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Chapter Fifty-three: My Italian Temper
Raphael Taking in my brother's disheveled appearance, I pretty much confirmed what I had suspected all along. He wasn’t just drinking, he was using. And he had shown up at our mother’s house, strung out and belligerent. The way he had thrown the chair over in a rage made me concerned that he might become violent toward more than the furniture. I placed my body directly in front of his, so if he was tempted to lash out at anyone, it would be me. “Gabe, why don’t you and I go talk this out in the study?” He lifted his chin stubbornly. “I don’t wanna,” he looked at the food on the table. “I’m hungry.” He snapped his fingers at Beth, “Go get me a plate.” Beth didn’t move. I could see she was both terrified and angry. Her face was ghostly pale, her hands gripped the table with white knuckl
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