It was family night at Dolce. The restaurant closed down to everyone but the Scarpones. They’d eat like kings and queens, they’d laugh like the joker had just put on the funniest show, and they’d tell their new princes tales of what their rich futures held. How powerful they’d be when they became kings.
All. Fucking. Bullshit.
“Heads up, motherfuckers,”I wanted to tell Achille’s sons, “it makes the knife go in easier when the killer slices your throat. Because news flash: There can only beoneking. Those tales? Yeah, they’re pretty tall. Tall enough that only one of you will be able to reach the top.”
After the wives left, fur coats over their shoulders, jewels on their wrists, the finest shoes on undeserving feet, the men would stay behind and play poker. Achille might have one of his whores waiting to give him a kiss for luck. Only the fortunate ones got to leave the apartments he put them up in and be seen in public next to him.
Guess who’s coming out to play tonight, fellas?
I’d finally be taking the seat they reserved for me one Sunday a month.
I laughed, the sound raspy and low. Yeah, how about that? They reserved a seat for me at the poker table once a month, a glass of whiskey included. I didn’t even like the fucking game. Over the years, the old man’s chess game had morphed into Achille’s poker game. Quicker and less thinking involved. It was a sign of the times.
Three members of the staff stood inside to wait on the family. The rest were Scarpones, including the men who vowed to give their lives for the king and his joker of a son. The baby princes were there, too.
The whiz kid thought he had a handle on their security. I switched up the monitors, beingwhizzierthan him. All they’d see was the restaurant, but without me standing on the side of it, chilling in the alleyway. The brightest thing about me was the rosary around my neck, but it was tucked inside my shirt.
Then my phone lit up.
I walked around to the other side of the building, out in the open, pulling up the collar of my jacket. The air still held the chill of February, even though we were in March, but the cold rarely touched me. It was more to keep me hidden until the right time.
The streets were crowded, and I got lost in the concrete jungle so I could check my phone. I stood in front of the shop that sold the little figurines my wife had wanted for our son.
Your wife: Hey, you forgot something important at home.
Me:Doubtful. Everything that’s important is at home. But tell me anyway. What did I leave behind?
Your wife:Me.
A second later my phone vibrated.
Your wife:Please come home. We haven’t even named him yet.
I took a deep breath, and it pushed out of my mouth in a white cloud.
Me:Saverio Lupo. Saverio means “new home.” It’s a cognate of Xavier or Javier. Lupo means “wolf” in Italian.
Your wife:Saverio is our new home. The wolf’s new home with hisfarfalla.
Me:Yeah.
Your wife:I don’t know how else to say this, and before you left, I couldn’t. You found me and then left me when I was a kid. Then I found you years later. In a world filled with all of these people and all of these words, I found you. Just like you found me.
A few seconds went by. The vibration went off again.
Your wife:Don’t leave me again, Capo. I had no idea what I was missing all of my life until you touched me. I wasn’t starving for things. Well, I was, but it went deeper. It was you. I was starved for you. Nothing can replace you in my life.
She’d been dancing around this ever since what happened at Mamma’s. Three days had gone by since then. She told me to wait a day, but another day only equaled to them having more hours to find out who she was.
I was a fucking ghost. They had already killed me. But my wife, she was the girl I saved; a girl who had a heartbeat. They’d stop at nothing to use her against me.
If they found out she was pregnant with my child—the thought alone made my blood run cold, and then it surged up hot.
Achille would rip her to pieces if he got to her first. Arturo would keep her alive long enough for her to have the baby. Then he’d kill her and raise my son as his own.
The ultimate betrayal, even over killinghisflesh and blood, and a lastfuck you, my pretty-boy son. If there was any peace to be found in death, he knew I’d never find it with my son in his arms.
This needed to end. There were too many unforeseen circumstances.
