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I knew it.
I collapsed when Gabriele died.
But now that Edoardo is gone?
I feel like a part of me is retreating…disappearing into a fog …
I’m not even sure I’ll ever be able to find myself again.
I can still feel the heat of the sun as they carried his body to the gravesite. The coffin was beautiful…he’d picked it out himself when he knew the fight was over. It was a dark wood. Mahogany. With brass adornments and handles.
I never thought I’d see my teenage children carrying their dad that way. I never thought my sons would lower their father into the dirt. I never thought I’d watch my baby girls sob over a spray of flowers that lay on top of him.
Not when they were all just kids…
I promise myself right then and there that I can’t let them slip away, too.
I hear footsteps. They’re quiet murmurs. But when a soft thud sounds, I’m aware of someone near me. I turn slightly to see who it is. My heart stops when I see my little boy, all tall and proud, traipse over to sit next to me.
He met my gaze and I can’t help the soft smile that graces my lips.
“Mom?” Alessandro asks.
I shake away my memories. “Ugh…” I grumble. “What?”
“I just said ‘hello’?” He looks at me, confused before he sits next to me on the couch.
“Hello,” I respond.
I have a blanket draped over my shoulders and a cup of tea in my hand. My throat is sore. I’ve been coughing since I got to the hotel.
His voice is soft and smooth, silky even, and the way he sits near me, on the couch, his arm wrapped around me, almost seems nurturing. I’m blessed. I have this beautiful, strong, man as my son. But, still, he shouldn’t be taking care of me.
I should be taking care of him…
“Are you going to get yourself cleaned up?” I ask, gesturing to his appearance.
His clothing was bloody. His hair was soaked with soot and sweat. His face was dirty. Bruises all along his jaw and upper cheek. He wasn’t the only one that looked like shit when we got here, though. With blood stained tattered clothes, what would we have looked like to my hotel patrons? We had to sneak in the back. The whole damn lot of us. At least the ones that came back here. The rest went back to the club or to their own homes. But we had only lost three in the building; whether that be from the explosion or from the fight… and even though I hate to lose anyone, that number seems a whole hell of a lot lower than I expected.
My men must have been really motivated, because Madam Rosa had the manpower — outnumbering us, by what Alessandro says, two-fold — and she was waiting for them. I do wonder, though, if there was a bigger plan that hadn’t quite played out the way she expected it to.
Luigi is in the kitchen with Mattias and Tomasso. They are making cookie dough. Not for cookies, turns out. Just to eat as dough…
He showered as soon as we got here and put on some of Alessandro’s spare clothes. And Frankie? He wore some of Gabriele’s old sweats that we had tucked away in the closet.
I’d always been meaning to turn them into a blanket. A little token for memory sake.
Frankie is playing piano with Emma and Guilia and I can hear their shouts echo down the hall. He’s good with them. Which is great, because Frankie isn’t good with anyone else.
It’s funny, though, how my kids were so nonchalant about us coming in with blood stained clothes. Maybe they’re a lot more in-the-know than I thought they were. Maybe seeing the mob on TV was enough. Or, maybe Alessandro told them more than I thought. They all have a choice to make, and seeing this kind of shit might make it an easier choice. It’s definitely what makes me realize I’m getting too old to keep going. It’s going to take a while to heal from all of this; and the fight is far from over.
“Everyone else has showered and taken care of themselves…” I reiterate. “You look like shit…”
He laughs and I cough again, my chest quaking all of a sudden.
“Are you alright?” He asks as he nudges me with his shoulder. “I called a nurse for you…”
“You called a nurse for me?” I ask, a little bewildered. “What about the rest of you?”
