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It wasn’t fancy, but I had access to wine and solitude. That was all I needed.
Frankie tried to see me once, but I sent her away. I told her I wasn’t ready. Instead I spent the better part of two days drunk and feeling sorry for myself. Anger and bitterness were my constant companions. The third day arrived with a terrible hangover, and I swore off Ravazzani cirò for the rest of my life.
I knew I had to get back to the real world. I had to face whatever awaited me with my family. As soon as I could, I would go somewhere far away and begin a future of my own. Alone.
Hands deep in my pockets, I strode toward the castello. I kept my head down, not wishing to engage in conversation with any of the estate workers, most of whom I’d known my whole life. I couldn’t pretend to be polite or give them the impression that everything was okay. It wasn’t.
I slipped into the back door and Zia’s kitchen. She was there, of course, stirring something at the stove. Her gray hair was pulled up and she wore a black dress, as usual. The eternal widow, like so many of her generation. I didn’t say anything, just went to the counter and sat on a stool.
Without turning around, she took a bowl out of the cupboard and began spooning things in it. Then she set the bowl in front of me. “Mangia, ometto.”
How had she known it was me?
I stared at the food. Pastina with egg and crispy prosciutto. The ultimate comfort food, one of my favorite dishes as a child. “Grazie, Zia.”
She poured me some sparkling water. Two tablets of pain reliever magically appeared, as well. A lump formed in my throat. I didn’t need Zia to fuss over me, but I was deeply grateful. I took the pills and started eating.
She didn’t make conversation. Instead she worked at the stove and left me with my food. The warm pastina drove away the nausea and eased my headache. When I finished the first bowl, another full one replaced it. I didn’t argue. It was pointless, anyway. Food was Zia’s love language, and she wouldn’t allow me to refuse it.
“I can’t eat any more,” I said at the end of the second bowl. “I’m stuffed.”
She began clearing my dirty dishes. “You were always a good boy.” Reaching over, she placed her bony palm on my cheek. “Now you are a good man.”
The lump returned to my throat and I shook my head. “No, Zia. I’m really not.”
She made a sound of disapproval. “What happened with your ragazzo was not your fault. Your father, he is not perfect. He has made mistakes, too. Do not let this drive you away from your home again.”
Figured she had read my mind. Zia had always known me better than anyone. “I can’t stay. Especially after this.”
“Dai, do not make decisions until you are thinking straight.”
Rising, I went around the counter and pulled her into a fierce hug. She was a little thinner and shorter since the last time I held her. “Ti voglio bene, Zia.”
“Ti voglio bene, ometto.” She clung to me for another long second, then pushed me back. “Now go and shower. You smell.”
A smile tugged at my lips as I went upstairs. Today I needed to sit down and have a serious conversation with Fausto. For that, I needed to be properly put together.
I showered, then toweled off, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I hated myself. Both for falling in love with the wrong man and for the way I disappeared three days ago, retreating like a coward. I needed to be stronger. It was time for me to stand on my own two feet. Come out of the shadows, out from underneath the Ravazzani empire.
Dressed and looking as best as I could reasonably manage, I went downstairs to his office. At my knock, he yelled, “Entri!”
He was sitting at his desk alone, working on his laptop. When he saw me, he removed his glasses and leaned back. “Figlio. Come stai?”
I couldn’t read anything in his expression except concern. “May I sit?”
He gestured toward an empty seat. “Did you eat?”
I nodded. “Zia fed me.”
“Good. She’s been worried sick about you starving out there.”
I dragged a hand down my face. “Perdonami, Papà.”
“Why are you apologizing to me?”
I let out a dry laugh that held no amusement. “Where to start? The list is too long.”
He pushed back from his desk, stood, and shrugged out of his suit coat. Then he hung it on the back of his chair. “Come. Walk with me. My back is killing me from sitting for too long.”
