Page 132 of The Don’s Omega

“What a pleasant surprise.” He walks toward me, eyeing the bags. “I see you’re doing some shopping.”

“I’m buying my brother some clothes.” I smile.

He lifts his brow. “I didn’t realize you had a brother.”

I grimace. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. I don’t think I told anyone at the club about Fabio.”

“Does he live here in Sorrento Bay?” Salvatore looks at me expectantly.

“Uh… yeah.” I haven’t shared much personal information with Giulia and the others. However, it’s probably fine to tell Salvatore about Fabio now. After all, he’s living with me. It’ll be difficult to hide his existence now that he’s no longer hidden away at a hospital.

“Is he younger or older than you?”

“He’s eight years younger,” I say. “He just had open-heart surgery. Marcello was kind enough to let him come stay with us. I wanted to keep him near while he heals from the surgery.”

“Of course. That makes perfect sense.” Salvatore nods. “I’m glad Marcello was willing to do that. Open-heart surgery, eh? That’s scary.”

“Yes, it was incredibly stressful. I’m glad it’s behind us.”

Dante appears at my elbow. “Sir, would you like me to put your packages in the car?”

“Oh.” I frown, still unaccustomed to people doing everything for me. “I… I guess so.”

“Yes, let him put your packages safely in the car.” Salvatore’s eyes are warm. “Then you can come have coffee with me.” He sighs when I hesitate. “Please, Elio. Save me from reading the obituaries. There are too many familiar names on them these days, and it would help me from worrying that my name will soon be there too.”

I wince. “Don’t say that.”

He shrugs. “Death is a fact of life and I’m no spring chicken.”

“You look healthy enough to me. I don’t think you need to worry.”

“I’m not bad for sixty-two, I guess. My doctor is pleased with my health. But you never know.” He snaps his fingers. “You can be here one day and gone the next.”

That’s an unusually grim thing for Salvatore to say. I decide perhaps keeping him company is a good idea. If he’s lonely, that might be one reason for his morose words.

“Sure, let’s have some coffee.” I smile, hoping to cheer him up. “I can have decaf.”

“Yes, that would be best for the baby.” His eyes flicker as he glances at my stomach, but then his pleasant expression returns. “After you.”

We go inside and he holds the door for me. The café is small, brick walls, mismatched furniture, the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. He picks a table near the window, then goes up to put our coffee order in after insisting on paying.

When he returns to the table, he sits across from me. “You look well,” Salvatore says, studying me. “Morning sickness all gone?”

“Yep. I couldn’t drink coffee for a while, but now I can. So many things made me nauseous in the beginning.”

“My wife always said the first trimester was God’s way of testing whether you really wanted the baby.” His smile is melancholy.

“That seems like a solid theory.”

We fall into easy conversation. It’s enjoyable, talking to Salvatore. There’s no agenda I can detect, no posturing. He listens when I speak. He asks questions that show he remembers what I’ve told him before. He’s comfortable with himself and interested in others. He’s the kind of man I hope to be when I grow older.

“How’s Marcello doing lately? How’s his stress level?” Something about the way he asks makes me take note.

“He’s doing well.” I frown. “Why do you ask about his stress?”

“Oh, no real reason.” He smiles as the pretty blond female barista brings out coffees to our table. Once she’s gone, he says, “I simply know that being the head of the Foschini syndicate comes with plenty of headaches.”

“That’s certainly true.” I think back to the conversation Carlo had with Marcello not that long ago about the disgruntled families. I’ve been anxious ever since. It’s worrisome that Marcello won’t listen to Carlo or me about taking it seriously.