Two months since she was taken from me.
Stolen.
The ache in my chest grew. I couldn’t drink it away. I’d tried. And then felt so damn guilty for trying to drink her away that I spent the very next day sobbing my eyes out, thinking how disappointed she’d be in me. And how disappointed I was in myself.
Why end my life?
When she would have done anything — anything.
To keep hers.
“Mama!” A little girl in a pink frilly dress reached up for her young mother. The woman had dark hair that matched the circles beneath her eyes. “Please, pretty please!”
The woman sighed then slowly lowered herself to the little girl’s level. Something about their moment was tender, something drew me to them, a yearning in my chest, a desire to see something beautiful.
Andi’s death had been beautiful.
But since her death, I’d been struggling trying to find that beauty in the realm of the living.
The world was no longer filled with color. Just blacks and grays.
And it was slowly killing me, eating away at my soul.
“Mama!” The girl giggled, her blonde curls bouncing across her shoulders. “Please just once?”
The mom sighed again, then grinned and held out her hand. The little girl took it.
And twirled.
My entire body seized as the world around me ceased to exist. All I saw was that blonde little girl, face lifted up toward the ceiling, giggling with abandon. With one arm spread, one hand clinging to her mother for balance, she twirled again then fell into more fits of laughter.
I saw Andi in that twirl.
Felt her in the laughter.
My dead wife.
My Russian Mafia princess.
My vodka drinking terror.
I was afraid to close my eyes, afraid that feeling of peace would leave me as quickly as it had appeared.
Sadly, nothing lasts forever. Nothing.
The girl stopped twirling. The mom grabbed her hand. They walked away.
The world faded to black again.
My heart, once beating wildly in my chest, slowed to its normal rhythmic pace. I breathed in and out, because that’s what you did when you didn’t know what else to do anymore.
You simply existed.
You inhaled. Exhaled. Smiled when you were supposed to. Asked all the right questions, gave all the right answers.
With trembling hands I pulled out the silly list Andi, my wife, had made when we got married.
It was a honeymoon list, but basically she’d just written down a whole bunch of stupid shit she wanted to do before she died.
Lucky for me — a ghost of a smile tugged at my lips — I was part of the plan. And I spent my nights holding her, making love to her, living for possibly the first time in my life.
Days were filled with laughter and tears.
I was in the mafia; I knew better than anyone how short life could be. My enemy had always had a face, a gun, always pursuing me. Wanting to end me, so I ended them first.
But, time? Time can be an enemy too. Its face is never intimidating, but the sound of the clock? Probably the most gut-wrenching sound in existence. One I still couldn’t stomach.
The only clock left in my house was the one on my phone for that very reason.
“Hey.” Frank swatted me with the old newspaper he’d been carrying around for the past few hours and sat. “You look sick.”
“Tired,” I grumbled.
“Me too.” He nodded sagely. “Me too.”
I snorted. “You’re old, you have an excuse.”
“We’re both old,” he said after a few beats of silence. “My body is old… your soul? Maybe even your heart? Much older than mine. Much, much, older Sergio.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Wasn’t sure I even wanted to acknowledge the truth of his statement.
“You may want to study up before our next flight.” He handed me the newspaper roll. “I’m going to shut my eyes for a bit.”
“Great, I’ll just protect both our asses.”
With a chuckle he waved me off. “Why would we need protecting? I’m just a feeble old man being escorted by my favorite grandson to my birthplace, New York.” He looked positively giddy. “I can hardly wait to smell the trash.”
Right. If Frank Alfero, mob boss to one of the oldest families in Chicago was old and feeble, then I was a priest.
Shaking my head, I unrolled the newspaper and frowned as I pored through the first three pages. After the fourth, I paused where my thumb had landed on a picture.
I let out a curse, because the girl in the picture was the very one I was supposed to be meeting in a few hours — saving. And according to my deceased wife’s wishes — marrying.
Apparently I wasn’t going to be doing any of the above — since she was just newly engaged.
To Frank Alfero’s cousin.
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold —A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Valentina