I close my eyes. I can still smell her perfume sometimes. Roses and vanilla. She'd spray it on her wrists every morning, even at the end when she was too weak to get out of bed. "A woman should always smell beautiful," she'd say. "Even when she doesn't feel it."
Cancer took her in pieces. First her energy. Then her hair. Then her smile. By the end, she was just a shadow in white sheets, holding my hand and telling me to take care of my brother and sister.
I was eighteen. Gianna was sixteen. Claudio was twenty-three and already pulling away from Papa, already looking for reasons to leave.
Papa fell apart.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just... slowly. Like water wearing away stone. He stopped going to meetings. Stopped returning calls. Started spending more time at the card tables, at the back rooms of clubs where men lost fortunes and dignity in equal measure.
The partnerships dissolved first. The Corellis pulled out of our joint shipping operation. The Morellis stopped inviting Papa to their gatherings. One by one, the connections my grandfather spent decades building crumbled to dust.
Then the staff started leaving. Not the loyal ones—Rosa, who's been our housekeeper since before I was born. Luca, whodrives for us and pretends not to notice when the car needs repairs we can't afford. They stay because they love us.
But the others? The security team, the accountants, the men who used to handle Papa's business? Gone. All of them. Why would they stay for a family that's bleeding out?
I sit up in bed. The cold air hits my shoulders and I shiver.
My brother has never forgiven Papa. Not only for the gambling. But also for before. For the years of criticism, the impossible standards, the way Papa always compared him to Nonno and found him lacking.
Claudio was never going to be the son Papa wanted. He's too soft, too thoughtful, too unwilling to do the ugly things this life requires.
Part of him wants us to fail. I know it. He'd never admit it, not even to himself. But if the Romano family collapses, Claudio gets to walk away. Gets to build something new, something that isn't stained with our father's disappointments.
I can't blame him. Not really.
But I can't let it happen either.
I get out of bed, wrap a cardigan around my shoulders. The floor is cold through my socks as I pad to the window.
Outside, the neighborhood sleeps. Modest houses, chain-link fences, cars that have seen better days. This isn't the wealthy part of Chicago.
Papa isn't a bad man. That's what makes this so hard.
He's weak. Broken. Drowning in grief he never learned to swim through.
I push away from the window. Standing here feeling sorry for myself won't fix anything.
Papa and I need to talk. Tonight. Before this gets any worse.
I've already let a day pass since the moment Claudio told me that we have no money left.
I grab my robe from the back of the door and pull it on over my cardigan. Not exactly presentable, but it's almost eleven at night. Who's going to see me?
The hallway is dark. I know every creaky floorboard by heart, stepping around them out of habit. Gianna's door is closed, a thin line of light visible underneath. Probably scrolling through her phone, pretending everything is fine.
I'm halfway down the stairs when I hear Rosa's voice.
"Signore, it's very late. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?—"
"This can't wait."
A man's voice. Deep. Controlled. Not angry, but not asking either.
My stomach drops.
I move faster, bare feet silent on the worn carpet. The foyer comes into view as I round the corner, and I see Rosa standing at the front door, her small frame blocking the entrance like she could actually stop anyone from coming in.
Behind her, through the gap in the doorway, I count four men.
