Accidental Mobster (26 page)

“Vince will do great,” I say, reassuring myself as much as Gino that his son can handle the next match. I am the reason Vince is competing in this wrestling tournament, and even though he has proven he has a natural talent for the sport, he doesn't have the experience that many other high school wrestlers have. Vince is good enough to win the starting spot in his weight division at Newcastle High, but he is wrestling kids in tournaments who have been competing since elementary school. I've seen Vince's competitor before and think that Vince actually has a pretty good chance of winning this match. Vince is big, like his opponent, but whereas his opponent's size is made up of a lot of fat, Vince, at 18, is solid muscle. He has given up eating Snickers candy bars the past few months, and it has definitely paid off.

“Yeah, I think he'll do all right,” Gino says. “But if he wins this, then he'll be wrestling that black kid tomorrow.”

I grimace. That “black kid,” as Gino has called him, is my best friend, Reggie Allen. Reggie is a talented and experienced wrestler, and I know Vince stands no chance against him. I wasn't too happy to find out that Reggie and Vince have ended up in the same weight class—that means that Reggie has grown a lot this past year. And even though I'm glad that Reggie and I don't share a weight class, it's difficult to have my two friends matched up, especially when they don't care much for each other in the first place. It doesn't help that Gino treats Reggie with suspicion because he is always worried about Reggie's influence on me. Reggie is a straight A student who has won everything from speech contests to science fairs, and Gino is afraid that if I hang out with Reggie too much, I might find my way back to Ridley High.

He doesn't need to worry.

At first I stayed with the Vigliotti family because it was the only place I had to go. I can hardly believe that more than a year has passed since my mom, her husband, and her boyfriend got into a fight, and the result was that I had no home. Gino showed up just in time to save me from foster care, and soon I was part of his family. I don't know if he regrets taking me in because, soon afterward, I destroyed Gino's career – the job that gave him and his family a lifestyle that would make any teenager envious. But destroying that career wasn't a bad thing, really, because Gino was a mobster. And with a little help from my friends, I dismantled the Newcastle Mob by taking down the Mafia underboss, Ray Gallo, who is now in prison for a long time to come.

The best part is that Gino never had any charges brought against him, and in the end, the only person who died was the corrupt district attorney. So, all's well that ends well, right?

This happened about a year and a half ago. I'm now 17 and much more confident and happier than I was back then. Even though all this has taken place, not much has changed for the Vigliottis. There is still plenty of money to go around, and after a month or two of recovering from a gunshot wound, Gino went back to work. He has been just as mysterious as before, and I think the entire family has settled into a routine of not asking him any questions. Does the fact that I don't know if Gino has gone straight bother me? Yeah. But really, I don't have too much time to think about Gino these days.

Dismantling the mob has been just the beginning of so many changes for me. Such as, I now have a new last name because, apparently, my dad was a mobster named Mike Esposito and not my mom's second husband, a fat, cruel man named Del Higgins. But I don't use my real last name because Gino says this would be a bad idea, and although I know my godfather has made mistakes, I don't question him on this point. Seems to me the name Esposito has a lot of baggage attached to it, and I've got enough of that already. Right now I just want to shower, change, and eat something, but I'm not going to miss the chance to cheer for Vince. After I drain the cold liquid from my water bottle and slip a pair of sweat pants on, Gino and I stand side by side as Vince takes the floor. Reggie is standing across from us. He might be one of my best friends, but here, at a district tournament, we don't spend too much time together. Having already made it to the final match, Reggie is observing this match to prepare himself for his competition, whoever that may be, and I am wondering if he would enjoy wrestling Vince tomorrow. Vince is always finding ways to irritate Reggie, so I can only imagine my friend might savor a win over Vince. And Reggie likes Gino even less, so beating Vince would be a double victory for him. I glance at Gino, and I can see his jaw is tight. That's the only sign that he's nervous. I know he's learned to control the way he shows his emotions from the years he has spent in the Mafia, but for the record, this is about as tense as I've seen him in a while. He may not have a very affectionate relationship with his son, but Gino desperately wants Vince to win. I've always wondered if Gino keeps Vince at arm's length to discourage him from being involved in the “family” business. In fact, Gino is friendlier to me than to his own son, which either means Gino doesn't really care if I follow in his footsteps, or he just doesn't know how hard he is on Vince. I don't think those two realize how much they are alike. Gino and Vince are both stubborn, and their dark eyes and black, wavy hair are almost identical. Vince, however, is taller and bigger than his father, and he certainly has a more explosive temper. I look back at the wrestling mat and try to focus on the matchup, but my eye is caught by a figure at the other end of the gym. He's standing a little behind the bleachers, so I don't have a clear view of him. Vince's match is starting and the spectators around me are yelling, but I can't tear my eyes away from this person for one very distinct reason. He looks exactly like me.

Well, almost like me. He definitely appears to be just a little older. I try to get a better look at him, but then I tell myself I'm being stupid. With my short brown hair and Italian facial features, I'm sure I resemble many people in New Jersey. I shake my head, and as my eyes dart from the familiar-looking guy back to the match, I quickly see that Vince is struggling. I yell some encouraging words at him, and for a few minutes, my focus is on Vince. In the final minutes of the match, I know that although Vince has done well, he's going to lose.

Immediately I glance back at the person who seems to look so much like me, unable to dismiss him. That's when I see that he has turned and is walking out of the gym. Although I know I should probably referee the exchange between a frustrated Gino and disappointed Vince, my curiosity gets the better of me and I take off around the bleachers. It takes me about a minute to navigate my way through the crowd, but soon I am opening the far door to the gym. The cold January night air stings my face as I scan the area and take in the dark, empty parking lot. Then I roll my eyes. Why am I chasing strangers when I should be encouraging Vince? Just as I'm turning around to go back inside, a pair of slender arms wrap around my body from behind. I smile because there's no need to fight off this attacker.

“Portia,” I say, “I'm sweaty.”

My girlfriend unwraps her arms as I turn, and she smiles up at me with her big, expressive brown eyes. I've grown taller in the past year and a half, whereas she's still pretty small for a 16-year-old, and I can't say that I mind this at all. Portia always looks cute, especially when she's dressed in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, like she is right now. At the moment, she's twirling a strand of her long blonde hair with her finger as she reaches out her other hand to touch my skin. “You should put a sweatshirt on—you'll get cold.”

I grin and encircle her with my arms. “I think I'll just use you as my human heater.”

She grimaces and tries to pull away. “Ew, yuck, Danny. You
are
sweaty.”

I release her. “That's what happens when I wrestle.”

“Good for you. Now, go take a shower so we can go to the movies,” Portia orders.

“Okay. As long as you pick something that doesn't put me to sleep.”

Portia pouts. “You don't know me at all, Danny.”

I grin again, because I
do
know her. I know she's been eager to see a movie about car racing for weeks. Portia's dad, Joe Saviano, is also a former mobster, and his used-car business barely survived the fall of the Newcastle Mob. The only thing is, unlike the Vigliottis, the Saviano family doesn't nearly have the money they once had, and Portia has suffered some pretty cruel rejection at school. I, of course, having come from extremely poor roots, do not care at all that Portia no longer dresses in designer clothes and accessories. Portia would be beautiful dressed in a garbage bag, and I still can't believe she's mine. But Portia struggles with the way she's treated by the fickle and wealthy crowd at Newcastle High, and it's all I can do not to give her my allowance from Gino. Portia hates being poor, but she won't take charity. So I buy her nice things when I can, and the rest of the time I shoot evil looks in the direction of all those stupid girls who are so mean to her. Because of my train of thought, I grab my girlfriend's hand and squeeze it as I lead her back toward the wrestling match.

“I hate sitting near the cheerleaders,” Portia complains. “And watch out for Lisa. She's been talking about you nonstop like I don't even exist.”

“
I
know you exist,” I reply, earning a grin from my girlfriend.

“What were you doing over here anyway?” she asks me.

I pause—no need to sound crazy, even though Portia has accepted me as I am, faults and all. But I don't want to lie either. “I thought I saw someone I recognized,” I reply. This is true. I thought I saw someone who looks exactly like me.

“You probably did,” Portia says. “I'm sure a lot of the students here at Ridley High went to your middle school.”

“Sure,” is all I say, because I don't want to explain that I actually
do
know almost everyone here, but my status as a student at Newcastle High has scared them away. Or maybe they think I'm cocky now that I go to one of the best (and wealthiest) high schools in New Jersey. Well, they didn't have much time for me when I was the dirt-poor kid in middle school, so as far as I'm concerned, they don't really matter now. The only Ridley guy I still talk to is Reggie, when we're not fighting about whether or not my godfather is working for the Newcastle Mob again. To be honest, I'm a little surprised that the Vigliottis and I still live in Newcastle because I was certain we'd have to run away. The Mafia has a code of silence and loyalty—a code that mandated that at least Gino, and maybe myself, should be killed because of our involvement in the takedown of the Newcastle Mob. I try to push these heavy thoughts aside as Reggie strides up to me. “So, it looks like I won't be wrestling Snickers tomorrow,” Reggie says, sounding almost grumpy about this.

“Vince doesn't eat candy bars anymore,” Portia responds defensively, which surprises me, because on any given day, she likes Reggie much more than she likes Vince. I shrug at Reggie and say, “Better luck next time.”

“If Vince doesn't improve, there will never
be
a next time,” Reggie states.

“Hey, I'm not that terrible,” a voice behind me says, and I wince. Leave it to Vince to show up at exactly the wrong moment.

“I didn't say you were terrible,” Reggie states. “You just need a lot of practice.
A lot.
”

“I'm sorry, I wasn't born with my wrestling gear on like you!” Vince snaps. I groan as Portia rolls her eyes. “Really?” she asks. “Do you guys always have to get into it?”

“Sorry, Portia,” Reggie mumbles, and then he turns to Vince. “Next time, win all your matches so I can kick your butt in the finals.”

“Fine,” Vince growls, even though he probably doesn't think getting shown up by Reggie in the final match would be any better than getting beat on his way to the finals. Reggie glances over my shoulder and gives me a curt nod. “I'll check in with you later, Danny.” He turns and walks away abruptly, and it only takes me a second to figure out why. Gino is standing behind me, his quick eyes following Reggie as he leaves. “That kid could use some manners,” Gino mutters, and I almost laugh because Reggie is actually one of the most polite people I know, just not around the Vigliottis.

“Danny, the wrestling coach wants to talk to you,” Gino says, and I quickly turn and follow him and Vince back to the other side of the gym. Gino and Vince head back toward the locker rooms, arguing about Vince's match as they go. Portia and I veer toward the benches. I'm still holding Portia's hand when she stops abruptly and stares ahead with a shocked expression.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

She shakes her head, indicating that she's not going to tell me, and before I know it, the wrestling coach has walked up to us with another teenager in tow. The kid is about my size, but maybe a little more broad-shouldered, although it's hard to tell since he's in a jacket and jeans. He's tanned, which is strange for this time of year, and his straight dark hair is longer than mine and certainly much less sweaty at the moment. But it's the friendly look he gives Portia that puts me on the defensive.

Coach Larson is a gruff, small guy who doesn't realize that this new teenager is making my girlfriend very uncomfortable. I look expectantly at him to explain who this kid is.

“Danny, this is Damian Caletti,” Coach Larson says abruptly. “He used to wrestle at Newcastle's middle school before he moved away. His family just returned a few weeks ago. The thing is, Damian's in your weight class. So I guess we'll have to see who gets the starting spot once he joins us.”

I try to smile at Damian, but I find this impossible. First of all, I don't want him looking at my girlfriend like he's her new best friend. Second of all, Portia is acting weird, which must mean he's a real jerk. Finally, Damian and I are probably not going to be instant buddies if we're fighting for the same spot on the team.