“More certain of that than I am of your parentage.”
“There were two of you that night, huh?”
“At least one of us had a broken condom.”
Damn.I called that one.
“Although, when I’m angry, I used to clench my fist.Just like you are.I can’t do that anymore.”
His gaze was on my left hand.The one I’d clamped down hard.“I’m not Italian, I’m Irish.”
“You tell yourself that, but have you ever wondered why Don Manca agreed to take you in?Perhaps he recognized the snake he fostered.”
The evil chuckle turned into another coughing fit.
I opened the door so everyone could see he was still alive.
When the ruckus calmed down, the solicitor led me to the door with the binder of American holdings, that fucking yellow folder, and a copy of the transfer with my signature on it.He retained the originals of the latter two items when he bid me a good afternoon.
There was nothing good about it.At least for me.
Eight hours later, I was in the heart of Sardinia getting patted down, again.
“Don Manca is waiting.”Loppa, one of the uncles, opened the door for me.Unlike Don Conti’s domain, Don Manca sat in his kitchen surrounded by comfortable things that reminded me of life, not death.
A casserole pan sat on some hot mats.The zuppa gallurese had been decimated by whoever beat me to it.Rough brown bowls sat in a short stack next to the pan.I helped myself.I skipped the leafy greens and added the fried zucchini and leeks to my plate.
Mario’s grandfather sipped on an after-dinner drink.Probably mirto.
I dove into the layers of cheese and bread.Imagine the best stack of toasted cheese sandwiches soaked in rich beef stew broth and then oven-baked like a savory lasagna.It was the very first thing I ever fell in love with.
I was eight.I’ve never gotten over that crush.The first bite I met with a groan of pleasure.The second and third went down so fast I barely breathed let alone vocalized.
“Long trip?”
At least he waited until I set my fork down.I shoved the binder at him.“The Conti’s Chicago holdings and the totality of the late Adelmo Conti’s trust.Mario will want to look at that.Check out the top page.”
He flipped the binder open.
“This is your signature.”
I lifted my fork and gave him a quick nod to acknowledge that yes, I’d signed my name to something other than someone’s dying breath.
Don Conti stared at the top page for a long time, waiting for me to elaborate.Unlike most, he didn’t bluster or threaten.If he was angry with you, you died.Plain as that.
I swallowed a sip of beer.“Did you know that Don Conti might be my biological father?”
The gaze he had on the page snapped to read my face.
I relaxed.He didn’t know.The relief was almost instant.I’d been stuffing my face like a dying man.I could finally breathe.I wasn’t going to lose my family.
“He showed me a photo of my mom.You can guess the scenario, right?”
Don Conti frowned, but didn’t shove his disgust at me.
“Yeah, well, with Adelmo dead and Dianora locked up, I guess he needed a new heir.”
That goaded the family patriarch to review the documents under my signed albatross.
