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“What?”
“You know, you guys are all over each other,” said Marco, shuddering. “It’s weird to think you didn’t even want to get married at first.”
“Gross?” I said. “I’m not gross.”
“Okay,” he said.
I let it go because it was so much better that I was still madly in love with my wife after all these years than the alternative. My father had never modeled what it meant to be a husband to me. I was glad my children hadn’t experienced that pain.
I hoped they saw how much I loved her.
Now, standing on the snowy street and entrusting my oldest son with the most precious thing in the world, I knew he understood what she meant.
“We’ll be fine, dad,” he said firmly.
Before I got in my car to leave, I went to hug him and he held out his hand instead. I stared down at his palm, noticing callouses from where he’d been practicing at the gun range over Thanksgiving break. My chest felt strange. Like an unknown, and unpleasant, emotion was stirring.
My son was a man.
But more than that, he was my peer. He wasn’t just my son anymore. He was an Esposito in his own right, the world at his fingertips and everything to prove.
I shook his hand and I liked his grip. It was firm and steady.
“Be safe,” I said. “I’ll see you at noon tomorrow.”
He inclined his head and gave Olivia and I some space to say goodbye. I stared after them crossing the snowy street to enter the bookshop in my rearview mirror for a long time.
My whole body felt empty the entire drive back, but as soon as I parked the car in the garage, Hugo burst out.
“Thank fuck,” he said. “I can’t handle watching the twins anymore.”
“Where’s Iris?” I asked.
“She told me I was an irreparable heathen and she went into town to get a coffee with Angie,” Hugo said. “Duran is in your office. The twins are in the lounge watching TV.”
“Jesus, Hugo,” I said, slamming the car door.
I took a moment to roll my ankle to get the hitch out of my leg. Ever since I’d been shot and fallen in the river, my left leg hadn’t worked quite as well as I preferred.
My second son loitered in the garage, his hands shoved in his pockets. As a child, he’d had stiff, chestnut brown hair, but now that he was sixteen, it had darkened and grew in soft waves. It would have looked a lot like Marco’s if he hadn’t shaved it off on a dare a month ago.
At first, he hadn’t looked like an Esposito or a Barone, but that had faded. His eyes were a bright hazel-green, shaded by thick, dark lashes. He had my cool complexion and heavy, aquiline nose.
His personality was a hundred percent his own. He was wild, a reckless daredevil who turned his school upside down and wreaked havoc on our household. I’d had more trouble from Hugo than all the rest of my sons combined.
He was my only son that I had real concerns about. Ettore and Atlas were both mellow children and Marco was a sensitive, intelligent young man.
Hugo was a little shit and he liked it that way. Luckily, he was a loving little shit who never did anything deliberately to hurt anyone. He just couldn’t help himself. If there was an alarm, he just had to pull it.
Now, I settled my gaze on my son’s green eyes.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I took the car just a few miles down the road,” he said. “I was really careful.”
“You don’t have a permit.” I stared at him. “Why would you do that?”
“I have a life, dad,” he sighed. “I have responsibilities and shit.”
