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“Can’t an old man spend time with his son?” he asks a simple question, one brewing with unfamiliarity.
I don’t know what to say. In 27 years, he and I haven’t spent time the way regular fathers and sons do, I suppose. We either work, talk about work, or eat dinner and discuss our day at work. This normalcy seems strange.
He sighs and looks away, probably understanding where my mind is. He stands and walks to his bookshelf, pulls down a photo frame and hands it to me. Staring back at me are the three of us: my mother, father and me as a child. My mother didn’t have time to bear more children before she was ripped from our lives.
“We should have spent more time together, Son,” my father says, squeezing my shoulder. I turn back and look up at him to see his face darkening under the shadows of the soft light from the lamp overhead. He’s right next to me, but he already seems to be fading away, and I feel an ominous truth lurking in the space between us.
“We still can, Father,” I whisper. “We can spend more time together. For years to come.”
And then, he shatters my world.
"Terminal cancer," my father, the Don Accardo, utters with a heavy sigh. The words hit me like bullets, ricocheting through my body and leaving devastation in their wake. His aged face falls, looking even weaker as if the burden of carrying this secret has sunk into his skin.
"That's why I've been so insistent on you shadowing me everywhere, Philippe."
I stare at him. My heart races and a cold dread grips my chest, making it hard to breathe. The Moirai tattoo that winds around my arm and up my neck suddenly feels suffocating, a reminder of the inevitability of death.
I curse myself for ever getting the damned tattoo that holds Atropos, the unalterable one, a metaphor for death. I called this destiny into my world. The universe listens. I want to rip my arm right off my body.
"Wh-why didn't you tell me sooner?" I manage to choke out, anger bubbling up inside me. "I'm going to call every doctor we know; they’ll help us find someone, we’ll fly in the best. You can’t just accept this as the end. It can't be," the veins in my hands bulge as I clench my phone in my fist, trying to search for the doctors on my call list for anyone who can help.
"Figlio mio," - my son - my father replies, reaching out a weathered hand to take my phone away. "I've tried everything.Tested for every clinical trial. Even the greatest doctors in the field have no hope."
"You kept this from me?" my voice shakes, questioning, asking, confused.
"I didn't want you to worry. I wanted you to focus on learning everything you need to know to prepare you to take over the family business."
"Damn it, Father!" I snap, swatting his hand away. "You think keeping this from me helps? You're dying, and I'm only just finding out!" My voice cracks, betraying the pain I'm trying to suppress. "I should have been there for you."
Don Accardo's eyes are glassy, full of sadness, but they don't waver. "It was not an easy decision, Philippe, but I did what I thought was best for the family." He pauses, swallowing hard. "For you."
My anger and frustration continue to boil, and I can feel my jaw tightening. But as I look into my father's eyes, I see something else: fear. The great Don Accardo, a man who has ruled the underworld with an iron fist, is afraid of what his death means for our family and our empire.
"Time is running out," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I need you ready, Philippe. You must step up to take my place."
"No, there must be another way," I grit out, biting back the hurt and betrayal that threaten to consume me.
"Son, you have before you two choices. Spend the time I have left on this planet by my side, with me, present in every moment. Or go chasing for an elusive remedy only to find me gone at the end, and with regret that you didn’t stand by me as I went. Which do you choose?"
The way he says it, with such finality, is so clear that I stop breathing for a few seconds. Nothing hurts more than regret. In my mind, I focus on the facts, trying to ground myself in reality. My father is an honest man with a joy for life.
If he says he's tested every option, he has. If he says there's nothing I can do, he's right. That leaves me with no choice.
I take his hand in mine and, for the first time in my life, reach out and touch his cheek. "I'll be by your side, Father—the whole way. We'll have the time of our lives together, and we will. Teach me all you know. But don't keep any more secrets from me, Father. I can't do this alone," I manage to get out before my voice breaks.
"I promise, Son," he says, taking me into a deep hug. Then, he tells me he's tired and retires for the night, but I... I can't sleep.
I storm out of the Accardo estate, my emotions a chaotic whirlwind, and head to the casino atIl Paradiso. I get through the main gate security and head straight to the casino floor. I want to disappear amongst the masses.
I have no desire to head underground tonight - that's my place of pleasure. Tonight, I want to mourn.
The lights and cacophony of slot machines are usually a welcome distraction, but at this moment, they only heighten my agitation.
"Signor Accardo," one of my employees greets me, but I barely acknowledge him, my mind consumed by thoughts of my father's impending death. I stalk through the casino and head straight for the bar.
"Give me a double whiskey, neat," I bark at the bartender as I take a seat at the bar. The glass appears before me almost instantly, and I down it in one gulp, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside me. “Another,” I demand.
I sit there a while in the quieter section of the bar. When I get uncomfortable, I move to a booth. But I never stop drinking.
