“Things are good?” Marco asked merrily.
“Yes,” I nodded. “Things are good.”
“Excellent!” he grinned, through a mouthful of old man teeth. “And your mother? She’s well?”
“She sends her love,” I told him. “As always.”
“I’d rather she send her Manicotti!” Marco cackled. He clapped his hands together and sighed. “But of course I will take the love.” He looked at me, and the cataracts flashed in his eyes. “And please, tell her I give it back.”
I wasn’t exactly sure where our family trees actually crossed, or if they even did at all. All I knew was that it was so far up, no one could possibly see.
“Come,” Marco ordered, his voice cracking. “Walk with me.”
One thing I did know was that my mother came out of the same neighborhood Marco did. Back then she was well-known, and well-regarded. Our families had helped each other, once upon a time, and were bound together by certain blood ties. And they were ties that, my mother assured me, could never be broken.
Marco waddled closer, and extended a thin, frail arm. Keeping my eye on the men in the shadows, I looped mine into his. Together we walked slowly through the study, which in the old mansion had once been a grand library. The books were all still there, in colorful rows. There were thousands of them, climbing the shelves, floor to ceiling. Almost all of them untouched, for long, lonely decades.
“That thing we uhhh… talked about?” Marco said, dropping his voice.
“Taken care of,” I told him.
He nodded, satisfied, and we walked a few more paces away from prying ears. Eventually, he stopped.
“And the anomaly?” he murmured, in barely a whisper. “The one that you found?”
He was so close to me now, that the men stepped out of the shadows. Their hawk-like eyes were trained on me. Their hands, although hidden, closed over unseen weapons.
“No longer a factor,” I replied, in the same low tone. “I checked into it, and all is good.”
The old man breathed another sigh of relief, this one deeper than the last. His smile became peaceful.
“All is good.”
“Yes, Marco.”
He nodded again and turned back, eventually leading us to the table near the fireplace. I frowned when I saw the envelope, as I always did.
“That’s for you,” he said, pointing.
I shook my head. “You know I can’t take it.”
“I know youwon’ttake it,” he replied glibly. “I wish you would, though. In my eyes, it would be a sign of respect.”
His demeanor had been happy so far, but now I saw frustration in the old man’s eyes. It was a frustration that could quickly turn to anger — and even betrayal — if I didn’t play my cards right.
I had to tread lightly.
“Look, Marco,” I sighed, “you’re family.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“What I do for you, I do out of love,” I explained. “I never take payment from those I love. You understand that, right?”
His expression was sour, but there was comprehension there, too. My rule was inarguable by his very creed. He had to respect it.
“Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “But one day I’ll do something for you, out of the same love.”
I looked back at the envelope one more time. It had gotten bigger and bigger over the years. Shit, it was more of a brick now.
