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and stacks of envelopes piled up in the desk drawer, all Corrado thought about was how the electricity should never go off again.
    His dad was rich .
    "Cactus Cooler," Vito muttered, picking up the half-empty can from the corner of the desk. Corrado's third soda of the day. "Your mother would kill me if she knew I let you drink so much of this crap."
    "I don't think she'd care," Corrado said.
    "Oh, she would," Vito insisted. "She has issues—there's no denying that—but family means a lot to her."
    Impulsively, Corrado touched his face, knowing the bruises and red marks were still visible.
    "Yeah, I know," Vito said, as if he had read Corrado's mind. "She has a funny way of showing it, huh?"
    Vito stood then and strolled over to the door, grabbing his hat from the coat rack. "Come on, lets get out of here. I'm starving, kid, and somewhere in this town there's a juicy steak with my name on it."

    Every day that week, Corrado went to work with his father at the casino, where the two sipped on drinks and bonded. Corrado drew on scraps of paper while Vito conducted his business. He's a casino worker , or maybe some kind of banker. He even entertained that his father may be a politician. Maybe he's the mayor of Las Vegas ! But nowhere in the bustle of day-to-day activity—the exchanges of cash, the silent meetings—did Corrado ever once entertain the word Mafia .
    Everyone knew the Mafia was bad, and well, Corrado believed his father was the greatest man alive. His father splurged and took him to fancy restaurants all week long, spoiling him with junk food like never before, grinning proudly when he showed him off. His father was the most passive person he knew, especially compared to his mother.
    Erika whirled wildly like a tornado, whereas Vito drifted along like a spring breeze. Never once had his father raised a hand to him, or anyone else that he'd ever seen. He'd lost his temper a few times, like when he'd gotten home and seen the aftermath of the beating, but even then, he'd restrained himself from hurting anyone.
    Thoughts of that evening, his mother's assault when he'd stolen money from her, slowly faded from Corrado's mind. The bruises and welts eventually disappeared, the sting long gone. Corrado waited, and waited, for his father to leave again, for them to tell him he had to go back to school, for life to return to how it had been, but the day didn't come. Days turned into weeks, and they settled into a new routine, one where Vito became a permanent fixture.
    And his constant presence pacified Erika.
    Corrado couldn't remember a time when that ever happened before. His family felt like a real family, a happy family, and it was all because of his father coming home.
    If Corrado hadn't idolized the man before, he did now.

 
         4
    " On tonight's show, Italian-American Civil Rights League founder Joe Colombo will be joining us to— "
    "Rat!" Vito spat as he sat up, his back straight, his eyes narrowed at the television. "He's gonna start singing like a canary!"
    They were all gathered around in the living room like they did every other night at that time, watching The Dick Cavett Show . Vito and Erika lounged on the couch while the kids lay on the floor, sharing a bowl of popcorn.
    "Can you believe it?" Vito said. "The balls of this fucking guy!"
    "Relax." Erika rubbed his back. "He isn't there to talk about—"
    "It doesn't matter," he said. "You don't go talk on national television! You just don't! You gotta be careful! This ain't careful !"
    Corrado stared at the screen, confused as to what upset his father. He'd never heard of any Colombo guy before and didn't know what it mattered. What was the big deal?
    "Turn it off," Vito declared, his voice hard. "Right now."
    "But it's Dick Cavett !" Katrina whined, staring at their father with pleading eyes.
    "I don't care," Vito said. "We don't watch that man anymore."
    "But—"
    "You heard me, Kat!" Vito shook his finger at her, his eyes ablaze. "Never