7. Sly
“No, no. There is no reason for you to come down here, mia preferita. You have a lot to help Nixon with. They are discharging me tomorrow, and I will come to the bar as soon as I am out.”
“You will not,” Rosie squeals through the phone, at the same time Cain, who is also talking to me through speakerphone, barks, “Would you quit referring to my girl as your favorite? Find your own woman.”
“Oh, don’t go all caveman, Cainy-boo. I am Sly’s favorite,” Rosie quips, and I can practically see the glare Cain gives her.
Chuckling, I pull the pillow from behind my back and slowly turn my body so I can stand. “Apologies, mio amico. Old habits. She is not wrong though—she may be yours, but she is still my best friend in Ridgewood.”
“I’m telling Nixon you said that,” Cain grumbles, and I laugh again.
Rosie’s stern voice overpowers Cain”s muttering complaints. “If you’re not up for visitors today, you have to promise me the first thing you do tomorrow will not be coming to the bar.”
“But my room is above the bar, bella,” I argue.
Her deep sigh sends static through the speakers, and I know she is relenting. She needs to accept that I will be going there tomorrow—I live there. At least for the time being.
“We’ll see you tomorrow. Rest up, brother.”
“Sounds good, amico.” More static sounds through the speakers, Rosie’s protests overpowering the noise.
“Hey, I wasn’t done tal?—”
The call disconnects and I chuckle again, setting my phone down next to me on the bed. Gripping the edge, I give myself a gentle push and stand.
My wounds are healing nicely, but I know better than to overexert myself.
The time spent with Vinnie was enough to set me back the next day and I spent it in more pain than I had post surgery.
Walking to the window, I watch the sunset. Glorious oranges and pinks stand bright against the contrasting darkness that has begun to settle.
After a few moments, a sharp rap against my door has me turning, just as a nurse comes into my room with a dinner tray in hand. “How are you feeling, Mr. Lucchetti?”
“Better,” I say with a warm smile as she places the tray on the small table by my bed.
“I hear you’re leaving tomorrow! I’m sure it’ll be lovely to go home.”
“Sì. Thank you for bringing my dinner.”
“Of course, Mr. Lucchetti. Page the nurses’ station if you need anything else.”
Nodding, I walk back to the bed and sit. On the plate is a hamburger with sweet potato fries and a pudding cup for dessert. It looks unappetizing, and if my stomach wasn’t already growling, I would order food from the app on my phone.
Picking up the burger, I sink my teeth into it, biting off a large portion. It tastes as bland as it looks.
Next to me, my phone catches my eye again, taunting me through the darkened screen. I know what I must do, though it sends dread through me. It shouldn’t—contacting my family should be joyous, but I know my parents are probably angry with me. And Enzo…well, I’m not ready to speak with Enzo yet.
My jaw clenches as I peer down at my phone. Finally, I pick it up before I change my mind. Inputting the numbers I’ve had memorized for most of my life, I listen to the ring resound in my ears.
“Pronto,” Mamma’s beautiful voice singsongs into the receiver. My heart soars from hearing her after so long, a reaction that catches me off guard.
My emotions are heavy, and I feel tears prick the back of my eyes—something that I’m finding is happening more and more frequently as of late.
“Mamma,” I croak in greeting, my voice cracking.
“Sylvester? Sly! ANTONIO—SLY IS ON THE PHONE. Sly, il mio dolce ragazzo! Are you okay? Where are you?” The words flow from her in a long slur, her mind working overtime to ask me all the questions I’ve denied her of over the last several months.
“Mamma, sì. I am alright. I’m so sor?—”
“Come osi interrompermi, Sylvester Lucchetti. Mi avevi giurato che non l”avresti fatto, poi ti giri e fai esattamente quello! Allora, devo sapere al telefono da un medico che ti hanno sparato! Cosa diavolo ti è successo?” How dare you cut me off, Sylvester Lucchetti! You swore to me you wouldn”t, then you turn around and do exactly that! Then, I have to find out from a doctor over the phone that you”ve been shot! What on earth happened to you?
Her native language is so thick with fury, even I have trouble distinguishing some of the words as she berates me through the phone. She’s right though, and as I listen to Mamma, I hang my head in shame.
“Mamma, I am sor?—”
But she cuts me off again, clearly not ready to hear my apology. “Ero preoccupatissimo per te. Sai quante notti sono rimasto sveglio chiedendomi dove fossi? Per qualche tempo ho temuto la tua morte, ma non la sentivo nel mio cuore, quindi mi sono costretta ad allontanare i pensieri. Mi hai spaventato, ragazzo mio. Più di quanto tu mi abbia mai spaventato prima.” I have been worried sick about you. Do you know how many nights I laid awake wondering where you were? For some time, I feared your death, but I did not feel it in my heart, so I forced myself to push the thoughts away. You have scared me, my boy. More than you have ever scared me before.
This time, as she finishes her thought, I don’t allow her to continue and tell her to listen. “Mamma! Ascoltare!”
She sighs dramatically, and I hear heavy footsteps through the speaker.
“Sylvester?” Papà’s voice questions.
“Sì,” Mamma confirms.
“Ciao, Papà.”
“When are you returning to New York?” is all he asks, his voice gruff. He is angry. I can hear it.
“Soon, Papà. I am being discharged from the hospital tomorrow and I have some loose ends to tie up here in California, then I will return.”
“Your healing?”
“It’s fine. No infection, and my lung is repairing itself. I must take things slowly for some time, but I am mending.”
He grunts, then I hear his footsteps again, presumably walking away.
“You scared us, mio figlio. Your papà is not happy with you, and neither am I. Do you have any idea how worried we have been? And for you to tell us not to come…” her voice cracks, and I hear her suck in a breath.
“I know, Mamma. I am sorry.” There is so much more to say, but it doesn’t feel like the time. My heart and my body ache, my mind heavy with thoughts of helping Nixon plan Preston’s funeral, and making my arrangements to go back to New York.
“Is this because of the girl?”
My heart skips a beat. Does Mamma know of Vinnie?
“What girl?” I ask tentatively.
“The girl you met. I know my son well enough to know when he has met someone whom he truly cares about. It was written all over your features, despite you not saying any words. You had met someone shortly before you left.”
A shuddering breath blows past my lips, and I scrub my face with my palm. “Mamma?—”
“Do not lie to me, Sylvester. I’ve had enough of your lies.”
“Mamma, this is not the time for this conversation, nor am I in the place. Please allow me to come home first, then I will tell you everything. We will go to brunch.”
“Fine. But you need to come home, Sly. It has been too long. There are people here who need you.”
I know Mamma, and I suspect my Vincenza is one of them.
“Sì. Give me another week, possibly two. I will be home. I swear to you.”
“Please rest, mio figiio. Te amo.”
“Te amo, Mamma. It is good to hear your voice.”
“Yours too. I cannot wait to hold my boy in my arms again.”
I disconnect the call, and my fingers dance over the touch screen, dialing the next phone number.
A single ring resonates through the speaker before it’s answered. “This is Sullivan.”
“Have I been away so long that you now answer the phone as though you are a CEO, mio amico?”
“Sly?” Sully questions in disbelief. “You take my jet to California, then step into the fog and disappear, never to be seen or heard from for months, and the first thing you do when you do call is mock me? Hi! So great to hear from you, pal.”
“Ciao, Sullivan. I hope you are well,” I snark, fighting against the smile creeping onto my lips.
Sully scoffs, and I sense he is genuinely upset. “You’ve got some nerve, Sly. Do you have any idea what your family’s gone through? What I’ve gone through?”
“I was shot,” I say simply, as though my recent injury could excuse me from all my other transgressions.
“I know.”
“You weren’t worried?”
“OF COURSE I WAS WORRIED,” Sully booms through the phone. I hear rustling, then the sound of him expelling a breath. “Look, Sly. You left, and things got really hard. Your parents were devastated, and Enzo was left to pick up the pieces. He’s pissed at you—more than I am. I was just his wingman to try and cheer your mom up. You broke her heart, man, and honestly, you broke mine, too. Thought we were better friends, but you up and cut me off.”
“There are things you don’t know?—”
“No, Sly. There are things you don’t know.” His words freeze me in my spot.
“What things?”
An annoyed laugh resounds through the speaker. “Is this your number now? Or is this a burner phone you’re going to chuck after we hang up?”
I scrub my hand down my face. Neither of these conversations are going how I expected them to. “This is my number now.”
“Good. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk to you.”
“Sully, I’ve called to apologize.”
“Well, I’m not ready to hear it, man. I’m glad you’re not dead, but for the last however many months, you might as well have been. I’ve got a lot going on at work right now, I have to go.”
He ends the call, and I’m left sitting on my bed in confusion. Years of friendship, yet I hadn’t expected this reaction from him. Sully is happy-go-lucky. Everything rolls off his back. He’s funny and light-hearted.
I truly hurt him by leaving.
When Vinnie hadn’t shown up at our meeting spot, the only thing I could think about was my broken heart and the feeling of betrayal. I never stopped to consider how my loved ones would feel about my leaving.
I ran away without further consideration of those around me. The errors of my ways flash through my mind like a neon sign and I realize how selfish my behavior was.
Returning to New York is no longer a question in my mind. I must go. Ridgewood has been my salvation, but it’s time for me to leave, as difficult as it may be. I just need to fulfill my promise to Nixon and help him plan his cousin”s funeral first.
Then I need to figure out how to say goodbye to the friends who have become my family.