8. Santino #2
“Why doesn’t it anymore? What did he used to be like? Was he always like this?”
“Hmm,” I hum, bringing up all the memories of Bianchi and I as children.
“Our parents, your grandparents, were amazing people. They brought the two territories together which had never been done before, but love is love. You can’t stop it, no matter if the issues might arise, if it’s worth fighting for, you fight for it.
I remember being excited about having a brother.
I was the only child and so was Bianchi, but he wasn’t happy about the change at all.
I clear my throat, and then continue. “He was always distant with me. We never played like children do. We were always learning about the business. If you’re wondering if he was always cold, then yes.
Greedy? Yes. Whatever I had, he had to have.
Whatever I dreamed, he dreamed it too—for himself.
He always believed the crown belonged to him because he is older.
And his greed was worse when he found out that in the will, our parents split the territories again.
When they joined, their people were not happy.
The citizens. Death threats came, the police weren’t happy, there was too much power which was why they decided to split again.
We have the North. Bianchi has the south.
That’s what he always wanted, which is why I’m confused he wants to join forces again. ”
I pass the scotch to Omar, offering him a drink. He takes it from me, taking a large gulp.
“To answer your question, yes. He’s always been like this.
No, it doesn’t bother me anymore because him and I were never family.
We were never meant to be family no matter how much our parents tried.
You and your brother didn’t miss out on an amazing uncle.
He would be the exact same. He’d use you until he had no use for you.
That’s who he is. Does it bother you? That he isn’t your uncle? ”
Omar exhales, the liquid in the bottle sloshing as he brings it to his lips.
“A little,” he admits. “I’m not dreaming of having him as an uncle or anything.
I know he is a piece of shit. I just wish…
” He lifts a shoulder and shrugs. “I wish mom were here. That’s all.
I miss her. I miss you being happy. I miss our family.
Now, everything is so business oriented.
It’s almost like we’re not even family at all. ”
“Don’t say that,” I seethe, his words a bullet to my heart. “We are family. Me. You. Luca. That’s all we need. As long as we have each other, we will be okay. You’re my boy.” I lean over to pat his cheek. “I miss your mom too.”
“I know,” he swallows. “You’ve been so unhappy for so long. I barely recognize who you are anymore. Except lately. You’ve smiled more and I don’t know why, but I miss happiness, Dad. I know happiness doesn’t look tough or brave?—”
I interrupt him, taking his hands in mine as if he were eight years old, crying over a scraped knee.
“Happiness is the bravest, toughest, hardest thing any man or woman or child can accomplish in life, Omar. The biggest. If this life doesn’t make you happy, I will gladly support you in whatever does.
I know this line of work isn’t easy. It’s brutal and exhausting.
It’s why it’s important to have love somewhere in your life.
And not love for your family. Something only you have.
” I poke the middle of his chest. “Something that is yours and it can’t be taken.
Like your mother’s life. It will always be mine.
” I pat my heart. “No one will ever have it. Do you understand?”
He nods, his eyes becoming harder, the curiosity fleeting. “I want to do this job. I’m honored you picked me over Luca, but what about you, Dad? Will you ever find happiness again, somewhere or in someone else? You tell me to have love, to find happiness, but what about you?”
“I had my happiness. It’s someone else’s turn,” I explain, slouching back in my seat when Jovie’s face comes to mind.
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Change is hard to put in motion when you’ve been living in the gray for so long,” I say through a whisper.
“Maybe the gray is waiting for change too,” Omar adds, leaning his head against the window and closes his eyes.
When the cab of the car is silent, I pull out my phone to see a picture from Terrance. Another bouquet has been delivered. I smile, the muscles in my cheeks hurting from being used so often in the last few days.
I text Ms. Smith and send her the picture.
Me: “Still trying to woo me? ; ) They are beautiful.”
This time, the bouquet seems to be made of an array of black flowers with shades of dark purple and pinks.
Ms. Smith: “I’ll never stop trying to woo you, Mr. Salvati.”
Me: “I do like it when you call me that. Are you ever going to let me know who you are? I’m not sure how much more I can take of this.”
Her: “You’ll need to learn patience. Good things come to those who wait.”
Me: “I’ve waited long enough. I’m not a patient man. I don’t like being played with, Ms. Smith.”
Her: “Then, what am I supposed to do when I want to play?”
My cock stirs as I reread her words. I do love defiance.
It might be my favorite quality of whoever is on the other line.
I’ll give this a few more days, maybe another week before I take matter into my own hands.
Until then, I’m going to be happy, and try to take the advice from my son.
There’s more to life than the job and it becomes a problem when the job becomes who you are.
I can’t remember who I am. I don’t know what I like anymore. Are there hobbies I’d enjoy? New food? When was the last time I watched a movie? Something as simple as a TV show?
How sad is it that I don’t know?
“Who is that you’re talking to?” Omar tries to read my messages by peeking over.
I turn the phone away from him. “None of your business. Just a friend.”
“A friend? A friend who makes you smile? Must be some… friend.”
I debate if I want to tell Omar the truth. It’s been a long time since I’ve trusted anyone with anything that isn’t work related. Knowing this information would make my son happy and I want that for him.
For me.
Maybe more time needs to be spent cultivating my family again. Perhaps, all of us have been lost in the grey.
“Okay, but before you tell me I’m crazy, listen to me,” I warn.
Omar rubs his hands together and even Lorenzo has taken out his earbuds, pretending he isn’t paying attention, but I see the slight smirk on his face.
He won’t say a word to anyone. Whatever is sad in the car won’t leave the car.
“You know the flower deliveries I’ve been getting?”
Omar nods and Lorenzo tries to hide his own answer. He allows his mask to slip and those bushy brows raise. It’s subtle. It could be said that whatever he is staring at on his phone is to blame for the reaction, but I know better.
“Yeah, they are huge too. Pretty. Didn’t know so many flowers came in black. Did you ever figure out who they are from?”
I shake my head. “No. The only thing the flowers had was a card with a number on it saying that they are my secret admirer, which is completely childish. I texted the number anyway.”
Lorenzo lifts his gaze to me. “Without doing a safety check?” He scoffs. “Sir, please, let me trace the number?—”
“—No. I am doing this for a reason.”
“You’re wanting to have fun,” Omar realizes. “You don’t care if this person is out to get you?”
“Of course, I care. Whoever this is, whether it’s a joke, a ploy to get me vulnerable for an attack, or maybe this person is having innocent fun before telling me the truth.
I’m prepared for it all. Yes, I’m having fun, but I’m not dumb.
I know when boundaries need to be set. I’m going to give it a little more time, then I’ll expose them. ”
“What’s this person like?” Omar question, curious, and if I’m not mistaken, happy that I’m sharing something with him.
“She’s brave yet timid, flirty, and bold, somehow manages to be sweet and innocent. She’s easy to talk to. Whatever this is, it’s reminded me that there’s more to life than the isolation I put myself in from before.”
“But? I sense a but?”
I exhale, the guilt eating away at me. “But it means I’m moving on from your mother and that’s a very hard step to take.”
“She’d want you to be happy, Dad. Mom has been gone a long time. She wouldn’t have wanted a lifetime of loneliness you’ve put yourself in.”
“The kid is right, Sir,” Lorenzo adds, not looking up from his phone. “Not that I’ve heard anything of what you’re talking about.”
I smirk. “Right.”
“Just be careful. I know you will be because you’re you but just be careful.”
I pat Omar’s knee, appreciating his concern. “I always am.”
Me: “I want a picture of you in nothing after the day I’ve had.”
Her: “Want to talk about it?”
Me: “No. I want a picture.”
Her: “Yes, Sir.”
I do love when I get my way.