Chapter 6 #2
“It’s almost over,” he says encouragingly, still by my side despite the hundreds of times I’ve told him to go.
“I’ve already ordered the caterers to pack up.”
He chuckles. “Free food makes anyone ravenous.”
I take a seat and stretch out my legs. A year has passed, and my joints still ache like they did in that fucking warehouse, despite the grueling exercise I implement every morning to erase the damage.
The heat has caused the rose on my lapel to wilt.
“Tell me about your new girl, the one Dante vaguely mentioned over dinner.”
“It’s nothing serious.”
Silence I create hangs between us for a moment—words I’ve wanted to say for a while eventually surface. “You can talk to me about her. I'm not so fucked that when my best friend meets someone, I don’t want to hear about it.”
“It’s just uncomfortable. I know you’re going through it.”
I shake my head, refusing to hear it. “I'm happy for you, Bo. I’m damn glad you have someone. Don’t make this about me.”
He smiles appreciatively, relaxing. “Thanks, man.”
“Tell me about her. Is she Italian?”
“ Fuck no.” He grins when that produces a rare smile on my face. “Her name is Denise. I’ve only met her a few times. She’s hilarious. She doesn’t mind my lack of humor.”
“That’s big.”
“Shut up.”
He beckons Dante over, popping another beer. Dante squeezes my shoulder, groaning as he sits. “Zeke has to put the kids down. He said to say goodbye.”
The drawing in my messages weighs on my mind.
The little girl who yearns to have some part in her father’s life has grown without me. When I first held her, awkward and trying to deny any feelings that were naturally there when I looked into her eyes, so like mine, I was broken still.
My new position wasn’t assured yet. I had much to prove.
And every time I looked at her, I saw Sophie.
I thought how this would hurt her. I felt relieved when Rosa got married, knowing there would be a man to protect them. He had no record. He was Greek, not from the family. Although everyone told me to refuse the wedding, I told her to do it.
She was happy. Caesar was a good man. He could be the father I couldn’t be. If I claimed Isabella as my own, she’d have expectations. Her marriage would inevitably become a transaction, like mine was. I want more for her than that. I want it bad enough to watch from a distance as she grows.
“Your mom is crying on the dance floor, asking for you,” Dante says. “What happened?”
I shake my head, too exhausted to explain how her mind works. “It’s nothing. Tell me, are you still going to Miami? Is Mimi going?”
He nods, his grin spreading wider. “I'm proposing.”
Bo sits up, eyes wide as Dante reveals the diamond from his pocket, displaying it with pride.
I smile, patting his back. “It’s about damn time.”
“I know. She’s put up with a lot from me.”
“More than a lot,” Bo grumbles.
“Says the man who’s dating his first girl in over a decade.”
Bo swings at him, effortlessly falling into our routine despite where we are and the dangerous people around us. Dante finishes his beer before mine is even half-drained.
“Have you told Zeke? This will make his year.”
“I told him a bit ago. He called Delli immediately, and she blew out my eardrum.”
Bo shifts forward. “How are you going to do it? ”
Dante’s answer looses with an excitement I’ve never experienced. Even in my marriage to Sophie, I had to win her love. I had to convince her she was making the right choice. The simplicity of his proposal and his meeting with her family feel utterly foreign to me.
As he boasts, Courtney appears at my side.
There’s an apology in her eyes. She places her hand on my shoulder, smiling softly when I reach up to grab it.
Almost an hour later, Dante, heading to the city himself, offers to drive Courtney home.
My mother’s bidding goodbye to the last few straggling guests.
Standing on the grounds, my gaze lingers on the construction equipment by the entrance to the prison.
Sledgehammers. Pry bars. Tools meant to destroy.
I sense someone beside me.
“How is she?” Bo asks discreetly, smart enough not to say her name aloud.
As the string band packs their belongings, I breathe in, reporting my findings. “She moved into a new apartment about six months ago.”
“Nothing suspicious?”
“No.”
“How does she look?”
My stare drills through that prison door, picturing those walls I lay siege to whenever life becomes too much to bear.
I went to great lengths to get information on my wife’s whereabouts.
It took coding to do it on my own, through a channel that no one could uncover.
It took days to wipe any traces, but I did it.
As much as my rational mind told me to let her go, that to watch her move on would hurt too much, I couldn’t handle not knowing.
I don’t care if she remarries as Cara Alfieri.
I don’t care if I have to watch her have children; if I have to secretly follow her through every home she lives in, I will ensure her safety. As Courtney said, I made a vow .
“She’s thin.” But beautiful. “There’s a small café under her place.”
I feel his eyes on me. “You should call, ask to speak to her.”
“No, that’s fucking insane.”
“You don’t have to say your name. You don’t even need to talk about what happened.”
I shake my head. “It’s been almost two years. She’s got a life there.”
“X, I know, but?—”
“If I heard her voice, Bo, I wouldn’t be able to stay away.”
Winter arrives as a blizzard—one of the worst in years.
“Go home, Dario. Before the roads are blocked.”
“You’ll be good here, Boss?”
Once he receives my nod, he packs up his briefcase, kissing my mother’s cheek on his way out. She follows him, insisting on packing him a meal for later. The television relays news of widespread closures. The city, the highways. Even the police have sent out issues to remain inside.
Despite the storm, my desk is piled with court summons and complaints. Passing the portrait of my father, which still hangs above the hearth, I take a seat at his desk, pulling open the leather bindings to sign. The quick rhythm of descending snow strikes the windows.
My mother deposits espresso beside the piles of work.
“Let’s watch a movie.”
“I have work to do.”
She smiles, leaning against the desk. “How often do we have time together like this? Dai, amore mio, watch a movie with your dear mamma. It’ll be Christmas in a week.”
Christmas . A holiday I now loathe. Ruined for me two years ago when my father piled the house with guests—rapists mingling with my unsuspecting family.
While he forced me to pretend, toasting by the luminous Christmas tree, my wife was rotting in a cell.
Every damn day, I had to pretend. Pretend I didn’t find ways to occupy the men my father would send her way, pretend I didn’t opt for the hard floor at night rather than a mattress, unable to fathom comfort when I knew where she was… steps away from me but out of reach.
In times like this, when I remember, the guilt I usually carry in regards to my father eases to something like satisfaction. I’m glad. Glad I killed him. Glad I killed every single one of them .
Burdened by a poisoned heart, my gaze rests on my mother with exasperation, sick and tired of goddamn everything.
But then I remember how long it took her to move on from the loss of her husband, who’d been her usual way of life and that makes me concede.
She beams as she does whenever I have enough time to devote attention to her, grabbing the cup.
I follow her out with my arm around her shoulder.
She’s snoring softly within the first ten minutes of It’s a Wonderful Life .
My phone vibrates on my lap. Seeing Rosa’s name, I lift the phone to my ear. “Is everything okay? It’s late.”
Her panicked voice shoves me to my feet, immediately bolting for my coat. “Isabella has a fever. It’s high. We can’t get an ambulance since our street is blocked. Xavier, oh God. She’s burning up!”
“Put Caesar on the phone.”
“Don Marcello,” he says, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “We’ve bathed her in cold water. We’ve given her all the medicine we have. I know it’s dangerous. We know you can’t see her without notice, but we didn’t know who else to call?—”
The wind howls, pelting icy rain onto my face as I rush down the manor’s steps. “I’m coming. Keep Rosa calm. Dress Isabella in warm clothes. I only have the convertible. I’ll take her to the hospital.”
“But if you’re seen?—”
“I’ll call ahead to ensure I'm not.”
He exhales. “Thank you.”
The car is speeding from the gates when I spot my mother on the porch, waving her arms. The vintage Maserati navigates toppled branches in the road, the snow piling on either side. My foot slams on the accelerator, hurling me towards the highway. Pressing on the Bluetooth, I find Dario’s number.
He answers instantly. “You good, Boss?”
“Call the hospital in Bronxville and arrange for a private room with access through the back. It needs to be ready in twenty minutes.”
The great thing about Dario. He doesn’t question. “It’ll be done.”
When I arrive in their Bronxville neighborhood, I understand why the ambulances wouldn’t come. At least three feet of snow blankets the streets, forcing me to stop the car. My eyes scan the houses on either side of me. Their gates are buried in white, doorsteps invisible.
Damn, their house is around this bend.
With no choice, I shut off the car, pushing the door open. Mounds of snow topple inside before I can shut it. This has to be quick, or this car won’t go anywhere tonight.
As I push through the surface to my knees, I notice their porch light is on. Caesar shouts with relief when he sees me trudging through the snow before running back inside. By the time I reach the gate and grab on, he has Isabella in his arms. Rosa is in hysterics.
“Xavier, her lips are blue. She’s wheezing!”