Oren
Twenty years ago
"Family," Carmine Costello said as he hugged Angelina.
"Zio," she replied with a smile.
"Oren," he said, his hand extended.
"Sir, we're happy to be here today."
"Yes, yes," Mr. Costello replied as he walked through the house, his arm around my wife, his niece.
What I'd said was partially true. Angelina and I would never decline an invitation to her uncle's home. That wasn't only because he was her family, her father's brother, but because he was the head of her family. No one declined an invitation.
It wasn't as easy as it had been to get to the Costello home. When we'd still lived in Brooklyn, we could walk. Now we had our house in Westchester County. Sometimes it was as though they had forgotten that we'd moved. I couldn't count the number of times I'd received late-night phone calls requesting my presence at a family meeting. Thankfully, late at night, the traffic was more forgiving.