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“I know who you are,” I say to Gunderson. “You have information for me?”
“Yes. But you’re going to need to see this in person. Can you be here between one and two?”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
Two hours later, I pull my black Aston Martin DBS Superleggera into the parking lot of the morgue where my father’s autopsy was performed.
I remain in the car for a few minutes, breathing deeply, my hands clutched to the steering wheel.
For as many people as I’ve sent here, I’ve never been to a morgue. Wish I’d come sooner, seen the blue bodies of random strangers to get acclimated.
I step out and go into the building, where I’m met by Gunderson. We pass the lone receptionist stationed at a curved desk to the right. She doesn’t bother glancing our way, simply keeps her head bowed over a bowl of noodles.
“It’s lunchtime,” Gunderson informs me. “Ursula is under Gianni’s employ. She won’t let anyone disturb us.”
I follow him down a wide sterile-looking hallway that reminds me of the ones in hospitals, with pinewood rails attached to off-white walls and linoleum covering the floors. The scent of alcohol and other chemicals lingers in the air, making my stomach turn.
Gunderson tugs his nametag from his belt and touches it to a keypad beside a set of double doors. They swing open and we enter another short hallway, then go through yet another set of doors and down another hallway. Fucking labyrinth.
To the right is the examiner’s room, which is also secured by an electronic keypad.
It’s a big space that looks very much as I imagined it would. On one side is a wall made of stainless steel with several square doors, behind which I’m sure are numerous corpses.
To the right are five workstations which consist of metal beds with drains that look more gruesome even in their clean state than any crime scene I’ve ever been a part of. Large overhanging lamps and hoses, scales, and other equipment are within reach.
All of the stations are empty, save for one.
“You work for Gianni as well?” Gunderson asks nervously as he stands beside the body covered with a blue papery blanket.
I near the slab, my eyes glued to the part beneath that blanket that would be moving if the person beneath it were breathing. “I’m a family member.”
Though I don’t specify what being a member of the family denotes, he understands what I mean. Blood or not, I’m a part of the Gianni Mafia.
“So you’ve seen death?” The way his voice breaks at the end tells me he knows I have.
Irritated by the stupid question, I glare at him. “I’ve never seen my father dead. That’s all that matters.”
He clears his throat. “I only ask because many people struggle to remain in the room. But it’s important you stay until I’m done showing you my findings.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say dryly.
Giving me a nod, he grabs the top of the blanket and rolls it down, uncovering my father’s body little by little.
I detach myself from the moment. Because Idowant to bolt from the room.
My father was a dick. Almost as unlikable as Joaquin. To say I loved him would be an overstatement.
No, I didn’t love him, because he never earned that sort of emotion from me. He didn’t want it. All he cared about was making sure that I had what I needed to survive in a world he refused to leave.
The only concession he ever made was to find me a mother when my own left. Whether she could have been considered loving is questionable. She wasn’t ready for a child, but she got me anyway. We were stuck with each other, so we did our best. I tried desperately to earn her love, and she was kind enough. As kind as she could be having grown up the way she did.
Because Sylvia was the sister of Francesco Gianni, the founding godfather, she was a part of that ruthless world my father belonged to. And like him, she wouldn’t leave it.
In the end, no matter what I wanted, I got what I needed.La famiglia. The Giannis. My Uncle Francesco, who taught me to be strong, hard, ruthless and determined, just like him. He taught me what it meant to be loyal to the family. Protective. To do whatever it took to ensure its success.
My father was a made man who was fiercely devoted to that family. He clawed his way to the top, earning not only Francesco’s respect, but a seat at the table as his consigliere.
