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It is hot today, unusual for this time of year. Thank goodness the AC is on full blast in here.
I pull the headphones from my ears as Kalo walks into the gym on the second floor of my mansion. I have known Kalo since I was very young. We grew up together, and I trust him with my life.
“What is it?” I ask, slightly out of breath.
“Are you almost done? They just called me to let me know that the shipment you were waiting for has arrived a day early. I know you wanted to be there when it came in. It should hit the docks in the next two hours.”
“Yes, I'm almost done. Have Yuze put together something for breakfast. I'm starving.”
“Alright, I'll have the chef whip up something, but hurry.”
I raise my brow at him, and he throws me a half-smile. He knows I don't like to be told what to do.
I slide my headphones back in place and pick up the weights again, feeling my back muscles flex and tighten as I lift them.
***
At the breakfast table, I'm reading the news on my phone as Kalo slides in to the seat opposite me and dishes up his breakfast from the buffet spread out in front of us.
The server arrives with a fresh pot of coffee, and he pours the steaming, dark liquid into a white bone china mug to my left.
“After we stop to check in on the shipment, your mother has asked that we join her for a cup of tea,” Kalo said.
My mother is dead. Myrealmother. She died many years ago, and I never had the chance to meet her or my father.
My father is an old man now, living in New York. I often read about him in the media. I follow the stories about him.
When I was much younger, I didn’t know or understand why I looked so different from my peers. I asked my parents repeatedly, and they always told me the same thing; we love you just the way you are.
It didn’t answer my questions, though, and I just knew there was something about me they weren’t telling me.
One day, when we were having dinner, I snapped and demanded to know.
My dad looked over at my mom, and I saw her eyes fill with sadness.
Tears rolled down her cheeks when my dad told me I was adopted. They weren’t my birth parents. I didn’t take it well. I felt as though they had been lying to me for so long.
Later that night, my mother came into my room and gave me a wooden box with a dragon carved into its lid. She told me, “Antonio, this was your mother’s. She left it for you so that one day you might know who you are and where you came from.”
She walked out of my bedroom and left me alone with the beautiful wooden box. I remember how my hands were shaking when I opened it.
I took out each piece one by one, taking my time to examine it carefully, trying to understand.
Finally, at the bottom of the box, I found a letter from her. The paper shook in my trembling fingers as I read her words. That letter told me so much, yet also made me question everything. Everything about who I was as a young boy became a lie. My true identity hid in New York.
I was born in Japan after my mother fled New York city to escape from him. She feared for my safety and brought me here in secret. The day I was born, my mother handed me over to a family here, who were friends of her mother’s, my grandmother. They raised me as their own and I have known no other family but them.
I think about my father often, and despite the horrific stories I have heard about the man, I still have a place in my heart for him. He never had the chance to know his son. He knew of me, but I was hidden from him. I wonder what that might be like for him.
He is a dangerous man, and many people risked their lives to keep me away from him and his world. The mafia boss of New York City. My Italian family in New York is of a mystery to me; although I read about them in the news often enough, I don't know even one of them personally. My father is an old man now, and soon I know he will die. I still hold on to a small hope that I'llmeet him before that happens, despite knowing it is impossible.
My Asian mother met my father just as she was finishing college, and I was born as the result of an accidental encounter. One passionate night of forbidden love. He was much older than her, and they came from different worlds, yet they were drawn to each other. My mother fled the city when she found out she was pregnant and hid me in a small town in Japan. One day, when she thought it was safe, she returned to New York.
She and my father came in contact again, and while I don't know how everything happened, I know they fell in love and got married. But my mother never told him where I was or who I was. And they forbade me from ever contacting him. I have remained respectful of that to this day to keep my family here safe. And to stop my real father’s enemies from finding me and using me against him.
So, the only family that I know is my adoptive parents here in Hong Kong, where I grew up. They treat me as they would their own son, and I love them both deeply. Except I have never felt like I truly belong. I have a space inside me that is waiting to learn everything about my Italian heritage.
My family here in Hong Kong doesn't treat me differently, but I know I look different. Made up of the genetics from two different worlds, with my father’s features and my mother’s charisma. My entire life, I have lived in a way that only expresses half of who I'm. It is a blessing and a curse. It has kept me safe and taught me to be independent and to rely on myself, yet it has a certain emptiness to it.
