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Chapter 15
Philippe
I hang up the phone and feel a sense of relief at the conversation I just had with Carla. Things have been a whirlwind for us since the moment I met her, and I never know what exactly to make of her. One minute she is this proper Romanian girl, and the next she seems like some American floozy. It is strange riding her ups and downs like a roller coaster when I am so used to the stability of my own family. But I feel like for the first time she is being civil and letting me in.
I can’t say for sure because we know each other so little, but I have been speculating that the reason she acts the way she does is to be rebellious and hide the pain that she is feeling inside.
Most mafia families are in some way dysfunctional. It comes with the territory. She isn’t mafia, but she is an assassin’s daughter which is likely much in the same. They just don’t have the tradition and higher class rules that The Clans do. Which is okay. I thought that my chances of falling in love with someone more connected to the real world than someone within The Clans was higher, but this is hard work. I am just glad that the phone call didn’t lead to any fighting or yelling and that I got to apologize for my behavior.
Much like my father, I often get carried away with my words, sharing what passes through my head in the moment without even thinking of the impact or if I am too emotional to be choosing my words wisely. I called her some bad things and regret it. But maybe once I get back to the states we can kind of start over and do a better job of getting to know each other without judging.
I wipe sweat from my brow and lean back with a groan. I am feeling the effects of what I did last night, and I regret that almost as much as the words I said to Carla. I drink on occasion, but I usually sip and enjoy it. Last night, I was all over the place within myself and decided to have one too many. Now, I am paying the price for that.
I open one eye to see that the clock reads that it’s half past noon, and I can’t believe I was so hungover I slept in so late. I am usually a man who is up with the dawn or shortly thereafter if I am giving myself a bit of a reprieve.
Had it not been for the phone call, I can’t even say I would be awake now. With the stiffness in my neck and pain in my head, I am unsure that I want to be, but I need to go and see my mother. That is the whole reason I flew back to Munich to begin with. I would like to think Father is taking good care of her, but sometimes he is so tyrannical around hospital staff he can ignore her true needs in the moment.
I make my way to the kitchen first, knowing that I have to do something to take the edge off. I have some Baileys, so I decide to throw that into a morning cup of tea for both flavor and a little kick to maybe make this headache ebb away before I try and be there for someone who needs me. As I move my neck each way, stirring the Baileys in the meantime, I hear a crack from both ways. I passed out in my study, so my neck was strained sleeping in my chair - one that is not meant at all for sleep. It is much too stiff.
I travel with my mug into my bedroom, my eyes darting to the bed with longing as I force myself to go into my closet instead. All I want to do is sleep this shit off, but I cannot. My family needs me, and I will come through as is my duty.
I choose a white button-down and a pair of nice jeans. I do not want to look sloppy in front of my father, but I do not need a suit to go into a hospital. Not only does it draw unneeded attention, I just don’t want to give the impression to my mother that seeing she is alright is a business trip. I think my father fails at those little things sometimes. He is a strong man but not nurturing in that way, so anything I can do to make her smile and feel like we love her is a blessing to me.
The way I think of my parents makes me ache a little for Carla. I do not believe she has the same close relationship with her own family that I do with mine. I have been able to look past my strict upbringing and my mother’s past transgressions to get to the heart of the matter.
We are blood, and blood sticks together for life. Might as well learn to enjoy it.
The way Carla seems so different in front of her parents, I do not know if they even realize who she truly is inside, and that is a shame. It also worries me to think that I may have a hard time getting in there to see what she is really like as well. Is there something in between the party girl and the silent, sweet, weak Italian girl who does everything her father tells her to?
Maybe if I just reach out to her and keep control of my tongue, I will nurture her to be the real her with me. I wouldn’t want to try and fall in love with any less than that.
I finally come out of hiding, the tea warming me up and dulling the headache just a little, though it is still there, pulsing in the background. I ask my men to have a car pulled around in a few moments as I check over my security systems and tuck my wallet inside of my pants.
"Can we stop to pick up some flowers on the way?" I ask the driver as I climb into the backseat of the simple, dark tinted windows, black car that is my escort on every outing here in Munich. It will be the same for Carla as well once I get to call her my wife.
If that day ever comes. It feels much further away than it did when I first hopped on the plane to Seattle.
My driver obeys my wishes to stop at a small flower shop on the way to the hospital. I don’t know the names of all the flowers, but I see a beautiful bouquet of various purple flowers mixed with some white - I believe those are baby’s breath. My mother happens to love the color, and I know she will love them. I take them without a second thought and climb back in the car with a small smile on my face. I don’t know what it is about doing things for others, but sometimes that is the only thing that makes me feel alive. Today I need as much of that as I can get considering I can almost feel the skin under my eyes aging. I know I will crash hard tonight without the aid of any alcoholic substance.
The hospital is a looming large facility in the middle of downtown. I have never had to be admitted myself, but my mother has been here a few times for various reasons. Twice for her addiction problems when we were younger so that she could detox, and they could monitor her liver.
There is something about hospitals that no matter how cheery they appear to be or how nice, there is always the sense of depression and sickness. It is even a smell, though some might think I am crazy if I were to say that out loud. I only come when I need to, even though I have never experienced some traumatic loss in a place like this. All the losses I have had have been people going in their own home or being killed for their mafia status. But my security team is almost flawless as is my father’s. Those occurrences are now rare, and that is one of the reasons Carla’s father found her marrying me appealing. All the men in her family seemed to want her protected in a way only someone like me can do.
I speak with the receptionist, and she directs me to go up to the fifth floor where my mother has been moved into a private room - no doubt thanks to my father’s insistence. He probably has staff paid to only look after her as well. He is an efficient man that way and only allows the best for his family. It is why even though he is not always caring, I do not knock him for it. He cares in the way he knows how.
I ride the rickety elevator up wondering when the last time it was maintenanced. I think I need to donate specifically to some new elevators or at least a repair budget.
I get up to the fifth floor and find that hers is the first room on the corner. The door is open, and the lights are all on as if the brightness alone will be healing for her. I roll my eyes at my father’s strange rituals before plastering a smile on my tired face and walk in with the flowers in hand. My security team stands outside the door just in case.
"Philippe!" she says brightly, and I breathe a sigh of relief hearing her voice and seeing that she is sitting up. I can see some nicks and scratches on her but nothing else immediately catches my eye other than the monitors they have on her. "I didn’t know you were back in Munich!"
I lean down and hug her before letting her sniff the flowers. "They are lovely. We will have to have someone fetch a vase," she says, and Father stalks off as if to make sure it happens. Like the world will end if there isn’t a vase for her flowers.
"Mama, I was so worried. I came straight away," I tell her, sitting on the edge of her bed.
"Oh, you shouldn’t have left Carla for a silly accident," she chastises me, but I can tell she is glad to have me here. We have always been close, even during the bad years.
"It didn’t sound silly, but Carla understood." I try to keep my face neutral so she can’t read me one way or another. things are still on shaky ground, and the last thing I want to do is worry my parents that this could fall through. They are counting on this as much as anyone else.
