They pump his chest to try and restart his heart.
I feel a strange detachment, as if I’m watching this from way up above.
No, this day cannot be happening. All of this… it can’t be happening.
The line on the monitor goes flat, and I hold my breath.
“No, no, no,” I begin to chant. “Don’t go, don’t go.”
The doctors and nurses work on him and work on him, until finally, they stop.
The commotion dies down and the room falls still. An eerie silence fills the space.
It’s as if I can feel his energy leaving the room.
He’s gone.
After a moment, the nurse closes his eyes with her hand, and the doctor turns to me. “I’m so sorry, sir. We did everything we could. His injuries were too severe.”
I stare at her, numb.
“We will leave you alone to say your goodbyes.”
The medical team turn and leave, and I’m left with a waiting room full of strangers.
I kiss my grandfather on both cheeks through my tears.
“Look after one another,” I whisper.
I brush his hair back from his forehead as I stare at his beaten face. My tortured eyes rise to meet Lorenzo’s who is now on his knees crying, and I nod.
Granting him silent access to say his goodbyes.
I stand at the back of the room and watch on as one by one the men come and kiss my grandfather goodbye. Each one whispers words of love and respect to him as they openly weep. My mind goes to my grandfather-the loyal, wonderful man I know…
Knew.
Who was Stefano Ferrara?
Where the hell does my family’s money come from? If it’s old money, how far back does it go?
My stomach rolls at the thought. This is a mistake. A terrible mistake.
The walls start to close in. This is too much. I have to get out of here.
I have to get the fuck out of here. I turn to leave, and Lorenzo drops to his knees at my feet. He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it.
I frown as I stare down at him, and then I look up at the men as they all collectively drop to one knee and bow their heads.
“Il capo,” Lorenzo says.
“Don,” the men all repeat.
Horror dawns.
Don means leader.
I’m the oldest son. With my father gone, I’m next in line.
But next in line to what?
***
Enrico
I sit in the foyer of the hospital and stare at a spot on the carpet. The carpet is new-recently laid. Why has it been replaced? Did someone tear it up in a grief-fueled rage?
I wouldn’t blame them if they did.
I’m waiting for my family-my mother, grandmother and Francesca-to arrive.
It should be any moment now. It’ a six-hour car trip. If I’d have known how this was going to turn out I would have suggested they fly.
In hindsight, it’s for the best. I wouldn’t have wanted them to see what I have today.
Even as a policeman, where death is all around, nothing could have prepared me for this. Nobody should have to see their loved ones on their deathbeds. It’s a cruel reality that’s better off left alone.
I glance at my watch for the tenth time this hour. I didn’t want to tell them over the phone that our whole world just came crashing down.
How could I?
So, I’ll wait here, to tell them in person.
I look around the lounge area, to the few men who have stayed behind to wait for my mother, and I wonder what their role is.
Did mother know?
Did she know what her husband and father-in-law were capable of?
My stomach twists. What were they capable of?
It doesn’t make sense, any of this. Criminal families bring their children up in the midst of it. They teach their children the ropes-prepare them for the life they will lead.
I didn’t know.
I think back to when my father pushed me into the police force. His words come back to me.
You need this life experience, Enrico, trust me. One day, you will need it.
Did he know? Of course, he knew.
I think of the money, the real estate, the lifestyle, and the special treatment everywhere my family go, and I clench my jaw. How the fuck did I not see this? Why didn’t it ever occur to me that this was my family’s history?
A few times through my life I’d heard rumblings. I once asked my father if the stories were true, too. He told me that most people are jealous of success, and that of course it would be rumored that they were criminals.
Jealousy was the root of all evil, he told me, and I believed him.
Maybe it’s not true. Maybe this is all a big mistake.
I glance at my watch again. Where are they?
The door opens with a flurry of activity, and I stand and watch as they run in.
“Rico!” my mother cries. “Are they all right?”
I make eye contact with Roberto, my mother’s driver, and he drops his head.
He already knows. He isn’t a driver at all. He’s a bodyguard.
The three of them look up at me, their faces filled with hope, and my eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Mother’s face falls.
“They didn’t make it, Mamma.”
“No. Stefano?” my grandmother cries.
I shake my head as my face twists in pain.
“Nooooo!” my grandmother cries out. Her step falters, and she stumbles in shock.
Francesca grabs the wall for support as men come in from around me to hold up the girls as they each fall apart.
This is why the men stayed. They knew I couldn’t do this alone.
“No, Enrico, no,” Mother wails as I hold her in my arms. Her shoulders shake, and I can hardly hold her up. “Tell me it’s not true. It’s not true! It can’t be true.”
To the sounds of sobbing, my gaze falls to the carpet once more, and I wish I was anywhere but here. My beautiful family has fallen apart.
It’s a dark day.
The darkest.
* * *
I stare into space as I sip my amaretto. It’s dark outside, and my apartment is quiet.
This afternoon, we went to the morgue to give a formal identification. After that, the doctor had to sedate my grandmother and mother. They completely lost it.
Francesca is lying down, and my brothers are on their way. I’m sitting here with no idea what to do. Lorenzo, my father’s best friend, is in the apartment, quietly trying to help. How can he? This is irreparable.
Men are out on the street, subtly surrounding the apartment, and I know we are now under guard. From what, I don’t know.
The door buzzes. I go to the intercom and see a familiar face. It’s Mario, the family solicitor. We know him well. He attends all our family events. He’s been around for years and years. I open the door and wait until he comes into view.
“Rico,” he whispers sadly. We hug and cling to each other for an extended time. His presence is only adding to our reality.
“Please come in.” I step back, and he walks past me into the apartment before turning to me.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Yes.”
“Upstairs.”