“Grandpa has many years left, and I’m fine where I am. He has given me much of my inheritance already and I love where I live.”
She lets out a huff. She loves my house, just not the history, worried some bad karma will befall me.
“I’m fine, really. You look tired. What is it?”
“I’m fine. Didn’t sleep last night. Go say ‘hi’ to your father.”
I go outside and find him sitting at one of the bistro tables on the sidewalk.
“Papa.”
“Oh, hi Massimo, nice to see you. How’s that gig going for you?”
“Fine, have to drive to the port tonight to check on things. How are things here?”
“Good, business is good.”
I pull up a chair and we sit quietly, watching the locals and a few tourists pass by. It’s the slow season, and I know he’s keeping an eye on the illegals we have working the streets.
“How is Cosimo?”
I haven’t seen my brother in a month.
“Fine, fine. Busy with school. He’s making good grades. I’m glad he’ll have a normal life one day.”
Another slight. I should be used to it. I wish I knew what his beef is with me. For as long as I can remember, he’s given me mixed signals, and our relationship has grown more distant over the years.
Does he resent my grandfather and I being close? Papa forgets that I create my opportunities and Grandpa rewards that.
My father is Italian, not Albanian, and has zero interest in working for the family, other than manning the street and helping Mama do her part laundering money through the shop. He’s not motivated by money or power, and as long as he has enough to live comfortably, he’s good.
Mama has taken a lot of flack over the years because she did not marry an Albanian. Grandpa is known to throw the most punches in the family and that will never change. He can’t be bothered with anyone of no use to him. His life is consumed by work. I know I’m just like him in that respect and maybe that’s why we get along so well.
Cosimo isn’t street savvy. In his teens, I thought he might turn to the family, but he got involved in school and wanted to become a doctor. We used to be close as we’re only three years apart in age. However our lives are in different directions now.
“Tell Cosi I said hi.” Tapping my father on the shoulder, I stand to leave. “Gotta go.”
“Ciao,” he replies. “And Massimo. . . be careful,” he says after a pause.
“Always, Papa.”
That’s as good as it gets between us. He blows hot and cold. I don’t get it. Mama says that’s just him but, in my eyes, Cosimo is his favorite son.
I head to my car as it’s time for me to meet up with my best friend, Savio, for a quick lunch. He’s of Italian and Albanian heritage, just like me, and we grew up on the same block. He’s my right hand man who makes a good living. He’s one person I trust. He has always had my back in my darkest hours. And I’ve had a few over the years.
The first happened when I delivered a tiny envelope to a man in jail because Grandpa asked me to do it. He knew the man couldn’t beat an incriminating rap. Grandpa told me to tell the man we promised we would take care of his family and with one unallowed grasp of his hand I slid him a tiny packet. I told the stranger we’d take care of his family, and he ripped the brown envelope open and downed the pills inside without hesitation.
I snuck the pills in through a seam I ripped in my suit jacket. Then I re-sewed it making it undetectable by security.
It had to be done, but nothing can prepare one for that moment when a member of the family has to prove his loyalty. The man had two young daughters I heard, but he took those pills like they were vitamins. I sat in shock as I realized my family asked me to send him a death sentence. That moment of realization that he’s going to commit suicide and he’ll never get to say goodbye his family had a profound effect on me. His kids will grow up without him.
I was much younger then, coming to grips with the darkest moment of my youth, and my soul. Savio was there for me.
After a late lunch with together we catch up and I mention the gala. I ask him to keep his schedule open, thinking about the trip to Rome, possibly Sicily. He agrees before heading off to meet up with a girl he recently met.
I return home to nap in preparation for a long night. As I drive, I contemplate my trip to Rome. It’s never a bad idea to have a quick getaway, so I think I’ll take the jet. My instinct for survival was ingrained early on by a military-style upbringing with Grandpa. It has saved my ass more than once.
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