The Mafia Hit Man's Daughter by Linda Scarpa Read Free Book Online

guys are really crazy. And then you wonder why I’m getting high. I want to get high right now. I don’t understand why you guys are telling me this. I don’t understand you people.”
    I was in total shock. My mind was racing a mile a minute. They were telling me this whole crazy story. Was it true? I didn’t really look like Charlie. I didn’t have any idea what they were talking about. My head was rocking. I couldn’t take any more. I had to go to sleep. I told my parents I was going to bed and I didn’t care what they were doing. Finally they went back upstairs.
    I had no idea why they decided to tell me Greg was my father then. They must have been in shock, too—seeing me so high that they felt they had to rationalize the way we were living. Maybe they felt guilty because of what I did. Maybe they were thinking they had to tell me the truth so I would stop doing drugs and get back on the right track.
    The only thing I could think of was that my words hurt my father so bad because he loved me so much. A day didn’t go by in my father’s life that I didn’t tell him I loved him—even when I thought Charlie was my real father—not one day. I told him I loved him at least ten times a day. And every night before he went to bed, or before I went to bed, I’d kiss him and say, “I love you. I love you, Dad. I love you so much.”
    So for him to see me high—and for me to be screaming, “It’s your fault. I hate you”—was the breaking point and he had to tell me the truth. But at that moment I didn’t care. I hated him. And he made me hate him even more the following day.
    I crashed on the couch in the basement that night. I woke up the next morning and I heard them upstairs in the kitchen. Then I started remembering everything. I was really scared. I knew I was so dead. I didn’t want to go upstairs because I didn’t want to deal with it.
    Then I heard, “Linda, get up here.” Oh, my God. My father.
    I went upstairs and he gave me the whole speech about drugs.
    â€œYou’re punished. You’re not allowed out of the house. You’re not allowed to hang out with those people. We’re going to find out who you were with.”
    I couldn’t get a word in. I had no idea what was going to happen, but I had to play it cool.
    â€œWhatever.”
    I knew I was in trouble. I thought the kids I was with were in trouble. But never—not for one minute—did I think he was going to do what he did.
    My parents knew who I hung out with, so my mother called the mother of one of the girls in the group.
    â€œMy daughter was with your daughter last night and they smoked pot.” My mother didn’t know for sure, but she figured she could get some information.
    â€œNot my daughter, she don’t do that.” There really wasn’t anything they could do to the girl, anyway, so my mother just yelled and screamed at the lady.
    Then my father went out with some of his crew and somehow they found out that I had been smoking pot with my best friend, Greg Vacca. I loved him then, and I still love him. We used to hang out every day. I guess you could say he was my first boyfriend.
    Next thing I knew, my father came back to the house.
    â€œGuess what? You want to smoke pot? Now your friends pay the price, and you don’t have friends anymore. You’re not allowed to hang out with them anymore.”
    I started screaming. “What do you mean, my friends ‘pay the price’? What did you do? What did you do?”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. It’s not for you to know.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, it’s not for me to know? I want to know what you did.”
    Of course, I cared about the other people, but I didn’t care about them as much as I cared about Greg. My father knew that. So, who did he go after? He went after the guy I hung out with the most. Greg was my buddy, and he