The mob is just like us (well, mostly)

Some words come with baggage.

Charged with emotions and associations, a word like “family” sets up expectations. So there’s a kind of kick to seeing those automatic assumptions overturned. In her debut novel Naomi Krupitsky takes a deep dive into the meaning of family — both the idea and the reality — and emerges with a tale that’s vivid, authentic and filled with the unexpected.

Antonia and Sofia are the best of friends; they live next door to each other, and their fathers are both high-ranking members of the Family — the mob Family. Sofia’s father, Joey Colicchio, is bold and powerful. Carlo Russo, Antonia’s father, is thoughtful, even sensitive: He detests the brutality of his work, the internal contradictions of trying to keep his terrifying boss happy while nurturing his young family. The girls, close as sisters and bonded by more than blood, spend holidays and Sunday dinners together, their bedrooms separated by a shared wall. They seem to float in a kind of ideal union.

But their quiet, stately lives will soon be transformed by tragedy. When Carlo abruptly disappears, Antonia’s world is shattered, and the peaceful coexistence of the neighboring families is destroyed.

From “The Godfather” to “The Sopranos,” the mafia has loomed large in the popular imagination, thanks to characters of startling intensity — ferocious yet filled with ambivalence and subtlety. Krupitsky’s novel has a different flavor. It’s less concerned with scenes of shocking violence and more with the emotional ripples surrounding that violence. Filled with sharp descriptive details of New York City, the focus here is on homes, church, school, and the lives of women and children — people who’ve found themselves, mainly through marriage or inheritance, affiliated with the mob.

This tension is what makes “The Family” so striking — the way a life of violence becomes a backdrop for what is, in many respects, a rich yet ordinary human story. The two friends grow up and experience the classic predicaments and struggles of girlhood: They fight with their parents, fall in love — sometimes with the wrong people — and agonize over the trajectory of their futures. The difference is that their extremes are more extreme.

There is a special challenge to portraying intense, outsized acts and emotions in a way that feels immediate and true. By bringing readers into the intimate lives of these women, Krupitsky has achieved just that.