Gabriel
I stared up at the Segretto mansion. My immigrant father had been so proud of that old Victorian monstrosity, especially that god-awful statue he had commissioned for the front yard, but for me, it held more bad memories than good. How many times had I ridden the school bus home, wishing I could just get off at any of the other houses on the street, rather than walk in the front door and face the constant criticism and disappointment?
My mother, bless her heart, was a good woman. And I know she loved me, and she shielded me as much as she could from my father’s heartless comparisons, but she came from that old-world era where a woman had to honor and obey her husband, even if she disagreed with him.
And deep down, I know she also favored Raphael. Raphael was just one of those go
