The Chronicles of City Lights and Modern Love

Carmine and I had been dancing for what seemed like an eternity. I had successfully blocked out all my negative thoughts and, for the moment, I was completely blissful. That was until Carmine began to get restless, his movements becoming clumsy. Finally, he huffed and began to speak, pulling me out of my reverie.

“You know, I am sorry about all this; about everything,” he said.

We had exchanged naught but a word since we had begun to dance, but I had been content in the silence. Carmine, however, was clearly not so content.

“I mean, I didn’t really have much choice in the matter - in kidnapping you I mean. I was curious though – I mean, I've always been told about you and you seemed kind of interesting - but that’s beside the point-”

“What kind of stories?” I asked, surprised at his change in attitude.

“Story has it that some old bat had a premonition when you were born - you know how superstitious Italians can be.”

I knew superstition all too well. Back in Italy, Nonna had feared the evil eye and the number seventeen. She never complimented someone’s newborn child without saying “god bless him” or “her” afterward. She didn’t trust black cats and she was happy to blame her lost possessions on the “little folk”, rather than her fading memory.

“Apparently,” he continued, “she saw that you would one day take your Nonno’s place as the big boss. So, because of that, you’ve kind of got people watching you everywhere you go. They’re mostly employed by Neil, but some are just curious to know what’s so special about you. In our clan, no female has ever been Don before. I suppose they’re hoping you’ll do something wrong, just so they can prove that tradition shouldn’t been tampered with.”

“But that’s silly! I would never do what he does. I could never be like him. Surely he knows that; surely everyone can see that – wait, people watch me? What am I, under surveillance?”

“In short, yes, but I’ll put it into perspective for you. Do you remember the Morello family that owned the pizzeria in your suburb, back in Australia?”

I nodded, scared as to where this was going.

“Well, they work for your Nonno.”

“The whole family?” I asked, remembering that they had five kids, two of which I had been rather well acquainted with.

“Not the younger children, obviously, but the man and wife did as well as the eldest son and daughter. Can you recall the elderly man that lived next to your high school?”

Again, I nodded.

“His name is Marcus Veneto and he’s standing over there,” he said, subtly pointing at a man in a grey tweed suit and patent black loafers. I recognised him at once.

This new information swirled around inside my head, threatening to send me into overload. How could these people have been employed by Neil? They were so involved in the community and not at all menacing – quite the contrary in fact. Veneto used to volunteer as the pedestrian crossing guard and apart from eating at the pizzeria regularly and interacting with the whole family during my visits, I had dated the eldest Morello boy early in high school – I was also close friends with one of his sisters for a time. I wondered, did they relay everything I told them over the years to my grandfather? I had told them many things, private and otherwise? I had told them things even my parents didn’t know.

“How many others were there?”

“A significant number and they didn’t all play permanent parts in your life though. Some people you only met the once...you name a place you went and there probably was someone there. The only place that you were ever away from prying eyes and ears was inside your own house.”

This was absurd. Apparently I had been oblivious to the fact that, my entire life, no move I’d made or conversation I’d taken part in had gone unnoted. How much did these people around me know about me and my life? Did they know that my favourite film was The Breakfast Club and that I was allergic to red cordial? Did they know that I had a scar on my knee from the time I tripped onto a tent peg at the circus? Were they aware that my favourite flavour ice cream was pistachio and that I hated beetroot more than anything else in the world, breathing or otherwise? Did they know that, by keeping tabs on me, they had possibly ruined what little trust I had in the entire human race?

Just how much did they know?