Page 71 of The Price of Power
“Well, I don’t know about whatever that is?” she said with a wave of her hand. “But I can tell you my method of dealing with all the good and bad things that have crossed my path in this house.”
I couldn’t help the smile that crept over my face. “I appreciate that.”
“It’s really quite simple,” she said, reaching out and grabbing a pastry for herself—another first. “Love.”
My brows shot up. “Love?”
“Exactly,” she answered with a nod. “When the boys’ father gave me my first job in America, right off the boat from Sicily all those years ago, I loved him for it. Not like you love Mr. Gabriel, of course. But love all the same.”
I opened my mouth, ready to quickly correct her about the depths of my feelings toward Gabriel, but she had already moved on.
“And when the bambinos were born, I loved them instantly,” she continued. “And that love only grew through the years.”
I cocked my head to the side. “So…what? That love means you just forgive them for all the horrible things they do?”
She shook her head, popping a piece of bun into her mouth. “It’s much simpler than that,” she said. “It means I don’t put myself in the position to judge them in the first place.”
“I…I don’t think I understand.”
“That’s all right.” The older woman graced me with a patient smile. “One thing I’ve noticed about you Americans in the last forty years is that you like it when everything falls into neat categories. Heroes in the white hats, villains in the black. There’s no room for anyone to exist in the middle. One must always pick a side.”
I could see her point, even if I didn’t fully agree with it.
“I guess we can be a little all-or-nothing in our thinking,” I said. “But you have to admit that some things are truly bad.”
“Like murder, you mean?”
“Exactly!”
See, I knew she’d understand.
“Except if the killing is in self-defense,” she said.
“Well, of course.” That went without saying.
“Or soldiers in combat,” she continued. “Or if someone was trying to harm those you love. Or if you knew they were about to do something truly heinous. Or?—“
“Okay, you’ve made your point. I get it.” I held up my hands, stopping her. “Maybe I can be a little rigid in my thinking. It’s how I was raised.”
“That is understandable,” Mrs. Tarolli said without a hint of judgement. “But you should know your Gabriel was raised a different way.”
“What way is that?”
“Gabriel’s father, Giuseppe, believed that all men, regardless of the circumstances they were born into, were only worthy of respect if they lived by a code of honor,” she explained. “Specific religions or philosophies weren’t important. Minor mistakes were insignificant. The only thing that mattered was that when times were tough, they made the best of them. That they acted for the good of the community instead of self-interest.”
How many times had I seen Gabriel living out that value? From all the generous tips to those who worked hard to using his fortune to help those in need, he never wanted praise.
“The unworthy, on the other hand,” she continued, “would prove they had no code by always acting out of greed, whether for money or power. And I’ve lived in this house long enough to see both kinds of men rise to the top of the D’Angelo family.”
It took me a moment to realize who she was meant. “Are you talking about Gabriel’s uncle? The one he’d killed to take over as boss?”
“Killed? You make it sound like a bad thing.” The housekeeper rolled her eyes in disgust before pantomiming spitting at the floor. “That Sal was a rat who lived under our noses for far too long.”
My eyes widened at her violent response. “Why? What did he do?”
“How do you not know?” Mrs. Tarolli asked, shooting me a confused look. “The man killed his own brother here in this house. He murdered Gabriel’s father because he wanted to his power.”
My mouth fell open.