Chapter 5 #2
His voice always sounded like he had a pound of sawdust down his larynx—croaky as fuck. I had it on good authority that he spoke to nobody, his family included, and I’d only managed to get him to talk when he’d asked me to shut up one day.
‘Now I know you can speak,’ I’d told him that fateful evening when I’d delivered the Birkin to the nurse’s station and had slid into this room to avoid Douchebag David’s eight hands. ‘Don’t think you can get me to leave by being silent.’
And a friendship had been struck.
“Gah, that idiot totally wanted a placeholder.”
The old man’s brow furrowed. “Like at a table?”
“Yes, Currau.” I clicked my fingers at him.
“I’m upgrading this from a date-three question to a date-one Q&A.
Men are such schmucks. You have this one chick who’s your dream girl, but she won’t have you or she’s taken, so you’ll fuck around until she’s available.
” I motioned at my dress. “Do I look like the type of woman you can do that to?”
“Porca troia. He actually admitted that he was waiting for someone?”
“Well, I could tell.” I stuck two fingers in front of my eyes. “You guys can lie but never here.”
Thin fingers plucked at his blankets. “How many times? Date a Sicilian. They’ll tell you these things to your face.”
“It’s not like I can narrow that down on my dating apps, Currau.
‘MUST. BE. SICILIAN.’ Do you know how small a demographic that is anyway?
What can I do? Haunt Little Italy?” Plunking my ass on the side of his bed, I held out a hand, and he passed me the chocolate pudding cup he’d saved for me.
“Still can’t believe what your niece is paying for this suite and they give you this crap to end your meal.
I’m pretty sure you can buy them at Costco. ”
“It’s not a hotel. At least it’s silverware and not a plastic spoon.”
Humming, I accepted said metal spoon and pulled off the lid. “So, what did you do today?”
“I lay here.”
I scooped up excess pudding from the lid. “We talked about this. You’re supposed to do the physical therapy—”
“What’s the point?”
“What’s the point in anything?” I pointed the spoon at him and stabbed the air. “I mean, I’m in my twenties. I could walk into traffic and die tomorrow. You’ll have lived longer than me.”
With a grunt, he pressed the buttons on his bed, adjusting the angle so he didn’t have to strain his neck to talk to me.
“I thought your niece was due a visit.”
“She came.”
“You have family that cares, Currau. I don’t understand you. Sure, this is a prison in itself, but I’d prefer to be here eating chocolate pudding with a spoon than sleeping with a plastic one I’d sharpened into a shiv. Go out in style, my man.”
Currau treated being institutionalized as a part-time job.
“You don’t understand, Kitty. You can’t. And I’m grateful for that.”
I tsked. “Why waste the time you have left?”
“Why let them get close and then mourn my death? Loss hurts. I’m sparing them.”
Like always, he made me want to scream. “Your logic is so fucking skewed.”
“Considering you’re spending Friday night with a sick old man, I’d say yours was too.”
“Aren’t you grateful I came by?” I fluttered my lashes.
“It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, Kitty. Even if you don’t take enough breaths between words.”
“It’s a gift. Some people are born with it, and I’m one of them.”
“That’s the Irish in you.” He flicked a look at the TV screen. “My nephew also came to visit.”
That had me stilling. “Really? Which one?”
No, I wasn’t interested. Nope. Not at all.
Okay, that’s a lie.
Ever since I’d returned from PTO and found him being discharged that morning, I’d been curious about his case. Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t gotten the chance to sneak a peek at his notes.
“The youngest boy.” This time, he pressed the ‘mute’ button on the TV remote. “You should ask him out. He’d tell you if he was looking for a placeholder. Seems like the kind of man who’d beat the shit out of that idiot you dated tonight.”
“That does make him a higher form of life,” I concurred, but something inside me, something indefinable, tightened.
Like a pinch.
In my stomach.
Strange.
That morning I’d noticed, yet again, how much space he took up.
He wasn’t a giant or anything. The top of his head didn’t brush the damn ceiling, but he was big.
Everywhere.
That pinch happened again.
I blinked, trying not to think about open flies and how I’d be teeny-tiny next to Custanzu Valentini—something that had no reason to be so hot. But on the back of yet another terrible date with a douche who worked in the city, I was starting to think that I’d mislabeled my type.
Maybe I had a size kink?
“He looked like hell.”
On red alert, I demanded, “He did? Strung out?”
“No, no. More exhausted.” When I relaxed, his curiosity pinned me in place. For all that he ignored them, his family fascinated him. He never said that out loud, but I read the subtext. “I don’t think he sleeps much. He’s the type that lives on his nerves.” He tapped his nose. “I can tell.”
My brows lifted at the insight because that hadn’t been my impression. Maybe it was that whole massive thing he had going on, even if I could tell he’d dropped more weight, but he’d seemed grounded.
Despite the bizarre circumstances of his accidental overdoses…
I pushed for info when I totally shouldn’t: “I didn’t think he visited you.”
“He does sometimes. Luciu comes more often—that’s the older one.”
“What did Custanzu want?”
“To talk. I’m not sure they’ve figured out that that’s something I don’t do.”
“Because you suck as an uncle.”
“Great-uncle,” he corrected.
“Same difference.”
He clucked his tongue. “If you say so, Kitty.”
“What did he want to talk about?”
“Well, I say talk, but he kept looking out the window onto the corridor.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. I think he was waiting for someone. Anyway, he brought up grief and finally calmed down some.” He fiddled with the remote, readjusting the backrest—the old man was a fidgeter par excellence. “Specifically, mourning grief when you start to move on.”
“Heavy.”
And a subject that Currau excelled in.
The Valentinis, Currau’s generation, had ruled over the city before the Famiglia had toppled them from their seat of power. The Italians had destroyed the Valentinis’ stronghold and had stitched up Currau as the fall guy.
In the fire the Italians had set, he’d lost his whole family and been blamed for their deaths.
He’d had no way of knowing that, while he’d rotted in a jail cell for a crime he hadn’t committed, his sister-in-law had escaped to Sicily, where she’d given birth to his brother’s son, who eventually would seed the Valentinis I’d met in Custanzu’s hospital room.
A few years ago, they’d waged war on the Famiglia, so once again, the Sicilians were major players in NYC.
Currau grumbled, “Confirmation I’m right to keep my distance more like.”
I ignored that. “Who’s he grieving anyway?”
“He’s lost many people over the years.”
I thought about that obituary he’d quoted in the ER. But no... Men didn’t mourn for years-plus. Even Cade had gotten over Vinny’s death in two. I could easily remember how bittersweet it had been to see him move on when I’d still felt like ending it all.
“Is…” I struggled to verbalize my thoughts. “…he grieving the grief of grieving?”
“And they say English is easier to learn than Sicilian,” he chided.
“I still can’t believe that you didn’t speak English until you went to prison.”
“I still can’t believe that you befriended a man who’s lived all of his adult life in prison. I’m certain that your father didn’t teach you the ways of the world before he passed.”
“And I told you that prison is a holiday home for the men in my sphere, which is why I have nothing to do with the mob aside from attending church with them.” I punctuated that declaration by shoving the spoon in my mouth.
“It makes it more curious that you associate with me.”
And that his nephew fascinated me…
“Associate? I’m wounded, Currau! We’re buds.”
He nudged my arm with his bony knuckles. “We are.”
“So long as we’re on the same page,” I joked, but I genuinely meant it.
What had started as me sneaking in to watch TV with the silent patient to avoid my supervisor and take a break from the mayhem of the ER mattered to me now.
“When he came into power, his enemies murdered a friend he’d had since he was small.
A friend who’d left Sicily for him, who’d fought against the Italians with him…
” Ugh, I remembered those days. Gang warfare—not fun.
“I don’t think he ever recovered from that before life hit him again and he lost a girl who meant a lot to him. ”
Oh.
A name whispered into my brain.
Evangeline.
Hers was the obituary he’d quoted.
“How did he lose her?”
“She was sick. Very sick.”
“That sucks.”
And I was not touched by such devotion in an era of dating apps and throwaway fucks.
Nope.
“It does indeed.” His sigh was weary. “It’s hard to overcome grief and the guilt that comes with moving on.”
I hesitated. “Keep a secret?”
“Of course.” He made a show of zipping his lips, which had us both snickering.
“He was in here a couple weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“He took some drugs—”
“Suicide?” the old man sputtered, for the first time showing any emotions about his family that didn’t involve regret, curiosity, and a resigned kind of longing.
“No. At least, I didn’t think so. Maybe this information changes…” I shook my head. “They put it down in his file that it was an attempt, but he called it in—”
“So, he regretted it?”
“I’m not sure regret is the word I’d use. He took a drug we’d never seen before and it triggered a heart attack. If he’d wanted to die, he wouldn’t have called it in. Plus, he used a nitroglycerin spray, which would have helped his heart limp along until the EMTs showed up.”
“He’s a scientist. Did you know that?”
From all his chem talk, I figured that made sense.
Still…
“How would I? You’re the only Valentini I’ve spoken more than a handful of words to and I know what you tell me.”
Which, in fairness, was more than they’d appreciate.
They treated him like a confessor, each of them coming to him with their myriad woes, and he had a habit of talking to me about them.
I still wasn’t sure how I’d gained his trust, but I was glad I had—even if it might get me killed were the Valentinis to learn how many of their secrets he’d shared.
“Custanzu trained while the family plotted to overtake the Italians.” The pride in his voice took me aback. Typically, it remained neutral when he spoke of his kin. “He has… What do you call it? A PoD?”
“A PhD?”
“Se. That. Very clever boy. Not even his siblings know this. He told me because I don’t talk.” His gaze shuffled off me. “He’s a big man, no?”
That triggered a chuckle. “Are you trying to set me up with your grieving nephew, Currau?”
He shrugged. “I’m telling you that he’s very smart. Not a dingbat like your usual morons.”
“I date finance bros.”
His disgust was clear. “Legal mafia.”
Not wrong.
“I’d definitely be his placeholder if he’s talking to you about a lost love!”
“How would you? She’s in a coffin.” His hands surged in a purely Italian gesture before they dropped to the bed. “And didn’t you hear me? He’s getting over her—”
“And feeling guilty about it!” I tutted. “Leave the poor boy alone.”
That the poor boy had to weigh two hundred pounds despite looking like death the last time I’d seen him was neither here nor there.
That the poor boy was also delicious—a fact I’d accepted at the same time as I’d noticed his open fly—had nothing to do with anything.
“Regardless, he’s Sicilian. I’m Irish—”
“Your arguments would be…” He smacked his fingers to his lips.
I gaped at him. “YOU ARE. Oh, my god. You’re trying to set me up with your grieving, potentially suicidal, definitely nuts nephew!”
“You’re the one who’s forever complaining about the fools you date. Why do you talk to me about this if you don’t want advice?”
“Because my brothers would go out and kill the guys and I don’t need it to look like there’s a serial killer on the loose. I date a lot.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll tell you what…” He gave me his full attention. “You talk to him about a blind date… and I’ll go on it with him. How about that?”
He harrumphed. “You drive a hard bargain, Catriona.”
It was my turn to smirk. “That, Currau, is what we call checkmate.”