Onions

Edmondo stepped into the kitchen, and the air already smelled like onions. His jaw tensed as the familiar sting built up in his nose at the mere thought of them.

Giovanni's voice cut through his irritation. “You know, Mom says onions are good for your eyes. She made sure to add extra.”

He glanced over at him, unamused. “I don’t care what she says. I’m not eating them.” His tone left no room for argument.

Giovanni chuckled, half-heartedly trying to lighten the mood. “Come on. It’s not like she’s trying to kill you. Maybe you’d actually notice a difference if you gave them a chance.”

“I’ve given them enough chances,” he replied, setting the plate down in front of him but keeping it at a distance. “There’s no way I’m touching this, Giovanni.”

Giovanni sighed, shaking his head but not letting up. “Look, you know she made this specifically for you, right? She knows what’s going on with your eyes, and she’s doing everything she can. Maybe just try a bite.”

“I don’t need your lectures,” he said flatly, pushing the plate away. “And I don’t need the onions.”

Giovanni leaned against the counter, watching him with a hint of frustration. “Fine. Go on being stubborn. But at least let her know you even looked at it. You know how she worries.”

He turned, leaving the plate untouched. “Then tell her not to bother next time.”

Silence fell between them as Edmondo glanced up at Giovanni. Giovanni had that frustrated look on his face, like some overbearing mama hen. Anyone who didn’t know them might mistake him for the older brother. Giovanni was four years younger, but he had more hair than any man in the family, a full beard thick like a wild man.

Edmondo sighed, staring at Giovanni.

Giovanni was his stepbrother, and to be honest, he was the only one who’d ever really stuck by Edmondo.

Their Papà had plucked him out of the cold night up north when he was four, and Mammà had taken him in. 'She had seen something in him,' Edmondo used to say. Since then, Giovanni had never let Edmondo out of his sight, not like the others.

Edmondo was the firstborn son, the Don of the whole North, with three boys and two girls below him. And one older sister, Lavanda, who was a dangerous woman but the only one who’d ever truly loved him. And Giovanni, of course.

His Mammà? She was off with the other kids. He couldn’t blame her for not being close anymore. When you have so many, it's really easy to forget one. They came and went. Life moved on.

Being the oldest son and the Don wasn’t easy for Edmondo, though. Not when there were secrets and people he couldn’t trust. Giovanni, for all his rough edges, knew him better than anyone. He was the only one who knew what was really wrong with him.

His eyes… they weren’t the same anymore.

After the accident five years ago, Edmondo couldn’t recognize faces at all.

It was something he hid from the rest of the family. Only Giovanni and Mammà knew about it. That’s why Mammà always insisted he eat onions. They were supposed to be good for his eyes.

Edmondo was still staring at Giovanni when he finally spoke, his voice tight. “I’ll take just two bites. Two. And that’s all.”

Giovanni smirked. Stepping closer, his hand flew to Edmondo's cheek. Edmondo stiffened, but Giovanni didn’t care. He always did this, like he had some right to invade Edmondo's space. Giovanni was the only one who got away with it, though. He didn’t let anyone else get this close. Ever.

"Two bites, huh?" Giovanni chuckled, teasing. "What if you make it four bites?"

Edmondo shook his head, brushing Giovanni’s hand away gently. "I’m not eating more than two."

Giovanni’s smile faltered for a second, but he let it go. Edmondo wasn’t in the mood for his games today.

"Well," Giovanni said, his tone more serious now, "I’ve got some information for you. Something you might want to know about the shipment."

He lifted the spoon to his mouth. Despite the onions, the food was sweet. He chewed slowly, considering Giovanni’s words.

"Fill me in," he said, swallowing the bite. He barely tasted it, though. Onions, no matter how many Mammà shoved in there… they still lingered. They were everywhere, in everything.

Giovanni cleared his throat. “The inventory is… well, it’s still in transit. We’re expecting it in two days.”

Edmondo let that hang in the air as well as the spoon in his hand.

Giovanni squirmed.

“Two days. You said two days last week. I don’t like hearing the same promise twice, especially when it’s still unkept. What’s the real issue here?”

Giovanni swallowed. “The… delays are from our contact in Marseille. He’s been under heavier surveillance than expected, and we had to change the route.”

“Change the route?” he repeated, trying to make sense of it. “You think I care about your route? All I care about is that we’re losing time and money every minute those crates aren’t here.” He paused. “Now, what about the goods? We talking rifles or something heavier?”

“Mostly pistols and assault rifles. A few shotguns, but nothing custom.” Giovanni paused, gauging his reaction, then added quickly, “We’re holding off on the heavier artillery until we confirm with the contact in Marseille.”

“Confirm?” he snapped, leaning forward. “Last time, he said he’d deliver enough firepower to level half the city, but all I’m hearing now is pistols and shotguns.” He shook his head. “If he’s stalling, I want to know why, and I want to know now. If he can’t deliver, find someone who can.”

Giovanni nodded, mentally noting it for sure.

Edmondo switched gears, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s all that Agata’s fault. If it weren’t for her failure to get the firepower, we wouldn’t be needing these docks.”

Giovanni sighed heavily, the sound quite loud. He looked at him, waiting to see if Giovanni had something to say.

“I don’t see that scar you left on Agata’s nape anymore, though. You think she fixed herself?”

Edmondo narrowed his eyes. “And what are you implying?”