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Despite the early hour, Totto was still dressed perfectly proper. Sometimes I wondered if he ever slept like a normal person. “It’s your father, Salvatore. He’s had a rough night.”
“Why wasn’t I called?”
“Your phone is off.”
“Right.” I’d turned it off when we made it to our spot to avoid interruptions. “How bad?”
“He was unable to eat and the coughing was worse than usual. Leona Ricci has stopped by and hooked him to oxygen, but he’s stubborn. I only could convince him to keep the mask on for a couple of hours.” Dr. Ricci was the only one who could make that impossible old man do what he was told so she deserved every fat paycheck I signed for her.
“He’s not asleep yet?”
“He’s in the library. He was up all night.”
I nodded. “I’ll be right there.”
I found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, got dressed and went back down the stairs. Of course he was in the library; that was his hiding spot. God, how I hated that room. Nothing good has ever happened to me in that fucking library. That’s where he told me how my mother had died, where he retreated to mourn her for years on end, and where he told me that it was decided to break my engagement with Grazia. Yes, I hated those four walls and couldn’t wait to take a sledgehammer to them.
I opened the sculpted door and walked in the poorly lit library. It was a tall room packed with books to the brim, all my mother’s. Father was behind the desk, looking up to the ceiling and trying to steady his breath. He was so focused, he didn’t notice I was there.
“Are you in pain, Dad?”
“Huh?” He lowered his head and saw me standing in the doorway. “Ah, it’s you, my boy. It’s nothing, just a little burn in the chest, that’s all.”
“A burn that keeps you up at night.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Come in, pour yourself a scotch.”
I found an opened bottle of Courvoisier in the drinking cabinet and put a couple fingers in the glass.
“Why aren’t you wearing your oxygen mask?”
“I did and I feel much better now. Stop acting like a mother hen and sit down.”
“You feel like chatting?” That was somewhat of a good sign.
“What else is there to do? I can’t leave this cursed house for half an hour without needing a nap. This,” he waved his hand around, “it’s my grave.”
“When did you turn into such a dramatic bitch, father?” Him and I, we loved to banter.
“When my damn lungs decided to turn against me! You should at least allow me some dignity…”
“Father,” I raised my hand, “I’m not going to shoot you, so stop asking.”
“Well, who’s the bitch now, boy?”
We both laughed and I tasted the cognac, playing with it in my mouth before swallowing. The burn from the amber liquor was very much welcomed.
“You really feel better?”
“Eh, a little. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. You were out?”
“Yes.”
“How’s the business going?”
“Smoothly, Father. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry?” He released a low laugh. “I was sixteen when I started stealing, did I ever tell you that?”
