9. Sly
Saying goodbye to Ridgewood is bittersweet.
In every way, this city became my home. The people in it became my family.
Yesterday, we laid one of our brothers to rest. Every member of the Sinners Warlord and their families showed Preston respect by attending his funeral. Among the attendees were officers from the Ridgewood Police Department, and all the staff members from Andromeda, the bar the Sinners live above.
The service was short, but I have no doubt it was everything Preston would have hoped it’d be. Myself, as well as five other Sinners—Preston’s cousin Nixon included—were pallbearers.
Burying Preston felt like a door closing on my time in Ridgewood. I’d had the week after being discharged from the hospital to spend time with my closest friends here, and now it is time for me to leave.
As I stare out at the tarmac in front of me, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Reaching down, I see Sully’s name flash across the screen as it rumbles in my hand.
I debate not answering, already feeling irritable from the day. My mood is somber, bordering on anger from the circumstances surrounding Preston’s death that I cannot bring myself to let go of. The phone continues to vibrate in my hold, and though my gut tells me to send it to voicemail, I answer, unable to ignore my best friend.
“Sully,” I greet, cupping my free hand over my other ear to barricade some of the noise from the plane’s engine. “This isn’t a great time. I’m on the tarmac.”
“You’re coming back?”
“Sì. I land early tomorrow.”
“Good. That’s good, man.”
His voice sounds off—strained. Like there is something he needs to say, but is avoiding it.
Movement catches my eye, and I look up to see a flight attendant standing in the open doorway of the plane. She gives me a small wave, beaming at me from the top of the stairs that lead up to the small private jet I booked, signaling it”s time to leave.
“They’re waiting for me to board. Say what is on your mind, amico.”
From the other end of the call, I can hear the rustling of paperwork. He must be at the office late.
Sully lets out a short groan. “I ran into Vinnie a couple days ago.”
“And?” I begin climbing the stairs toward the grinning stewardess. I’m not surprised he ran into Vinnie—Manhattan is huge, but also incredibly small.
“She—uh, she was acting strange. When I said hi, she was really dodgy. Almost like she was hiding something.”
“Okay?” I’m not sure where he’s going with this. There are many reasons why she could have acted awkwardly. It may have been as simple as she was having an off day.
Regardless, my time to speak to Sully is running out. He needs to tell me the point of his phone call, and quickly.
“I don’t know, Sly. She kept playing with her necklace. Touching it absentmindedly as she looked around the market, avoiding eye contact with me. She seemed nervous and jumpy.”
The mention of a necklace garners my attention as I sit in one of the plush seats on the aircraft. As I lean back against the cushions, the stewardess steps up into my line of sight and mouths, “Would you like anything to drink?”
I shake my head, giving her a quick smile to be friendly, then turn my attention back to the conversation, my heart rate accelerating as my mind races and gravitates to the worst of thoughts.
“Did she seem like she was in danger?”
“No. Maybe? I don’t think so—it was just almost like she was afraid someone would see us together, but there was a moment where I tried to touch her shoulder and she flinched…she also bent to pick something up and… Can we actually talk in person when you get back? Maybe I’m overexaggerating things.”
My brows furrow, the entire conversation confusing me more with every word that flows from his mouth. I cannot think of a reason as to why she would be afraid to be seen with Sully. Aside from August, Sullivan Rochester is considered one of the most eligible bachelors in Manhattan and comes from a very powerful family. If anyone saw them together, they probably wouldn’t give it a second thought considering who she is too. But her behavior just seems not like her, and I can’t help but think the worst.
“Maybe it was just because of who I am? She knows we’re friends,” he offers.
My mind considers it, though deep in my center there is a nagging pit that grows. “Perhaps. You did not notice anyone else in the store with her?”
“No. She was alone, from what I could see.”
“Hmm,” I rumble, mulling over the thought. My mind drifts back to the necklace.
“And the necklace?” I ask him, wondering if it”s the same she wore in the hospital room back when I first noticed the locket around her neck—a piece of jewelry I can’t recall from our time together. It piques my curiosity now, in the same way it did then.
“Yeah, like one of those heart necklaces that open up.”
“A locket.”
“Yeah, a locket. She kept playing with it, which, as I say it out loud, doesn’t seem weird. But it was just a combination of everything. I know I don’t really know her. It just seemed like odd behavior for anyone. Thought you should know.”
Something about Sully’s encounter doesn’t sit right, but I cannot place what about it bothers me the most. I know I will have plenty of time to consider my thoughts when I am forty-thousand feet in the air.
“Thank you for telling me, mio amico,” I tell him, knowing I need to end the call.
“Yeah, of course. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but I know how much she meant to you, and knowing you, I’m sure she’s still important. I wouldn’t feel right sitting on this information.”
“I appreciate it. It is odd, and I’m not sure what to make of it, honestly. But I will find out.”
“I know you will. If you need me in any way, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you, Sully. Truly.”
“Travel safe,” he says, and then he disconnects us, leaving me to reflect on his encounter with Vinnie. Her behavior seems odd, but what I can’t stop thinking about is her playing with her necklace.
I flip the phone over in my hand a few times as my mind wanders. What bothers me the most is the type of necklace it is.
Perhaps I am reading too far into things.
As I flip the phone upright in my hand, my fingers brush across the screen until I’ve reached Vincenza’s contact, and I push the button to connect us.
The click of the phone sounds against my ear, and it goes straight to her generic voicemail, robbing me of the opportunity to even hear her voice.
Before I can continue to think about things further, the pilot comes over the intercom to greet me and warn that we are five minutes from takeoff. As he speaks, I put my seatbelt on and switch my phone into airplane mode.
Leaning my head against the headrest, I turn to my right and look out the window, relaxing into my seat as the plane begins to taxi the runway.
It gains speed, and before long, we ascend, pushing forward into the California sunset. Ridgewood’s airport is small, and it only takes moments before the plane is leveling above the city.
The buildings sparkle against the hues of purples and blues as a thin coverage of clouds comes in over the tops of them. I can’t help but smile at the beauty of the small city I called home for these last few months, but as I stare down at the skyline, I feel a small twinge of excitement to see the extravagant skyscrapers of Manhattan.
Exhaling a deep breath, I let my eyes close as I settle in for the next six or so hours of my flight.
Goodbye, Ridgewood.
Anticipation bubbles in my chest as I walk up the steps and into my parents’ home. The first thing to assault me is not the scent of the meal that is being prepared, or even the comforting smell that is their house. It’s my mother.
Quite literally.
The palm of her hand meets the back of my head as I walk through the door before she pulls me into a tight hug. Tears stream down her face as she pushes up on her tiptoes to squeeze around my neck.
“I cannot believe you put me through that, Sylvester Lucchetti! You are lucky you did not cause me a heart attack.”
Kissing her on both cheeks, I gently run my hands up and down her arms as though I am warming her. “Please forgive me, Mamma.”
“I already have,” she says, pulling me back into another hug. I inhale the scent of her—the perfume she wears mixing with the scent of garlic from whatever she’s been cooking. She smells of my childhood—of home.
In the arms of my mother, I let go of some of the pent-up stress I’ve been holding onto and allow my eyes to shut for a moment.
When I open them once more, I see Papà and Guilio emerge from Papà’s office from over her shoulder.
My eyes meet my middle brother’s across the room.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Guilio muses as he walks over. “I’d ask if you were healed enough to hug, but I can see Mamma doesn’t care if she re-injures you, so I won’t either.”
She lets me go so Guilio can pull me into a hug. As he does, he claps my shoulder affectionately. My brother”s welcome is warm, but from behind him, Papà scowls.
Guilio releases me, and I step toward Papà with my hand extended, nervous for my reunion with my father, as though I’m a small child again.
His eyes drift down at my outstretched hand, and he shakes his head. “You take off without a word, cut contact with your entire family, get yourself shot, tell us not to come while you’re in the hospital for more than a week, and then you have the audacity to extend your hand to me?”
My head drops with the shame of his words. I’m embarrassed by my actions, though I’ve had a reason for each one. I’m about to apologize—what else can I do—when he takes my hand and uses it to pull me toward him into a hug.
Papà is a little shorter than I am, about four inches. He rests his chin on my shoulder. “Don’t ever do that to your Mamma and me again. Do you understand me?” He exhales a shaky breath, and I can feel the stress in his shoulders through his hug.
“I won’t, Papà. I am here to stay.”
“Good,” he says, squeezing tightly again. Then he releases his grasp, stepping backward to look me in the eye. “Your injuries?”
“Healing. I feel much better. Not perfect, but getting there.”
“Excellent. I’ll take a look at them later.”
“Thank you.” I tip my head in a nod. “Where is Federico?”
“Out,” Mamma supplies. “He has a girlfriend now. They’re inseparable.”
“And Lorenzo?”
Guilio’s eyebrows shoot up when I use our cousin”s full name.
“Right here, Sylvester.”
Whipping around, I see him standing in the doorway—he must have just arrived. His arms are crossed over his chest, which is accentuated by the white button-down shirt he wears. Clearly, my cousin has increased his gym routine since I’ve been gone, and I can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with the Paladinos.
When I left, he was in the thick of the feud, trying to gather information to take them down. He’d been jumped by a few of their men when he was caught snooping.
Seeing Enzo stirs anger within me that’s been lying dormant. He was the last person I saw before I left Manhattan—he’d sought me out to interrogate me about my relationship with Vinnie, and ultimately helped force my hand in leaving.
He was partially responsible for my abrupt departure—a piece of information I know he’s kept to himself. “Ciao, cugino. I was wondering if you’d be a part of my welcome committee when I returned home.”
“I’m surprised you have returned home, cousin.” His voice drips with sarcasm, thickening the tension in the air between us.
From my peripheral, I can see the change in the posture of the family who surround us. Curious eyes are watching, and Enzo knows it too if his smirk is any indication.
I hold my tongue, biting back the words I want to say to him. There will be another time and place.
Storing the anger away, I smile at him. “Sì, it was time. Although Ridgewood was humbling. You should visit there sometime.”
Sensing the disdain, Mamma steps forward and places her hand on my shoulder. “Son, are you hungry? The kitchen is a mess from dinner preparations, but if you are hungry now, I can create a lovely brunch. How does that sound?”
”It sounds great, Mamma, grazie.” I toss another look at my cousin, my eyes narrowing as I follow Mamma’s lead.
Enzo’s annoyed scoff echoes through my parents” foyer.
As I walk, my phone vibrates and I slide it from my pocket, seeing Sully’s name and message.
Sully
Can we meet later and talk?
I will have to message him back later—right now, I must speak with mia madre.
The closer we get to the kitchen, the more the scents of her cooking intensify, bringing my mind to a place of nostalgia.
She pins me with a stare the moment we’re alone, and immediately begins to move effortlessly around her kitchen, gathering things to make brunch. Mamma has always had a talent for not taking her eyes off you when she’s upset—something she continues to prove to me as an adult.
Taking a seat on a barstool, I rest my elbows on the countertop. “It is good to see you and be back home. Whatever you’re preparing smells delicious.”
“Don’t try to sweet talk me, figlio,” she scolds, waving a wooden spoon in my direction. “This is not a matter I will let you off the hook easily for. Now, tell me why you left your home.”
Her words cause me to wince—a reaction I cannot stop in time.
Her eyes soften slightly with my reaction. “Mio dolce ragazzo, per favore confida con tua madre. Cosa ti stà succedendo?” My sweet boy, please confide in your mother. What is going on with you?
Shaking my head, I switch to Italian as well. “Questo non è né il momento né il luogo, Mamma.” This is not the time nor the place, Mamma.
My eyes bounce to the open walkway, then back to her.
“Per favore. Parliamone più tardi.” Please. Let us discuss this later.
“Va bene, ma è meglio che tu vada a parlare con il tuo papà. Non sono così sicuro che sarà così indulgente.” Fine, but you better go speak with your Papà. I”m not so sure he”ll be as forgiving.
Setting the wooden spoon on the counter, she begins measuring out ingredients into her large mixing bowl. I watch as she mixes together avocado oil, milk, eggs, and sugar. Once she has a handle on what she’s doing, she looks up at me again.
“Andare.” Go, Mamma pushes in the voice she only uses when she leaves no room for argument.
Relenting, I stand from the stool and round the corner, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my mamma’s hair as my hand comes to hold the other side of her head.
She sighs softly, and I can tell how frustrated she is with me.
“Ti amo, Mamma,” I say before releasing her.
As I walk from the room to go search for Papà, I hear her tell me she loves me too, and I know that while she means it wholeheartedly, I still have a lot of missed time to make up for.
I just hope the other people in my life aren’t as upset with me as she is.