Chapter One
Victoria
Victoria La Marcello
Eleven years ago…
Please don’t misunderstand, I’ve never wanted for anything from my father, but the truth and understanding of what he expected of me. Seeing as I spent most of my life a secret and a part time child, in a part time family. My father is a well-known, very well connected man.
The La Marcellos always have been. My dad had been with my mother for about twenty years, although, he’s legally married. His wife is the woman I used to call Mad Maria. There was a time when Maria never had a kind word to say to me or anyone else in my family.
Now that I’m older I really can’t blame her. Maria stood and watched my father do what he wanted to for years. I guess there really was no denying that my little brother Toni and I belonged to Venncesso Antonio La Marcello. I mean, let’s face it, my father had a lot of balls.
Though he would never leave Maria for us, he always wanted to be a part of our lives. After all, we were his only children, given the fact that Mad Maria couldn’t give him children. Rumor has it, she had some kind of accident when she was younger.
Despite the drama, my father has been there for everything he could be there for. He was even there the day each of us were born. He was the one to name us both. He named me, Victoria Antonella La Marcello and my brother, Antonio Vincenio La Marcello. My mother is no fool; she made sure he gave us his last name on paper, even if we weren’t to use it in the real world.
My mother wanted to make sure if anything ever happened to my dad, she had proof of who we are. It was necessary in the life my father lives. However, I spent a large portion of my life using the last name James. Boy is there a store there, but that’s for another time.
Funny thing is, as much as we were supposed to be a secret, everyone knew exactly who we were. Anyone who claimed otherwise was blind, a liar, plain stupid, or just in denial. Truth is, if you did know, you also knew it was in your best interest never to mention it, especially not to or in front of Mad Maria.
Now looking back, I guess Mad Maria had every right to be mad. See, my father insisted he be a big part of our lives, which meant he always wanted us around. So, for years, he had my mother work at one of his restaurants as a bartender and waitress.
This allowed him to keep an eye on her and have us around the place all the time as well. This drove Maria crazy I’m sure. Venny’s beautiful African American girlfriend and her half breed children practically living in her face twenty-four-seven.
Maria spent almost all her time at the restaurant because she refused to leave my father out of her sight with my mother around. Every now and then you’d catch Maria watching me with those jealous eyes. I used to think it was because of my looks.
I’ve always been called beautiful and I’ve been very shapely for my age. However, I later realized it was because I looked so much like my father. The older I get, the more and more we look alike.
Even though I’m all Venny in the face, I’m totally Lakeisha James in the body. I’m telling you, from the large perky breasts to the hourglass hips and the perfectly round and plump rear. My mother is a caramel Jessica Rabbit and I’m baby Jessica. I have facial traits of my mother’s here and there.
Like the almond shaped eyes. Although, mine are hazelnut. It’s the only feature that belongs to only me and no one else. Then there’s the birthmark below my ear, shaped like a tiny animal cracker. However, these were all things that faded in comparison to the features I carried from my dad.
When it comes to my dad, I have his long black eyelashes, his thick black brows, and the nose that looks as if it were chiseled into our faces. I also share his sharp, but soft facial structure and the full, but small lips he wears so handsomely. Only difference between my father and me is the color of our skin.
Although, after a day at the tanning salon that difference too would disappear. I could pass for Sicilian or Hispanic, depending on the day. My dad is a lot paler than my brother and I.
Like I said, I’ve been called beautiful all my life. I guess that’s why my father keeps an extra eye on me. Little things have always been an argument between him and my mom.
For example, me wanting to model. Or there’s the argument about me wanting to wear straight hair, instead of my natural chocolate brown tight curls that are haunted by strands of red. It’s like when it came to my hair my parent’s genes had a fight, when it came to whose set would dominate my hair color.
According to my father, I wasn’t allowed to model because those photographer guys are pigs. As for the straight hair, it makes me look too old. My mother and I would pout when my father shut us down, but not for long. On the weekends, Venny never failed to show up with gifts to keep his girls happy.
Every birthday it was guaranteed I’d get a new pair of ruby earrings, the older I got the larger they’d get. I guess that was the guilt increasing. When the rubies couldn’t get any bigger, I started to get rubies and diamonds.
I was definitely spoiled. I had bank accounts that were considered allowance, but to the average person my weekly allowance was a year’s wage. My father would take me to property auctions and buy me houses and land at least every other month. That’s laughable to me now that I know why.
My friends and I would have sleepovers in my renovated properties, just before they became forgotten to me all together. Nothing has ever been too good. I went to one of the best catholic schools money could pay for.
Daddy had Uncle Louie pick my little brother, Toni and I up from school every day and drop us off at the restaurant. Uncle Louie was the uncle that always smelled like salami and pickles. We’d hang out in the back room where all the action really happened.
Anytime things were about to get serious, Uncle Sal, would take us for ice cream and a movie. Uncle Sal was my favorite uncle. We saw lots of movies.
We lived a pretty nice life. On weekends, my father would come to see us. We would play the role of a normal, happy family with a father. Then he would leave and reappear in the mornings, as if he had just gone to work. Unless it was a holiday, Mad Maria got holidays.
That used to make my mother furious, she felt we children needed my father than Mad Maria more on holidays. He’d just say, ‘Keisha what would it look like if I wasn’t with my wife on Christmas,’ or whatever holiday he was dodging.
We had it all if you didn’t count my absent father. Even though my mother wasn’t allowed to drive any of them to work, she had plenty of cars. She had a Mercedes Benz, Range Rover, a 745; that she would drive every chance she got. Those were just more guilt gifts.
Not to mention, the five-bedroom house we lived in. It’s funny to think about it now, but my neighbors were all doctors and lawyers. Then here you had my mother, a waitress and bartender.
My father once tried to make her the hostess, but Mad Maria went nuts. It took hours to get her to calm down. A lot longer than ice cream and a movie could cover. It was things like that, that made me hate Maria. I was still young and didn’t understand her side of all the drama.
I just wanted my father and my mom to be happy. It was a little confusing to have to call your own dad, Mr. La Marcello in public and be forced to say daddy, papa, or father, in private. I was also confused about being a James in public, but knowing to have the pride of a La Marcello at all times.
The family thing wasn’t as hard. We grew up at the restaurant. Everyone but Mad Maria loved my mother and her kids. So, it was the norm that someone was always an aunt or uncle that wasn’t related at all. For the most part, no one in the neighborhood was ever out of line. I guess the price to be out of line was a little too great. Even Mad Maria knew when to draw the line.
It stayed this way for sixteen years of my life, but I’ll never forget the day all of this changed. That’s the day that would change things forever. The day I met him.