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“When are you coming to see me?”
Shit. He’s getting agitated. I hear Melanie’s voice as she tries to soothe him.
“I don’t know yet but as soon as I can, okay? Is it okay if I call until I can visit?”
“You’ll come on my half-birthday though? Melanie said we’re going to have cake.” Gabe and I always celebrated half-birthdays when mom was alive. We’d stopped that after her death, but since what happened to Gabe, it’s one thing he remembers and wants. And if it brings him joy, I will give it to him.
I nod. “Yes. Yes, for sure I will come on your half-birthday. No way I’d miss that.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, okay?” I know even as I say it, I shouldn’t. He’ll be heartbroken if I miss this.
“Okay.” Then, as quickly as he was upset, his tone changes. “I have to go, Gabi. The magician’s here.” I can hear his excitement and it breaks my heart.
“Okay, Gabe. You go have fun. Let me talk to Melanie, okay?”
“Sure. Bye. Oh, I love you, Gabi!”
“I love you, Gabe.”
Melanie gets on the phone a moment later and I’m relieved I don’t have to try anymore.
“He sounds good,” I say.
“He is. He’ll be fine, Gabriela. Don’t worry. We take good care of him here. All the nurses love him.”
“Thank you, Melanie. You don’t know how much that means to me. I have to go but I’ll try to call again soon.”
“And if you can FaceTime him, some of the other patients seem to do well with those so…”
“I will. I’ll try. Thank you. Goodbye Melanie.”
I disconnect the call and can’t help the tears that stream down my face. It’s an ugly cry and it never changes because every time I see Gabe or talk to him, I think about what happened and how it changed everything. How his life was stolen from him by the very man who gave it to him.
I wonder if he thought he had some right to do it? To decide that?
Or was it the moment? His rage when he saw them together?
I wipe my eyes, take a random book and get up to go into the living room. I’m still barefoot so I’m silent and no one seems to notice I’m there. Or maybe they just don’t care.
I remember the liquor cabinet in the living room and go to it. I don’t drink usually, I don’t really like it, but tonight, I feel like I could use something. So, I grab a glass and a bottle of whiskey even though it’s nasty stuff, and head out to the patio to wallow. To drown my sorrows and cry myself a river. Because I haven’t cried since I was brought here. Not really.
And it’s not that I feel sorry for myself because it could be worse. Gabe is living proof of that.
I still wonder if he’s still in there somewhere trying to get out. Desperate to. For his sake, I hope not.
I pour myself a generous glass of whiskey and drink it straight before pouring another, thinking if I shouldn’t go up to my room first, but too tired to move. Too tired to do anything but sit here and wallow.19StefanIt’s past midnight when I walk into the house in Palermo.
Today was a bad fucking day. Marchese pulled his first punch and I admit it was a good one. Didn’t see that coming.
I wonder if he timed it because today used to be one of my favorite days. Well, before everything happened.
Mother fucker.
Today is—was—Antonio’s birthday. First-born son is a big deal in our family and our parents, especially mom, went crazy with the celebrations.
I looked up to Antonio growing up. He was a good big brother to me.
I always knew what kind of family we were. The things we did. As much as our mother tried to shield us from it all, our father wanted us in the business from as far back as I can remember.
And when Antonio turned on the family, I wanted to hate him for it. Wanted to hate him for being the cause of our father’s murder and our family’s downfall. I did, too, for a while.
But he was my brother and I knew he was good. I knew underneath, he was good.
Maybe too good to be the first-born son in our family.
I walk into the living room to pour myself a whiskey and I think about Gabriela upstairs, asleep. I think about why she’s here, how she’s involved. I think how if it weren’t for Antonio turning informant, she wouldn’t be.
And I wonder if it isn’t better for her that she is.
Because Marchese is a son-of-a-bitch.
And he’ll screw his daughter—his own blood—to fuck with me.
I think about how she was at the party when he came to greet her. How she stiffened. How she almost cringed when he kissed her cheek.
