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“You disgust me! You deserve to die! What kind of a manareyou?”
What kind of a man are you?
The question rang in Dante’s ears.
What kind of a man are you?
Dante released Don Matteo, edging away in a sort of shock.
“Thank God!” Don Matteo made praying hands. “Thank you for showing mercy, Dante, I’ll make it up to you—”
“I don’t know what kind of man I am, but I know what kind of man I’mnot. I’mnot you. I’ll be theoppositeof you, in every way. I’ll be a good man, a good husband, a good father. I’ll be everything you’re not. You’re not worthy of me. You don’t deserve another moment of my time, much less my loyalty. Do you know whodoes?Gaetano!”
“I’m so sorry—”
“Youfiredhim because he searched for me, because he was going to uncover your filthy secret! He went to prison forfifteenyears, for me! He losteverything, his career, his reputation, his family! He helped me findyou!That’sthe kind of man I want to be! I want to be likeGaetano!”
Dante whirled around, left the office, and slammed the door behind him, his chest heaving. He stumbled outside in a teary daze, seeing people on the street as if they were far away. His head thundered, his heart ached.
Suddenly, he heard someone calling him and looked over to seeGaetano riding toward him, his expression strained with fear. “Gaetano?”
“Dante, wait, don’t!” Gaetano leapt from his horse. “Don’t do it!”
“How did you know I was here?”
“I was going home from the Questuraand I ran into Bartolomeo.” Gaetano gripped Dante’s shoulders. “IsDon Matteoyour father?”
“Yes, I just saw him.”
Gaetano gasped. “You didn’t...”
“No, I didn’t. That’s not the man I want to be.”
“Good boy!” Gaetano erupted with joy, embracing Dante. “I’m so proud of you, Dante. So proud. I love you, son.”
“I love you, too,” Dante told him, complete in the love only a father could give.
His chosen father.
CHAPTER NINETY-SIX
After bidding goodbye to Dante, Gaetano dropped his horse off at the stables and walked home through the streets of the Palermo he loved so well. The night was dark, but there were lights inside the houses, and he could hear the families chattering, laughing, and arguing, his fellowPalermitanieither making love or at each other’s throats.
A sensation of peace spread throughout his soul, and he breathed in the smells he knew since childhood, the rank odor of city cats and the fragrant perfume of lilies on a balcony. His hometown contained both, and he knew he couldn’t accept one without the other. Life didn’t work that way, and only God was perfect.
Gaetano turned the corner in his new neighborhood, since Maria had moved them to a different district while he was in prison. He’d never told her that he no longer needed to live near the church in which the Beati Paoli held their secret meetings. He no longer wanted to keep secrets from his wife.
Gaetano smiled as he approached his house, one of the most charming on the block, its two-story stone façade covered with verdant ivy. They rented the apartment on the first floor, and he twisted the knob on the lacquered door and stepped into an entrance hall, then crossedto their apartment door, opening it onto a warm golden interior filled with candlelight.
Gaetano stood at the threshold for a moment, taking in the sight. It made a beautiful picture, one any man would be lucky to come home to. His beloved Maria was sitting on a couch, her glossy head bent over her floral embroidery, and his two sons, Mario and Paolo, were reading in their chairs, buried in thick books. They had grown to be young men, and he had to get to know them all over again.
Gaetano vowed that he would spend every minute with his family from now on. They were his reward, and the only reward that mattered to him. He felt as if he were finally returning to his life, and he sensed it was a new life, a better life. Maybe even heaven on earth.
“Gaetano?” Maria looked up with a delighted smile.
“Papa!” the boys cried, setting aside their books.
“I’m home.” Gaetano opened his arms. “It’s over, and now, I’m all yours.”
