Dead Wrong Read Free

trying. I smiled in return and Cara grinned. Aaron sat stuffing cake into his mouth, mesmerized by the three of us.
    â€œGood cake, eh?” I asked when my mother loaded his plate with another slice and refreshed his coffee.
    â€œMmm, hmm.” Aaron mumbled his appreciation.
    â€œYou know Mom, since Aaron and Marcus eat your leftovers at my house so often I think I’ll claim them as a deduction on my income taxes.”
    Aaron chuckled as my mother shook her head. She’d managed my father’s pizza restaurant business until he took an early retirement. The woman knew IRS regulations by heart.
    â€œI don’t think you can do that, dear.” She rose from the table to fix a plate of cake for my father who had just entered the room.
    Gino Esposito is a rugged man. My friends call him a “looker” with loads of charm. I guess he is a looker, but all I ever manage to elicit from him is a lecture on settling down and motherhood that includes soccer and cooking spaghetti – none of which thrills me in the least.
    We butt heads often. Sometimes I win and sometimes not.
    The head butting starts over the least little thing, but mostly over the fact that I can’t mind my own business. Curiosity plays a huge part in how I live my life, and lying by omission was a gift given to me at birth along with a healthy dose of independence. When I least expect it, my curiosity kicks in and I find myself armpit deep in shit. My sorry-ass life is often in a state of disarray.
    I thank God daily for the two men in my life, Marcus and Aaron. Without them, who knows where I’d end up? I smiled at Aaron and turned to my father.
    â€œHow are we going to get through the funeral if this woman shows up, Dad?”
    â€œHow the hell do I know? She’s not my responsibility. You should have minded your own business, Lavinia. You know it isn’t good to interfere in these things.”
    â€œAnd how did this become my fault? It would have been a whole lot worse if I hadn’t stopped Lena, Dad.”
    â€œThese things work themselves out, Lavinia. Keep that in mind in the future.” My father ate his cake while I reached for crumbs on his plate.
    A sharp rap on the knuckles followed my poor manners. I drew the hand back, licked frosting off my fingers, and listened to Gina and Cara crack up with laughter. Cripes, I was taking a beating here, both verbal and non-verbal. I’d be better off to go home. I rose with the twins and cleared the table to escape any further issues.
    Aaron leaned back, engaging my father in conversation about who was what in the viewing room. He asked how old my dead uncle was. My father answered his questions in an affable manner until he caught my glance. With an imperceptible nod of my head, I warned him to curb his comments. He stared at me a moment and then glanced back at Aaron.
    Dad withdrew his watch from his wrist and rose from his seat at the table.
    â€œIt’s late. I’m headed to bed.”
    I kissed his cheek and said I would be at the funeral home early the next day. Before he left the room, he turned and asked, “Can you pick Nonni up?”
    â€œSure, around eight o’clock. Okay?”
    â€œThat’ll be fine.” He gave me a brief hug, kissed the twins and my mother, and left the room with a nod in Aaron’s direction.
    Gina gazed after my father as he walked away and turned to me with a smirk. “Smartened your ass up, didn’t he?”
    â€œYeah, same as he does to you on occasion.” I smirked back at her.
    â€œUncle never smacks my knuckles.” Cara boasted with a wide, self-satisfied grin.
    Gina and I turned wicked glares on her before we all laughed. Cara said, “At least it’s better than Nonni’s wooden spoon.”
    Unable to comprehend why we’d find it funny, Aaron watched this display with a sense of wonder on his face. Plainly, he wasn’t Italian. Gina took pity on him and