Veronica stared at her reflection.
The black eye bloomed beneath her sunglasses. Her head throbbed.
She leaned closer, lifting the glasses just long enough to assess the damage.
She was wearing her Scalese Pizza Parlour T-shirt, the cotton thin from too many washes, the logo cracked and peeling. She jammed her hair under a baseball cap, tugged the sunglasses back into place, and squared her shoulders.
She grabbed her keys and shoved past her father without slowing.
"Where the hell do you think you are going?" Vito shouted.
"Where does it look like?" she muttered. "Work. Like a normal human being. You know what work is, right?"
"I know you are mad at me," he said, the volume dialed down but the guilt turned up.
