I wasn’t sure how long I lay there before I slid off his bed and returned to the sitting room to check the news on the TV.
There were reports of the president’s shooting, but as I flipped through every news channel, both local and global, nothing was said about New York’s notorious mob boss being shot.
I was sure that was on purpose.
People like the president, like Brooks, stayed in the public light. Everything in their lives was broadcast.
Some might like that.
But I was more like Enzo.
Like a Marchetti.
I liked to hide in my darkness and secrets.
I wanted solitude.
I wantedfreedom.
And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get that.
Not only from Enzo, but from my past.
Thirty-Seven
Enzo
On the driveback to the hospital, Benny told me our father was out of surgery, and everything went well.
Mom leaped from her chair and rushed into my arms when I returned to the waiting room.
“Everything is okay,” she said between hitched sobs as her tears soaked through my shirt. “He’s alive.”
Before marrying my father, she had known the lifestyle and risks of being his wife. A mob wife had its perks and dangers.
My father’s chance of dying young had always been higher than living to old age. When you were a killer surrounded by other killers, longevity wasn’t common.
He’d already beaten those odds. He was the oldest among Mafia bosses. The rest from his generation had already croaked.
Mom pulled away and stared at me with watery eyes. “You’ll find out who did this, right?”
I used my thumb to wipe a salty tear from her cheek. “Yes, and I’ll kill them.”
She gave a satisfied nod, then pressed a kiss to my cheek.
As soon as my father was brought to the private recovery room, we gathered inside and waited for him to wake from the anesthesia.
He was hooked to IVs, and a bandage covered his bullet wound. The imbeciles had aimed for his heart and missed. I wouldn’t make the same mistake when I found them.
“Hey, son,” he said when I stepped to his bedside after giving Mom the time she needed with him.
“Dad.” I couldn’t hold back my smile that he was alive.
His chest shifted, and he winced when a small laugh escaped him. “Fuckers really thought they could take me out with a single bullet.” Without lifting his head, he shook it against the pillow.
According to Benny, a black SUV had swerved in front of our father’s and shot through the window. The SUV sped off before the driver could catch a license plate. The driver had taken him straight to the hospital, which was less than ten minutes away.
My fingers closed around my father’s tattooed hand. I breathed in a thick puff of air to hide my emotions. The love and respect I had for my parents were unmatched.
