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Calvin approaches Marcello first, his demeanor cautious and investigative. He reaches out his hand, and Marcello kneels down to his level to accept whatever Calvin has brought him.
When Calvin opens his hand, he drops a red glass bead into Marcello’s palm.
Marcello’s face lights up, and Calvin smiles right back at him as they connect for the first time as father and son. I hadn’t told the boys anything about Marcello, not even his name, but they’re already trying to find a way to make him like them.
Archer hasn’t brought a gift, but he finds one of the tattoos on Marcello’s arm, a black rose, and begins to trace it with his finger.
“Why is it black? Roses are red,” Archer remarks, as confident in his statement as a five-year-old can be.
“Because I like black roses, I think they’re nice,” Marcello replies, trying to conceal how excited he is to be interacting with the boys.
Archer considers his reply for a moment, tracing the rose outline just a bit harder with his fingernail. “It doesn’t come off.”
Marcello glances up at my mom and I, uncertain of how to proceed but enjoying this new experience more than anything.
“Yeah, it’s in my skin forever. When you’re older, you can have skin like this too,” he replies, lifting the rest of his sleeve up to show Archer the rest of his tattoos.
Archer’s eyes widen in wonder and curiosity, and he traces the outlines of multiple tattoos as Calvin runs into the house to fetch more gifts for Marcello.
“So, the boys seem to really like you already,” mom says, her skeptical face contrasting the warmth in her voice. “Are you truly prepared to take care of my daughter and her family?”
He looks up at her with sincerity in his eyes.
“They’re my family now.”
Epilogue
MARCELLO
Transitioning to my new life in the States was a hell of a lot easier than I expected it to be. The boys accepted me much quicker than even June could have predicted, and I’d say they’re a little obsessed with me. It’s gotten to the point where they both demand equal time with me, and I can tell that June appreciates the time to herself.
Raising the boys with her is the most fulfilled I’ve ever felt in my life. Even after years of living on top of the world with more money than I knew what to do with, I still never felt the gratification of being someone’s favorite person in the entire world. I get to feel that twice over now, every single day of my life.
Things with June are better than ever as well. Now that she’s back in her own territory, she’s a lot less tense when we have discussions, and I’m much more receptive to her now that the element of danger has been removed for both of us.
I’ll admit, at first, it was extremely difficult to give up the mafia life. Not having my close-knit group of ride-or-die soldiers felt isolating as I learned how to live the life of an average American citizen. Despite this, I have to admit that it’s a hell of a lot quieter and less stressful than that life ever was. I can stand on our balcony outside without having to worry that someone’s going to snipe me from the top of the building next to us.
Laying low was imperative for the first few weeks after I killed Franco. I checked the local news in my home city every day, sometimes multiple times to see if they had made any connections to me in his death. I was shaken by the possibility that I could have been tracked here, no matter how slim. I was being paranoid, but not without good reason.
The way that the sunlight streams into the kitchen this morning is such a contrast to the perpetual darkness that I lived in when I was in Italy. I worked at night so much that I didn’t notice the beauty of the sunrise until I moved in with June. It’s been the smallest things that have stopped me in my tracks lately - the feeling of the autumn air on my skin, the way food tastes, the smell of June’s skin when I hold her close to me. I’ve never had the presence of mind to notice, and now I spend most of my day just... observing the world around me
It’s Thursday morning, and I’m getting ready to make breakfast for the family when I receive a call from an unknown number.
This is the longest I’ve kept a phone number in my life, so I’m cautious about answering the call. When I pick up, I only hear background noise for a few seconds before the person on the other end speaks up. At first I panic, believing that I’ve finally been caught by Franco’s associates. I’m ready to fight, but I’m not as prepared as I need to be.
“Marcello.”
I listen closely. “Yes?”
“It’s me, Enzo. You don’t recognize your own brother’s voice on the phone?”
“Holy shit, Enzo, you’re out of prison? Did you just get out?” I ask, doing my best to keep myself from waking up June and the boys.
“Just got out today. I won the case. It was crazy, and nobody thought I could beat it, but one of the key witnesses died before he was able to give a statement in court. He was the one who ratted on me from the beginning. It’s crazy how those things work,” he replies, his voice coarse from the copious amounts of cigarettes he’s been smoking in jail.
“Yeah, it certainly can be,” I reply, hoping that Enzo and I are on the same wavelength about what happened to Franco. “Maybe God’s just looking out for you.”
“Fuck you, Marcello,” he replies, laughing. “Speaking of Franco, you’re in the States, yeah? I think you need to stay there for the foreseeable future. I don’t even know if you can come back ever.”
