ignoring him, I spoke to the boy again, “Do you know why no one is coming to help you?”
His bottom lip quivered.
“I asked you a question, Declan.”
“N…no.”
“It’s partially because you are a spoiled little gobshite; do you know what a gobshite is?”
“No.”
I sighed; “You should ask your uncle when you see him next…”
“What’s the other part Ms. Callahan?” I looked over at Marco, who spoke as he stood surrounded by friends all grinning at Declan. “You said no one is stopping him partially because he’s…because he’s a…goa…gobshite?”
“Gobshite! You have to say it with feeling Marco, come on, try again, all of you,”
Excited they said it loudly, proudly, and yes, with feeling and they weren’t the only ones. A few others joined in… I noticed many of them…most them were Italian. The Irish looked uncomfortable and, as if to play on their pride, Declan started to cry.
“He’s just a kid—” his aunt said.
“He’s what? Ten?” I asked her.
“Twelve.” Someone coughed but there were so many people around, I couldn’t tell who it was.
“TWELVE? Now I’m upset.” I pulled Declan over to Marco and stood them facing each other, “If you’re old enough to know how to use slurs, you’re old enough to repent for them. So repeat after me and then you’re free to go.”
“Okay.”
“I, Declan the gobshite,”
He didn’t say it.
“Declan…”
“I, Declan the gobshite,” he repeated making Marco and his friends break out in laughter.
“Am very sorry for insulting not just you, Marco,”
“Am…very…sorry for insulting…not just you, Marco,” he hiccupped.
“But every Italian person in the world.”
“…I didn’t…”
“Declan, my hand is getting tired; I can ask one of my friends to told your head if you’d like.”
“But every Italian person in the world,” he said quickly.
“I swear—”
“I swear—”
“To be less of a gobshite,”
He took a deep breath; “To…be…less of a gobshite.”
“And never use that word or any other word like it again in my life.”
Once he was done repeating my words, I flung him over to his aunty but not before letting her have it, “I’ll get answers to my questions, Aunty Claire. And when I do, I’ll personally visit you and your husband to tell you what I know. In the meantime, why don’t you spend less time worrying about other people’s children and fix the one rioting next to you because I swear on my mother’s grave, if he ever insults my blood again…he’ll see his. GET OUT!”
She left like fire was under her feet. As she was leaving, Marco and his friends began to cheer and make faces.
“Do I need to make show out of you all, too?” I asked and they immediately shut their mouths, looking down. It was silent, so I took the opportunity to address them all. “Most of you do not know me personally. Consider yourselves blessed. Because if I have to get involved personally, I will not only embarrass you and your whole family, I’ll make you wish you lived in a hole so deep you’d never see the sun, let alone my face. So take note, these are the things I get personally involved with: one, people abusing my family’s generosity; two, people disrespecting my family or my heritage; and three, people causing trouble for my family. I’m sure you all can see the running theme here. If not, please let me know?” I asked politely again, looking around.
“Brilliant,” I said, flipping the mental switch in my mind to kind and gentle as I spoke now. “I’m glad so many of you were able to enjoy today’s breakfast. Please let anyone and everyone you know who plan on coming tomorrow that unfortunately my family and I will only be serving those affected by this horrendous terrorist attack. Of course, those of you who are suffering financially, our city’s poor and needy, will always be welcome. It truly means so much to me. As you know my grandmother was one of the victims of this horrendous act and I want to make sure no-one is overlooked. The Mayor has also said he’ll be allocating funds to help with any children who have been displaced either by the loss of guardian - and my heart goes out to those - as well as those of you whose parents are being treated at the hospital. I wish you could stay here, but we’ve been told by emergency services that this building isn’t suitable for temporary housing. My cousin Nari will give you more information tomorrow. Thank you so much for your support and understanding.”
I nodded to all of them before walking forward towards the double doors, my cobra-skin Gucci heels clicking on the floor as I tried to exit. I’d just made it into the hall when I heard the doors open again behind me as someone called out.
“Ms. Callahan!”
Pausing, I took a deep breath before turning back to Marco, he glanced up at me and blanched before looking back down. Toby’s eyebrow raised and he glanced over at me, that small grin on his face again.
“Are you going to thank me or are you going to keep admiring the tiling?” I asked Marco.
“Uh…thanks. I mean thank you! Uhh…” he said this while looking directly at me and then rubbed the back of his head, trying to think of what else to say. I just nodded and was about to walk away when he said, “I wanna work for you!”
I paused, observing how grown up he was trying to make himself seem. Standing up taller, he stuck out his chest as if he were enlisting in the army…he kinda is.
“What is it you think I do, Marco?”
He blinked like I’d just slapped him, and then tried to think.
“You’ve got no idea,” I answered for him.
He frowned, regaining his grown-up stance, “No, I got no idea. My pa says you guys run a lot of businesses and are really important people, so you’ve got guards because people always hurt you. I can fight! You saw. I could protect—”
I cut him off, “I protect myself, Macro. And besides, I’m just Ethan Callahan’s little sister; you should speak to him—”
“No.” Under his breath he muttered, “I don’t want to work for the Irish.”
I stared at him for a long time before moving over to Tobias. I flip open his jacket, reaching into the inside pocket and pulling out the pen. Hearing me walk over to him, Marco swallowed and took half a step back.
“Give me your arm.”
“Why?” he eyed me carefully, putting his arm behind his back.
Rolling my eyes, I held onto his chin while he bunched up his face, closing his eyes like he was getting ready for a punch he couldn’t avoid…or praying. Clicking the pen, I brushed his hair out of the way before writing directly on his forehead.
“Only the best work for me. So, if you want to join me, you’re going to need more than your fists, you’re going to need this.” I used the pen to tap the top of his head before clicking it again. “And I’m going to need certification that you’ve used it. So that’s after high school and college. Once you do all of that, call this number.”
“High school and college?” he stared me like I was insane. “That’s forever!”
“That’s ten years; good luck.” I gave him the pen before moving to leave.
“What happens if this number isn’t working!” he yelled after me.
“It will work,” I hollered back at him, stepping out into the wind as it blew in between the buildings. Toby opened the door to my car as it pulled up to the front of the building.
“Poor kid,” Toby sighed, shaking his head, “He’ll never find a girl that will live up to his first crush.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” I questioned.
“Are you thinking you’re my first crush?”
“I don’t care either way,” I told him honestly as I sat inside. “She wouldn’t be able to live up to me even still.”
“Would it kill you to be jealous once in a while?” He muttered something in Italian to himself, closing the door before I could reply.
I would have told him I heard him but in that moment, hearing someone else speaking Italian, something clicked at the back of my mind. I turned back to look at the glass, pyramid-shaped building.
“Marco, what is his last name?” I asked when Toby took his seat behind the wheel.
He grabbed his phone, scrolling, “Marco Forte. His mother died when he was young and his father, Joe, was injured during the bombing. But he’s going to be alright, the kid’s probably—”
“What does his father do? Does he work for us?”
He sighed, twisting his jaw to the side, “No. He’s just a plumber.”
“Find out how life has been going for Joe just-a-plumber.”
“Alright, what am I looking for?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered mostly to myself, not able to get this nagging feeling out of my head. “Drive.”
“Where to Ms. Callahan?” Toby questioned. When I didn’t reply, he called again, “Dona—”
“Anywhere. I need to think.”
Something felt off here, but I wasn’t sure what.