Marco picks up on the second ring.
"Dante." The voice fills the kitchen, warm with the same warmth from the lobby, from the carpet, from the forehead pressed against mine.
"Marco. I need you to listen."
The warmth thins out of his voice.
"I'm listening."
"Delete my access," I say. "The men. The numbers. The favors. Remove me from anything with my name on it. I am done being useful to this."
Silence holds for four beats.
"That's a large statement, Dante." A pause. "Uncle Enzo said something similar in 2011."
Enzo came back. Everyone knows Enzo came back.
"I used the family once. One phone call. It nearly destroyed the only things in my life that matter."
"You sound like you're drawing a line."
"I'm drawing a line."
"Against your own blood."
"Against the part of my blood that makes people disappear and calls it handling."
My hands are steady. My jaw is not.
"And Papà?" Marco asks. Quiet.
"Papà can call me about hockey and holidays. He can come to games. He can send Mamma with flowers. Dinner tables are closed to him asking me back."
"Va bene." Softly. Patient. "I'll pull everything. For now."
"Permanently."
"I heard you, Dante."
My thumb presses against the edge of the phone.He said for now.
A moment passes.
"I hope they're worth it," Marco says. "You sound like you're tearing yourself apart."
I look at Maya, then at Cole.
"They're worth everything. Both of them."
"Then I'm glad. Don't be a stranger, brother." A pause. Longer. "And if you ever need anything. Anything at all. The number still works."
The call ends.
I set the phone on the counter.
From her spot, Maya watches me. Her face gives me nothing. Her tea sits untouched beside her hand.
"That's the first time you've ever said no to them," she says.
