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“I used to,” I answer.
“And yet I was never able to find a phone number for you.”
“I have electricity, not a phone.”
It was one of the first things I got rid of, and I’ve never regretted it.
Andrea places a hand on my arm. “So you’re happy here?”
“Not happy. But I’m doing okay.”
He pats my arm. “I’d say you’re doing more than okay.”
I look at him. “Is that what you’re going to tell Orso?”
I know Orso sent him. He was my friend, which means he knows I want to be alone. That’s probably why I haven’t seen him until now. Yet he’s here. And I know he’s still working for Orso because he still has that watch Orso gave him. And because he just called me fratello. Brother.
Andrea sighs. “No.”
I snort before bending over to begin picking up the tree branches I dropped. “Come on. We both know you’re here because of him. What does he want? Is he making sure I’m still alive, still miserable, still consumed with guilt? Well, you can tell him I still am and likely will be for the rest of my life.”
“No,” Andrea says. “He didn’t send me to check on you.”
I give another snort as I pick up another branch.
“He sent me to get you.”
I straighten up. “Get me?”
What? Like a box of mementos he left behind? Like a dentist he needs to fix his teeth?
“Orso wants to see you,” Andrea informs me.
I take a moment to digest those words. Then I drop my branches and laugh.
It’s a joke. It has to be.
“That’s bullshit,” I tell him.
“It’s true,” he tells me with a serious expression. “Orso wants to see you.”
I wipe off my grin. “Why?”
Andrea shrugs.
“Why would he want to see me now after seven years? Why would he ask for me when he was the one who fired me?”
“You were going to quit anyway, weren’t you?” Andrea asks.
Damn. I wish he didn’t know me so well.
“Yes, he fired you, but only because he knew you wouldn’t want to work for him anymore,” Andrea adds.
“Really? So you’re saying he doesn’t want me dead because I let his son die?”
Because I sure felt that way when he fired me.
“You know how Orso feels about death. He knows it’s inevitable.”
“That was before he lost a son,” I point out.
“Ah, but he’s lost other sons,” Andrea says.
Members of his organization. To him, they’re all his sons. Not the same thing.
“At any rate, he wants to see you, to talk to you,” Andrea tells me. “And I see no reason why you shouldn’t oblige.”
“I’m busy.” I bend down to pick up a branch.
Andrea steps on it. “Cain Archer, while I appreciate the fact that you now seem to have grown feelings, I don’t think it’s wise to let them decide for you.”
I frown at his accusation. “I’m not. I don’t want to see Orso because I see no reason why I should. I no longer work for him.”
Andrea sighs but doesn’t get his foot off my branch.
“What? Did he order you to bring me back no matter what? Are you going to knock me out? Sedate me? Bring me to him in a sack?”
All of which I know he’s capable of doing.
“Do you want me to?” Andrea asks me.
I glare.
He draws a deep breath. “Orso is sick, Cain.”
That makes me pause.
“And I don’t mean sick with the flu. His lungs are bad, and I mean really bad. He’s waiting for a new lung, but in the meantime, he can barely breathe on his own. He’s on a ventilator.”
Something in my stomach folds. That bad?
I knew his lungs would go bad eventually. How could they not when he smoked so much? When his idea of exercise was playing poker? I didn’t think they’d get this bad, though. A ventilator? Isn’t that for people who are dying?
Andrea touches my shoulder. “He wants to see you, Cain.”
I look at him and see the plea in his eyes. I know he’s telling the truth. I know it’s bad.
I still don’t know why Orso wants to see me or whether I should go. I have a feeling that if I do, he’ll forgive me, and I’m not sure I want his forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. Even so, I know I have to see him. It’s the least I can do for him.
I nod. “Let me just get a few things and lock up.”
Then I guess it’s time to revisit the past.
~
The Ursini mansion looks just as I remember. Huge. Imposing. Big chandeliers. Thick carpets and curtains. Elegant furniture. Men with guns walking the hallways lined with religious paintings.
It’s Orso who looks different. Apart from the obvious fact that he has a machine taped to his throat, sensors stuck to his chest and a needle stuck in his arm, he’s pale and thin. I can barely see his lips, and his eyes seem to be sinking into their sockets. He still has his hair, though, and his teeth, which he shows me in a smile when our eyes meet. Then he frowns.
