Queens, New York - 1972
No one warns you before you do it. No one gives you a hint while you're dating him or even a heads up while you're marrying him. You grow head over heels for him and fall so in love that you are oblivious to the little things. It only makes sense now when I remember his uncles always being in jail, or the way his father's neighbors were disappearing one by one. No one tells you before you enter, and no one tells you once you do. You find it out all on your own.
Now I sit in on my husband's sentencing hearing at the Queens Criminal Court House, where he is being charged for first-degree assault and embezzlement. I watch the jury pour back into the courtroom, prepared to announce their verdict. My husband, Lorenzo, sits next to his highly esteemed attorney. I watch as his lawyer pats Lorenzo on the back, a reassuring motion that my husband will not have to do time.
The foreman from the jury stands up and clears his throat, attracting the attention of the judge. "As to the charge of first-degree assault and embezzlement," he says. "We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty."
My husband jumps up with his lawyer and they hug and shake hands. The prosecutor gathers his briefs and angrily storms out of the courtroom, mumbling something obscure under his breath. Lorenzo makes eye contact with me and runs back over as I stand up. He picks me up and spins me around, kissing my face, warm as a smoking pistol. He whispers to me that I am his reason to live.
But we all know that I am nothing more to him than something to sleep next to at night.
***
At home, I chase my children down and force them to sit for dinner. Along with knowing how to cook, there is a list of unwritten rules that we have to abide by. We can't question where our husbands get the money they give us to go shopping, we can't suggest that they are cheating on us even if they really are, and we have to lie to our kids about where their daddy is when he's in jail. It's a frustrating lifestyle, but we all put up with it.
"What’s for dinner?" Lorenzo asks, sitting down at the table in our dimly lit kitchen.
I haul over a huge pot of tomato sauce and a bowl of pasta, listening to my teenage son fight with my five year old daughter.
"Eileen, I'm going to have to leave town for a couple of days this week," Lorenzo tells me, ignoring his bickering children. "I'm visiting Giancarlo in the Bronx to go to a Yankee game."
I slowly take my oven mitts off and rest them on the table, watching Lorenzo wink at me. It's a silent indication that he isn't visiting his brother Giancarlo to go to a ballgame, and that I shouldn't ask what he is really doing. I stare at Lorenzo as he happily eats his meal, while his children are screaming at each other right next to him.
I used to be Eileen Donnelly, a cheerful Irish girl with big dreams and ambitions. But for fifteen years, I have been Eileen Marcellino. And like many women of my age in the boroughs of New York City, I am a mob wife.
***
I can still remember being twenty years old, broke and working in a I. My eyes were constantly falling on Lorenzo, who walked in daily to order the same coffee. I fell in love with him on our first date because he treated me well and loved me back, and no one was there to tell me otherwise. A year later we were joyfully married and I was pregnant with Tino.
But soon I saw what Lorenzo really was. I noticed the names of his buddies in the newspaper, convicted and doing time for theft and murder. I found him hiding boxes of cash in our closet. I kept my mouth shut when the mailman was reported missing after he accidently ran over our family cat.
But Lorenzo distracted me from all of it. If I ever mentioned something about what he was doing, he would kiss me on the neck and say, "Oh, Eileen, it's just business". To him, everything he did was something he "needed to take care of" or something that "had to be done". It was only business to him.
At thirty six years old, I wanted to be successful with a job of my own. But here I am, getting my children ready for another day of school; another day I will get my perm at the salon with the other wives, using the questionable money from the other husbands.
"Mommy, I don't want to wear it," my daughter cries as I zip up her coat.
"Rosalia, it's cold outside. You don't want to freeze on your way to kindergarten," I say.
I reach across the kitchen counter to the coffee can we have full of cash and hand two dollars to Rosalia for lunch. In the corner of my eye I can see Lorenzo talking to Tino at the front door. They are speaking in hushed tones, careful not to let me hear. My heart completely drops, and suddenly I cannot see my innocent fourteen year old son anymore. Because when I look at him now, I see the aging face of my husband.
"Tino!" I rush over, breaking up their conversation. "Take your sister to school now, please. And don't you dare stop at the newsstand on the way for candy."
He nods promisingly, and I want him to keep that look on his face forever; a visage where his dark features are pure and guiltless. I cringe at the thought him of losing it.
Tino grabs Rosalia's hand and they step out of our townhouse onto the streets of Queens, where taxis speed by and kids are playing catch on the road. I slam the door behind them and prepare myself to confront Lorenzo, but he is already putting on his jacket to leave.
"Where are you going?" I ask, exasperated.
"I have to take care of something," he shrugs.
"Where?"
He slaps on one of his many Rolex watches. "Brooklyn."
"With who?"
"With Vincent. God, Eileen. What's with the questions?"
I cross my arms. "I swear to God, Lorenzo. If you even try to get my son involved in the s*** you do…”
He walks up close to me. "What the hell are ya tryin to say, Eileen?"
"I know why you were talking to Tino like that," I stutter, taking a fearful step back.
He cocks his head at me, a sly glint in his eyes. "You think you know, huh?"
"Yeah," I breathe. "You're starting him at the same age your father started you. And you're going to make my baby worthless!"
Before I can react, Lorenzo has grasped my wrists so tight that I cannot feel my hands.
"Why would you say that?!" he roars.
I struggle to escape his hold, but he just squeezes harder. Tears gather in my eyes as I cry out, begging for him to let go.
His face is burning red. "Don't you disrespect me like that, Eileen! Not ever, damn it! I put up with way too much s*** to have to deal with this at home. Do you understand me?!"
"Yes," I whimper. "Yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
He quickly releases my wrists and I fall to the ground, weeping in a ball. He leans down and gently kisses me on the cheek. "Don't worry, baby. Everything is under control."
***
White gym socks sit in a laundry basket, begging to be put away. I drag the basket to Tino's room and pull open his sock drawer. I push aside the black socks that already there and prepare to add the white ones, when my hand slides across something cold and smooth. Chills rise up my spine as I reveal a shining silver switchblade.
"Jesus Christ," I breathe, holding it up in front of my face. My reflection stares back at me, a lonely and tired woman, so different from the girl she used to be. My hands tremble and I drop the blade right back into the drawer. Hearing the knock of the milkman at the front door, I throw the gym socks in the drawer and rush out of Tino's room.
***
Lorenzo has a gun cabinet but I am not allowed near it. There is a lock attached to which only he and Giancarlo know the combination. Two days after he had left me whimpering on the ground, I snatch a hammer from the garage and smash the lock until it falls open. I whip open the cabinet and admire the beautiful array of different guns. I reach for a handgun and grab a box of bullets. I’ve seen Lorenzo load a gun so many damn times, it's like second nature doing it myself.
Soon, Lorenzo will be home from whatever the hell he is doing. I seat myself in the chair directly across the front door, waiting for him to walk through. Down the hall, I can hear the soft snore of Tino sleeping, a naïve sound so chaste that it is almost unreal.
I catch a glimpse of the clock above the stove. It is almost 5 AM and I am comfortably cradling the gun in my hand. I have never felt so calm in the last fifteen years.
The front door slowly creaks open and Lorenzo tiptoes through. He jumps at the sight of me sitting here.
“Jesus, Eileen. What are you doing up?”
I simply smile back and him and stand up slowly. He notices the gun in my hand.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks carefully. “Eileen, why do you have that?”
I tilt my head. “Oh, Lorenzo. Please just stay still.”
He doesn’t and tries to step toward me. I c*** the gun and face it at him.
“Damn it, Eileen. Put that down!”
“There is no way in hell that I am going to let you take my Tino out to do whatever it is you do. He’s my baby, and I refuse to let him be like you.”
“Eileen!”
I fire. Lorenzo clutches his chest where crimson blood spreads and stains his shirt. He shakily collapses to the ground, gasping for air. I nonchalantly walk over and kick him until he stops moving, letting out every ounce of frustration I’ve been keeping for fifteen years.
An hour after I’ve sat next to his dead body, Tino comes out from his room. His eyes land on me, to Lorenzo’s body, and back to me. He doesn’t say anything, just walks over to the bathroom and shuts the door. I hear the shower start and he gets in, cleansing himself of any of the absurdity his father has tried to instill on him.
***
ONE YEAR LATER
“Mrs. Marcellino, were you aware that your husband was a member of the Gambino crime family?”
I sit on stand in the same courtroom that my husband was in over a year ago. The lawyer repeats his question, annoyed that I have not answered.
“Yes,” I sigh. “I was aware.”
“Did you approve of what he did?”
“No, I can’t say I ever approved.”
The lawyer looks me in the eye. “Mrs. Marcellino, you have already admitted to murdering your husband. Is that correct?”
I purse my lips. “Yes, it is.”
“And why did you murder him?”
I smile satisfyingly at the lawyer and let out a quiet laugh. For the other mob wives in this city, I have only done what the rest of them could not. I calmly tell the lawyer that it was just something I needed to take care of.
It was only business, after all.
No one warns you before you do it. No one gives you a hint while you're dating him or even a heads up while you're marrying him. You grow head over heels for him and fall so in love that you are oblivious to the little things. It only makes sense now when I remember his uncles always being in jail, or the way his father's neighbors were disappearing one by one. No one tells you before you enter, and no one tells you once you do. You find it out all on your own.
Now I sit in on my husband's sentencing hearing at the Queens Criminal Court House, where he is being charged for first-degree assault and embezzlement. I watch the jury pour back into the courtroom, prepared to announce their verdict. My husband, Lorenzo, sits next to his highly esteemed attorney. I watch as his lawyer pats Lorenzo on the back, a reassuring motion that my husband will not have to do time.
The foreman from the jury stands up and clears his throat, attracting the attention of the judge. "As to the charge of first-degree assault and embezzlement," he says. "We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty."
My husband jumps up with his lawyer and they hug and shake hands. The prosecutor gathers his briefs and angrily storms out of the courtroom, mumbling something obscure under his breath. Lorenzo makes eye contact with me and runs back over as I stand up. He picks me up and spins me around, kissing my face, warm as a smoking pistol. He whispers to me that I am his reason to live.
But we all know that I am nothing more to him than something to sleep next to at night.
***
At home, I chase my children down and force them to sit for dinner. Along with knowing how to cook, there is a list of unwritten rules that we have to abide by. We can't question where our husbands get the money they give us to go shopping, we can't suggest that they are cheating on us even if they really are, and we have to lie to our kids about where their daddy is when he's in jail. It's a frustrating lifestyle, but we all put up with it.
"What’s for dinner?" Lorenzo asks, sitting down at the table in our dimly lit kitchen.
I haul over a huge pot of tomato sauce and a bowl of pasta, listening to my teenage son fight with my five year old daughter.
"Eileen, I'm going to have to leave town for a couple of days this week," Lorenzo tells me, ignoring his bickering children. "I'm visiting Giancarlo in the Bronx to go to a Yankee game."
I slowly take my oven mitts off and rest them on the table, watching Lorenzo wink at me. It's a silent indication that he isn't visiting his brother Giancarlo to go to a ballgame, and that I shouldn't ask what he is really doing. I stare at Lorenzo as he happily eats his meal, while his children are screaming at each other right next to him.
I used to be Eileen Donnelly, a cheerful Irish girl with big dreams and ambitions. But for fifteen years, I have been Eileen Marcellino. And like many women of my age in the boroughs of New York City, I am a mob wife.
***
I can still remember being twenty years old, broke and working in a I. My eyes were constantly falling on Lorenzo, who walked in daily to order the same coffee. I fell in love with him on our first date because he treated me well and loved me back, and no one was there to tell me otherwise. A year later we were joyfully married and I was pregnant with Tino.
But soon I saw what Lorenzo really was. I noticed the names of his buddies in the newspaper, convicted and doing time for theft and murder. I found him hiding boxes of cash in our closet. I kept my mouth shut when the mailman was reported missing after he accidently ran over our family cat.
But Lorenzo distracted me from all of it. If I ever mentioned something about what he was doing, he would kiss me on the neck and say, "Oh, Eileen, it's just business". To him, everything he did was something he "needed to take care of" or something that "had to be done". It was only business to him.
At thirty six years old, I wanted to be successful with a job of my own. But here I am, getting my children ready for another day of school; another day I will get my perm at the salon with the other wives, using the questionable money from the other husbands.
"Mommy, I don't want to wear it," my daughter cries as I zip up her coat.
"Rosalia, it's cold outside. You don't want to freeze on your way to kindergarten," I say.
I reach across the kitchen counter to the coffee can we have full of cash and hand two dollars to Rosalia for lunch. In the corner of my eye I can see Lorenzo talking to Tino at the front door. They are speaking in hushed tones, careful not to let me hear. My heart completely drops, and suddenly I cannot see my innocent fourteen year old son anymore. Because when I look at him now, I see the aging face of my husband.
"Tino!" I rush over, breaking up their conversation. "Take your sister to school now, please. And don't you dare stop at the newsstand on the way for candy."
He nods promisingly, and I want him to keep that look on his face forever; a visage where his dark features are pure and guiltless. I cringe at the thought him of losing it.
Tino grabs Rosalia's hand and they step out of our townhouse onto the streets of Queens, where taxis speed by and kids are playing catch on the road. I slam the door behind them and prepare myself to confront Lorenzo, but he is already putting on his jacket to leave.
"Where are you going?" I ask, exasperated.
"I have to take care of something," he shrugs.
"Where?"
He slaps on one of his many Rolex watches. "Brooklyn."
"With who?"
"With Vincent. God, Eileen. What's with the questions?"
I cross my arms. "I swear to God, Lorenzo. If you even try to get my son involved in the s*** you do…”
He walks up close to me. "What the hell are ya tryin to say, Eileen?"
"I know why you were talking to Tino like that," I stutter, taking a fearful step back.
He cocks his head at me, a sly glint in his eyes. "You think you know, huh?"
"Yeah," I breathe. "You're starting him at the same age your father started you. And you're going to make my baby worthless!"
Before I can react, Lorenzo has grasped my wrists so tight that I cannot feel my hands.
"Why would you say that?!" he roars.
I struggle to escape his hold, but he just squeezes harder. Tears gather in my eyes as I cry out, begging for him to let go.
His face is burning red. "Don't you disrespect me like that, Eileen! Not ever, damn it! I put up with way too much s*** to have to deal with this at home. Do you understand me?!"
"Yes," I whimper. "Yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
He quickly releases my wrists and I fall to the ground, weeping in a ball. He leans down and gently kisses me on the cheek. "Don't worry, baby. Everything is under control."
***
White gym socks sit in a laundry basket, begging to be put away. I drag the basket to Tino's room and pull open his sock drawer. I push aside the black socks that already there and prepare to add the white ones, when my hand slides across something cold and smooth. Chills rise up my spine as I reveal a shining silver switchblade.
"Jesus Christ," I breathe, holding it up in front of my face. My reflection stares back at me, a lonely and tired woman, so different from the girl she used to be. My hands tremble and I drop the blade right back into the drawer. Hearing the knock of the milkman at the front door, I throw the gym socks in the drawer and rush out of Tino's room.
***
Lorenzo has a gun cabinet but I am not allowed near it. There is a lock attached to which only he and Giancarlo know the combination. Two days after he had left me whimpering on the ground, I snatch a hammer from the garage and smash the lock until it falls open. I whip open the cabinet and admire the beautiful array of different guns. I reach for a handgun and grab a box of bullets. I’ve seen Lorenzo load a gun so many damn times, it's like second nature doing it myself.
Soon, Lorenzo will be home from whatever the hell he is doing. I seat myself in the chair directly across the front door, waiting for him to walk through. Down the hall, I can hear the soft snore of Tino sleeping, a naïve sound so chaste that it is almost unreal.
I catch a glimpse of the clock above the stove. It is almost 5 AM and I am comfortably cradling the gun in my hand. I have never felt so calm in the last fifteen years.
The front door slowly creaks open and Lorenzo tiptoes through. He jumps at the sight of me sitting here.
“Jesus, Eileen. What are you doing up?”
I simply smile back and him and stand up slowly. He notices the gun in my hand.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks carefully. “Eileen, why do you have that?”
I tilt my head. “Oh, Lorenzo. Please just stay still.”
He doesn’t and tries to step toward me. I c*** the gun and face it at him.
“Damn it, Eileen. Put that down!”
“There is no way in hell that I am going to let you take my Tino out to do whatever it is you do. He’s my baby, and I refuse to let him be like you.”
“Eileen!”
I fire. Lorenzo clutches his chest where crimson blood spreads and stains his shirt. He shakily collapses to the ground, gasping for air. I nonchalantly walk over and kick him until he stops moving, letting out every ounce of frustration I’ve been keeping for fifteen years.
An hour after I’ve sat next to his dead body, Tino comes out from his room. His eyes land on me, to Lorenzo’s body, and back to me. He doesn’t say anything, just walks over to the bathroom and shuts the door. I hear the shower start and he gets in, cleansing himself of any of the absurdity his father has tried to instill on him.
***
ONE YEAR LATER
“Mrs. Marcellino, were you aware that your husband was a member of the Gambino crime family?”
I sit on stand in the same courtroom that my husband was in over a year ago. The lawyer repeats his question, annoyed that I have not answered.
“Yes,” I sigh. “I was aware.”
“Did you approve of what he did?”
“No, I can’t say I ever approved.”
The lawyer looks me in the eye. “Mrs. Marcellino, you have already admitted to murdering your husband. Is that correct?”
I purse my lips. “Yes, it is.”
“And why did you murder him?”
I smile satisfyingly at the lawyer and let out a quiet laugh. For the other mob wives in this city, I have only done what the rest of them could not. I calmly tell the lawyer that it was just something I needed to take care of.
It was only business, after all.
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