This made us all burst out in laughter. Mitch hung onto Romeo’s shoulder as they both wheezed with it.
Shaking my head, I threw the knife in the sink, going for another to finish my snack.
Tito burst into the kitchen a few moments later, ready to fight the world.
“All of you! Out!” He started slapping heads, cursing in Italian, vowing to take his revenge by stitching us with barb wire if he had the opportunity. He growled out Vincenzo’s name, claiming it was a good thing it was a flesh wound or he would have let him fester.“Animali!Behave likemaiali!Shoo!”
“Ay! Ay!” Romeo said, covering his head, attempting to side-walk out of the door. “Watch the hair, Uncle!”
“You will be lucky if I do not take a rrrrazor to it!”
Laughter flooded the halls, lingering for a few minutes, before the house quieted down again.
Rocco had been the last to leave, giving me a suspicious look when I stood my ground, determined to finish my apple. Tito had sought me out, though.
I knew something weighed on his mind.
* * *
A deep, pressure-releasing sigh from the old doctor told me I was correct.
He clutched the counter a moment, knuckles tight, then stood straight, loosening his tie.
“Give me some of that, ah? I need sustenance. A strong drink would also help. And to be in my wife’s bed, safe in her arms. Also, strength from the Lord.”
“Miracles,” I said, reaching for another apple. “Take a seat, old man.”
He did, sighing as his back hit the chair.
I refused to touch the needs of his wife, but an apple and drink were doable. After passing him a glass full of bourbon, I ripped a paper towel from the holder, setting another apple on it, and cut it into small wedges, just like Scarlett did. Actually, she would have used a plate, but no need to be fucking fancy. Then repeated the same steps—cinnamon and then peanut butter.
Tito stared at the pieces for a moment. “Pasta would be preferred, but—” He picked up a wedge and bit down. His eyebrows shot up. “This is gooood, nephew.”
I laughed. “It’s Mia’s favorite. She won’t even share with me.”
He smiled. “To not share with herPapà—” he licked his fingers “—she has a point. Ah. What a beautiful child our Mia is.”
Light came into his eyes at the thought of her. She loved Tito and Lola, and they adored her as a granddaughter. They adored all the kids. Not able to have children of their own, they became honorary grandparents. Though sometimes I saw a glint of steel in Luca’s eyes when Mia ran to Tito and called himNonnoTito.
It sounded more likeNonnoEato, which made me smile. He smiled too, perhaps his mind running along similar thoughts.
Picking up one of the last few pieces of my own apple, I asked the question hovering in the air. “Lothario?”
Tito sighed, long and hard, and set his apple down. He rubbed the juice of the apple between his fingers before he picked up his glass, took a deep drink of the amber liquid, and then let out a breath full of alcohol.
“He will make it. Barely. If it was not for him being a headstrong Fausti, I doubt he would have made it this far. Albeit he will never walk on his own two legs again.”
We both became quiet for a moment, lost to our own thoughts.
The memories of that room seemed to echo in the silence.
It had been full of tense silence. The brothers around the table, facing off. Two on each side. A chair left open for Ettore, who would have been on Luca’s side.
Lothario asked Osvaldo to sit with him, and he agreed, while Niccolo chose to sit with Luca. We were told to sit at the end of the long business table.
Luca didn’t want to make it seem as though this meeting stood as a popularity contest.
I doubted that Lothario even noted Tito’s presence as anything sinister. When Marzio had been alive, Tito sat at his right hand, even over his sons. But Luca was not Marzio, and over the past few weeks, I’d noticed a change in Luca regarding the old man.
