The moment my humor defuses, the sorrow weeps its way into my system. I take a moment of deliberation. At first a nervous wave creeps over me, like when I first came here to see my mother again, but the moment it crashes, the riptide is so powerful I tire of fighting and release a sigh.
“He’s just another thing to hurt us all,” I whisper, running my fingers over Manuel’s name. “He’s another person who lost out on a life with you.” My hand falls, flattening against the marble stone, and I bow my head. “I wish you were here. I wish you were here to join us. And all I can do is hope you'd be proud of everything we have in store, Manuel.” Allowing my eyes to flutter shut, I try to not let my emotions get the better of me. “I don't know what will happen with Giovanni, but he'll never ever get a free pass anymore. He will never have a place in our family. He ruined that the moment he even thought of his plans for us.” Finally opening my eyes, I allow my hand to drop away from the stone wall and I stand up straight. “I just wish you were around to get this chance with us. Especially after meeting Ryan.”
“Who’s Ryan?”
I spin around, falling over my own feet as I do so to find my father standing before me. He’s dressed down in jeans and a simple shirt, the businessman persona completely wiped out of existence. Ever since that day at the hospital, he has worn grief as if it were made for him. His doleful eyes do nothing to me now, my compassion annihilated, much like my love.
“Had you been more welcoming before all hell broke loose, you would have known about him,” I comment, my tone sardonic and catty. “Why are you here?”
“I came to pay my respects,” my father replies, flicking his gaze to the tomb. “Whatever you may think of me, Manuel was my son and your mother was my wife.”
I scoff, laughing minimally. “That should have been something you had thought about before you had a hand in everything that’s happened.”
I decide to cut my visit short, so begin to walk toward my father, but only so I can get to the car and flee. However, as I bypass him quietly and without a farewell, he reaches for me and gently wraps his hand around mine.
“Amelia, bambina,” he says, catching my attention.
“It’s just Amelia, now,” I respond with a shrug to get his grip off me. “There isn’t anything you can say or do to make this right. You did the one thing that ruined your chances.” I watch him, amazed as he stands confused, so I decide to enlighten him. “You let Gio go. If you had any ounce of remorse, any hope of saving your family above your reputation, then you’d have made sure he went to the right people. Not your fucking brother.”
“I want to fix this,” my father argues, definite. “I will fix this.”
“Sorry, Sal, but you can’t fix this.”
***
“Enzo, think about it!”
That stops me from throwing the last of my items into the cardboard box ready to move out. I stand there listening, but there’s utter silence that follows the statement. I worriedly look at Zane, who’s also stopped all movement to listen.
“Go and see what’s happening, I’ll sort the rest of your things.” Zane gestures to me, coming over to take the clothing out of my hands and get me to go and find out what’s happening exactly. “I’ll be right down.”
“Okay,” I whisper, braving the fact that my father is soon to find out what has become of us. “Don’t be too long,” I say, tossing the comment over my shoulder as I leave.
I hear him tell me that he won’t be and I continue out onto the landing. I look down the corridor toward the stairwell. The only light emitting the long walkway of rooms is from the stairs themselves. Daylight assaults the end of the corridor, sprinkling a delicate ray into the darkness into the windowless area.
“No!” Enzo finally bellows, clearly after some quiet deliberation.
I rush toward the stairs, making it I find my father reaching out for Enzo only to have his lash out as he fights to get away from him. It’s total red rage disgust that has Enzo forcing distance between him and our father, driving the older man to recoil.
“I don’t want some empire, some abundance of power to feel like you’re asking for forgiveness. Believe me, Sal,” he emphasizes our father’s name, the first time he’s never used it, “You’d need to try a lot harder than offering up this pathetic excuse for a life.”
“It’s always been yours, though,” my father argues, a desperate man, fearful of his own son. “You’re my heir; you’re the one who will continue my legacy.”
“You’re right, I am your heir, but I will never be what you want me to be. I want to be in control of my own life, I want to do good and not terrorize people. I don’t want whatever you’ve set up for us to inherit.” Enzo remains strong, his voice confidently carrying each syllable of his words. “I don’t want whatever family I make in the future to be born into a world so driven by money and revenge. I never wanted it. I was only here to protect my brothers and sister.”