I throw Giovanni to the ground and fall down after him, getting my arms through his as he thrashes and swears at me. The group around us cheers for me or urges Giovanni to get his shit together.

Giovanni’s tough, though, and he works his way out of my grip in the dirt and tries to get the upper hand on me, and we grapple as dust gets kicked up. Our work shirts are already stained brown, and we’ve breathed as much sawdust as dirty air. This is nothing.

We’re in the little yard-space behind Uncle Carlo’s workshop, and by the way things look right now, you’d think it’s a regular community picnic of Italians.

Some of the other guys around my age are watching us wrestle, waiting for their turn to take on the winner. They’re alright guys. I got into my share of serious fights with them the first few months I was in this big new country, but sometimes a bloody lip and a good fight are all you need to make a solid friend.

And the girls aren’t far away. Most of them are Italians, but some of them are more local, come to see how we have a good time in the old country. We boys like showing off for them, and they sure as hell seem to like watching. A few of them are cheering us on, especially Giovanni’s sweetheart.

I hate to make her man disappoint her, but I’ve got something to prove to these second-generation kids!

Giovanni has his knee in my stomach for a moment, and I almost think he’s about to get the better of me. Just as he starts to try and pull us over and pin me down, though, I remember a trick my uncle taught me, and I move just so in his arms, making Giovanni lose his grip and giving me just enough advantage to turn him over on his stomach and wrench his arm behind his back.

“Fuck!” he groans, and he taps the ground to the cheers of some of the crowd around us as I stand up, holding my arms out and strutting around with a big, stupid grin on my face. It’s a strut that’s gotten me in more fights than I’d like to admit, but Giovanni and I are on good terms, and he’s a pretty easygoing guy when it’s all said and done.

As I put my hands on my hips and let myself breathe, raising my eyebrows at some of the girls cheering and clapping for me, I see past them to the handful of tables, where some of the older adults are hanging out.

Teenagers aren’t the only ones who spend afternoons behind Uncle Carlo’s shop. With a few tables, some decks of cards, and some homemade limoncello, Uncle Carlo managed to turn this little yard into a regular community center.

It’s not unlike back home. Back in Taranto, we’re all just a bunch of workers and workers’ kids, so it doesn’t take much for us to figure out how to have a good time with what we’ve got. And days like this, I’m starting to see why Uncle Carlo likes this country as much as he does.

These wrestling matches happen pretty fast and loose. Anyone who wants a turn dives in, and every now and then we get some grudge matches going, but we’re all pretty good-natured. If anything gets too heated, we laugh it off over a drinking match when the adults aren’t around, or if they’re nice enough to turn a blind eye.

My next opponent is a big guy named Ricky, but the fight with Giovanni hasn’t come close to wearing me out.

The fight is a back-and-forth of him trying to get a hold of me and me being too quick to let him. Just when I think I’ve got a hold of him, he surprises me, and vice-versa. Even though I’ve been here a while, there’s still some national pride that goes into these fights. We’re all Italians, but I’m fresh off the boat, so to speak. I’ve got to show off how we do things in southern Italy, and they want to see if they measure up to a hot-blooded European like me.

Their parents all tell them stories about how tough people in the old country are, and I aim to prove them all right.

The fight ends with me getting up under Ricky and suplexing him into the dirt, and the crowd of teens loses their shit. Apparently wrestling is pretty popular on TV here, so theatrics like that are impressive.

Ricky groans on the ground, and I stand up with a confident smirk on my face. There’s no way I’m not the clear winner after that.

“Jesus, Bruno, glad I got outta the ring before you turned that shit up!” Giovanni laughs as I step to the side of our little circle of friends, and he claps me on the back.

“Your mug’s already ugly enough, don’t wanna mess it up more,” I say with a grin, ribbing him in the side, and he punches me in the arm as our friends laugh.

“Fuck, you’ve gotta get your uncle to teach us some of that ex-military shit!” Ricky says as he gets himself to his feet and dusts himself off. Ricky’s big, but he’s a softie deep down. He’s already working in his parents’ bakery, and he’ll be happy to stay there. “You got an unfair advantage!”

“Hell, Ricky, if you wanna get your ass thrown down again, all you gotta do is ask,” I say back as Ricky makes his way over to me, and in response, he grins and wraps a big arm around my neck and grinds his knuckles into my head. I jab my rib into his stomach, and we break apart, everyone laughing.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that!” calls one of the girls from the other side as the circle starts to break up, girlfriends reuniting with their boys and some of the boys passing out beers to us.

I pry off one of the caps with my hand while I shake my head laughing, but Giovanni calls back, “Oh no, our boy Bruno’s only got eyes for that hot thing from the nice part of town!”

I punch at Giovanni while some of the guys laugh, and the girl rolls her eyes.

Serena and I hardly ever see each other, but all it took was someone to get one glance at us talking before rumors started spreading like wildfire. If you asked half of them, they’d tell you I was planning to steal her daddy’s car and run away with her upstate at a moment’s notice.

And honestly? If that spoiled little rich girl asked me to, I don’t know if I could say no.

Serena De Laurentis is the definition of off-limits. She comes from a totally different world, her family is miles above me in the social ranks of the Italian community, and best of all, I’m just a dirty worker getting paid under the table at her daddy’s new house.

Maybe that’s what makes it all the sweeter the few times we do get together.

I don’t even know her that well, but I feel like there’s something about her that I just can’t stay away from. She’s stuck in my mind, teasing me even when we’re away from each other. Rich girls are trouble, everyone knows that... and maybe all that’s what gets my blood going all the more.

“I gotta see this gal they keep talking about,” Ricky says, crossing his arms. “An American girl who can get our native Italian’s attention? Damn, she must be something.”

“You gotta teach her some Italian and bring her to one of these things, man!” Giovanni says, and I roll my eyes.

“And let you sons-of-bitches get a load of her? I don’t think so,” I say jokingly. “But nah, her dad’s an asshole, there’s no way I could get her away from her... shit, what do rich people do for fun? Galas?”

“Opera,” says another guy with a knowing nod. “My brother’s a cook at that opera house they got, says all the girls there are decked out in dresses more expensive than his car.”

“Think our boy Bruno’s a baritone, or…?” Giovanni starts, but I make like I’m about to punch him and he trails off, laughing.

While we talk, I’ve noticed a black sedan rolling up out front out of the corner of my eye. I glance over to Uncle Carlo and the other adults, and I see that he’s noticed too.

There’s a frown on Uncle Carlo’s face.

A few of the guys notice where I’m looking, and we watch the doors open, and a few big guys step out. Two of them aren’t dressed too differently from us, with simple jeans and white sleeveless shirts that show off some big-ass muscles and tattoos. The third guy, on the other hand, looks fancy. Nice shoes, black slacks, and a gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. That guy has a sharp look in his eyes that I don’t like, set under thick brown eyebrows and thinning hair.

I look back to the adults, and I notice the mood has died. Some of them look uncomfortable in their chairs, card games have ended, and Uncle Carlo is getting up with a grim look on his face to go meet the men.

I don’t have to be told what that could mean.

Mafia.

My jaw is set tight as they make their way up the dirt driveway. If the mafia is bad here in America, it’s way worse back home, especially in southern Italy. The mafia acts like their own government, running everyone’s lives and dealing brutally with anyone who steps out of line. They’re a cancer, and they’re strangling the whole country. I was raised to hate them. I was raised to fear them, too, but I’m not afraid of anything.

Because these bastards live on fear.

“Must have missed my invitation to your little party,” the man in the nice outfit says as he exchanges an awkward hug with Uncle Carlo. If he’s involved, then it’s my business too, I decide. I hand my beer to Giovanni, who gives me a concerned glance, but I shake my head and push past him to approach the group.

“Just winding down a little after work, boys,” Uncle Carlo says with a weary smile to them. “I figured you bunch would be starting your busy days right about now, is all.”

“Ain’t that considerate,” says the well-dressed man, who looks at me as I approach. He smiles, and Uncle Carlo follows his gaze, shooting me a look that says I should have stayed in the crowd.

“Well well, you’re getting bigger every day, aren’t you, Bruno?” says the well-dressed man.

“There a problem here?” I say, and the two big guys with the well-dressed man crack smiles as he raises his eyebrows.

“Fuck me, Carlo, is that how you teach your nephew how to talk to guests?”

Uncle Carlo flexes his fist, then looks to me. “Bruno, this is Claudio,” he says, nodding to the well-dressed man. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

“No, but I know you,” Claudio says, grinning at me. I don’t return the look. “Look at you, you’ve got your uncle’s courage.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” Uncle Carlo says with a weary look at Claudio.

“Actually, all I came here for was a word in private with your Bruno here,” he says, and both me and Uncle Carlo’s eyes widen in surprise.

“What?”

“What?” I say in tandem.

“It’s family business,” Claudio says to Uncle Carlo, “I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“If it’s family business, then I should-” he starts, but I interrupt him.

“It’s alright,” I say, glaring daggers at Claudio, “we’ll talk in the shop. No big deal. I’ll come back when we’re finished.” I know there’ll be trouble if we don’t play ball with these fuckers, and there are too many vulnerable people around for me to be okay with that.

“Good man,” Claudio says, patting me on the shoulder, and it takes a lot of energy for me not to whip around and bust this asshole’s lip open.

The shop is pretty simple inside. Carpentry equipment and wood are laying all over the place, but it’s pretty well organized. Uncle Carlo has always been tight about keeping things presentable. I know, because I spent my first week and a half here cleaning up the shop with him while he talked me out of running away.

I ran anyway, but I came back.

I walk with the three guys into the shop, and I lead them to a counter that I lean on, facing them with crossed arms and a set jaw. “So?”

Claudio is looking around the shop, though. He has an annoying, amused smile on his face. “Wow, your uncle really put together something respectable here, you know?”

I don’t say anything.

“Bet he’s teaching you all the ropes, too,” Claudio says, finally making his way toward me, his goons flanking him obediently. “And just look at those hands of yours—you’ll make a fine carpenter one day, kid.”

“There a point to this?” I say curtly.

The kind expression fades from Claudio’s face a little, and he puts his hands in his pockets, stepping a little further. “I see you’ve got your father’s attitude, too. That might be something your uncle needs to work on a little harder, kid.”

“How do you know dad?” I say, feeling my patience shorten by about half. I don’t like where this is going already, and he’s hardly said anything.

“Just through the family business,” Claudio says, that crocodile grin spreading back over his face. “Which is what I want to talk to you about today.”

“The hell you are,” calls a voice from the back of the shop, and Claudio turns his head to see Uncle Carlo storming in, red-faced. “For fuck’s sake, Claudio, he’s only sixteen!”

Despite Uncle Carlo’s entrance, Claudio is unfazed, and he looks back to me. “Well I’ll be damned, your body’s outgrowing your age. That doesn’t change things, though,” he says dismissively as Uncle Carlo approaches, but the goons give him a look that says he’s not going to come any further.

“Look, Claudio,” he says, breathing heavily and regaining his composure. “I don’t know what you’re here for, but if it’s got to do with his father, you can take it up with me.”

“My orders are clear, actually,” Claudio says, “and it runs a little thicker than blood.” Claudio pulls up a stool and sits down, resting his arms on his legs, hands clasped as he looks up at me. “Bruno, I’m sure your father was very happy to be able to send you here to America,” he says, and I narrow my eyes at him as he smiles. “Land of opportunity, you know? You’re better off here, getting everything you need from your uncle and his shop here. Can’t blame a man for doing that, the old country’s no place for a bright boy like you.”

“Get to the point,” I say, and Claudio gives a laugh.

“You’re as impatient as your father, too. See, plane tickets aren’t free, Bruno, nor is a passport and all the other nice things that just happened to fall into place to let you get over here.”

I can see Uncle Carlo’s eyes widening, and I have a bad feeling in my gut. Claudio continues.

“Your dad borrowed a nice little chunk of money from my friends back in Italy. All out of the love of his heart, of course, but he’s fallen on some hard times, and well, he’s having trouble making his payments.”

“I’ve got money,” I say quickly, standing up with a furrowed brow, but Claudio and his goons laugh.

“You don’t have the kind of money he owes,” he says simply, “and even if you did, this is a matter of reputation, you see.”

I feel my muscles tensing as I look at all three men. “If you plan on shooting me, you’d better not miss.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Claudio says, standing up. “My boss here in America has spoken up for you, Bruno. We take care of our own. He has a solution that my friends back in Italy have agreed to—something that will remind your father to be timely with his payments and help me out, all without spilling a drop of your family’s blood.”

I stare him down, and neither of us breaks eye contact.

“Now, I know you don’t like the idea of working for us, Bruno,” he says coolly, “but this offer isn’t really negotiable. I have one job for you—just one. You’ll do it, and I know you’ll do it well, and then we can forget all about this little meeting and us big bad criminals,” he says, making scare-quotes with his fingers.

I take a step forward so I can lean into Claudio’s face when I pronounce slowly, “Fuck. You.”

The smile leaves Claudio’s face. He takes a deep breath, then gestures to one of his goons. In the blink of an eye, the goon whips out a gun and points it at Uncle Carlo, who freezes, eyes wide. “Claudio, don’t do this,” he warns, putting his hands up.

“Listen, Bruno,” Claudio says in a still tone to me, folding his hands behind his back. “I appreciate your spirit, I really do. But this is a done deal. And if I go back to my boss and let him know how rudely you’ve been treating us, he’ll have to tell my friends in Italy that our deal’s off. And that will be very embarrassing.”

Every muscle in my body is tense, and I’m ready to fight. I’d throw myself at them all right now if there weren’t a gun trained on Uncle Carlo.

“You have a lot to learn about patience, Bruno,” says Claudio, his dead gaze cold as ice. “So I’ll put this in terms even a punk-ass teenager like you can understand. You’re going to do a job for us, and if you don’t, not only will you have to use this carpentry shop to make a coffin for your uncle here, but my associates in Italy will start mailing you your mom and dad’s fingers.”

His cold face splits into the most chilling grin I’ve ever seen. I exchange one tense look with Uncle Carlo before Claudio speaks again.

“So, what do you say?”