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Yeah, I had honor. I lived by it, but I had learned its limit—Katia.
I glanced over at Arlo. Nothing else had to be said. Filthy was who I’d become.
That’s how I found myself in front of Salvatore’s home with an unlit cigarette in my pocket. The walk over to his house shouldn’t have been an issue if I had left my suit jacket behind. Instead, I walked inside ready to leave the humid air behind.
“I thought you would just stay outside and look over the brick some more.” Sal’s voice cracked, and a heap of coughs followed.
I relaxed when I heard his voice, but I quickly searched for him as his cough intensified and his body gasped for air.
His signature fedora was off his fuzzy white hair, and his back deepened into the single chair that had molded into his body. Sal’s fingers shook, holding onto the oxygen tube on his nose. I walked over to the living room, where I’d positioned his chair to view the front door and windows and met him.
He ushered me away, but I didn’t listen. I fished inside my suit pocket and retrieved my handkerchief before placing it in his free hand.
I didn’t miss the red spot after he wiped his mouth.
Fuck.
Time was a bitch I hated and couldn’t defeat.
Sal’s tired body gave, relaxing as his breathing returned. He didn’t say anything else, and I took it upon myself to sit in the matching chair next to him. A coffee table rested between us, and while he looked away, I watched him.
His pressed dress pants, the perfect lines of his white long-sleeve shirt to his checkered brown and beige sweater vest. All appeared neat and put together compared to his true state, which reminded me of the wedding. How a date wasn’t set, how he might not be there by the appearance of his sullen eyes.
Then he glanced at me, and I saw my mother’s resilience in his eyes. I looked away.
Coward.
“We have a family lunch in a few hours.”
“Hmm,” he scoffed.
“You should come, get some fresh air and all.”
“Will Ms. Katia be there?” His brow raised.
“Yes.”
“Are you still treating her like a Vitelli?”
His question had too many answers. I had said yes to respecting her, protecting her. She even walked among my house armed, and yet I still didn’t trust her. I still held hatred for her. I still wanted to own her, and I still stayed at arm’s length.
“It was a simple answer, Lucca,” Sal croaked. “And your silence said enough. My answer is no. I don’t want to see the way you treat her.”
“Fine,” I said sharply.
“Don’tfineme, boy.” His voice deepened, and his eyes lifted. Filled with fire. A sight I smiled at but didn’t show because underneath this roof, I wasn’t his boss. I was just Lucca. “Stronzo,” he mumbled, and this time my eyes cut his way.
“Easy, old man. I’m still the one who makes your late-night coffee.”
My comment only fueled his spirit, and he was too quick to complain.
“Which by the way has been too late and brings me to the question, how bad”—he wheezed— “how bad is it?”
Leave it to Sal to measure the danger of the streets by the time he received his daily night coffee. A thing I did, and only Mrs. Greco knew as she was the one who brought it to his home. It started as a deal. When I fought him to move into this home I’d built specifically for him, I never said it out loud. He knew. They all did. Yet, he didn’t want it. His reasons could range from feeling like a burden to pure pride. Pride would be the one I would bet on. One night he’d fallen so ill, I didn’t give him the choice. I packed his shit and moved it, knowing he couldn’t carry it or drive it away.
That night, I saw the end of Salvatore’s gun. That night I saw my mother’s tired eyes, and that night I turned my back as he filled the chamber with a threat, and as I walked away, he’d said,“Don’t forget my coffee.”
I’d been caught once with a coffee mug in my kitchen late at night. Ilias and Davina had stayed in my home for safety. Davina walked in, too scared to come closer with me inside. All she wanted was bottled water. Before she left that night, she didn’t mention the mug, who it was for, or why Mrs. Greco was taking it out of the kitchen. But Davina was attentive, careful, and surely eventually she put the pieces together. To this day, she hadn’t said anything, not that I would answer.
