“It’ll all be all right. I promise.” He squeezed my hand.
But I wanted to die. I missed Antonio every minute of every day. I wanted his company so much I couldn’t go to physical therapy some days, and when they took the nylon cast off with a loud kkkkt of Velcro, I wanted his touch on my body so badly, I wished they’d put the damned thing back on me.
“Where do you want to go?” Margie asked on my last day at Sequoia.
“Do I still have my loft?” I sat on the edge of the bed, considering the fact that I’d never see those walls again, and I had to face a world without Antonio.
“Yeah. I had it cleaned.”
“Okay.” I got on my shoes. I could walk, if slowly.
“There are some guys who want to talk to you before you go.”
“I don’t remember anything.”
“Other guys. Names ending in vowels.”
I just looked at her. I knew who she meant, more or less. I had no idea why they’d want anything to do with me though.
“You’re safe. I have my guy on them. Sit in the chair, would you?”
I turned slowly and sat. I was in a wide skirt because it was easy to get on and a blouse that hid the hunch in my left shoulder. It would take years to fix me completely, and even then, I’d be at ninety percent.
Ninety percent was a miracle. I had to remember that.
Antonio was alive. That was a miracle as well.
And when Lorenzo, Enzo, and Simone shuffled in with Otto trailing behind them, I discovered another miracle.
“Boss,” Lorenzo said handing me a fat manila envelope, “I want to offer you an apology and a tribute. I was trying to help us in the organization, and I done wrong. I can’t ever make it up to you, but you have my service if you want it.”
The envelope flopped back and forth where he held it.
“I’m not Italian,” I said, snapping it from him.
“Yeah. It’s gonna be a problem.”
He obviously didn’t even want to talk to me. Otto dropped his envelope on top.
“This is my month, Otto said. “Been great, gotta say, with the Sicilians off our backs.”
I peeked into the envelopes. They were stuffed with twenties and hundreds. I thought I should just step down, but there was a reason that was impossible. Killing a boss didn’t come without consequences.
“As far as I’m concerned, Antonio runs this operation,” I said. “If you have a question or you need something, you go to him and you ask him. This is done, right? When the boss is put away? You visit?”
“Yes,” Lorenzo said.
“You bring me the tributes. I’ll take care of it. The rest goes through him. I need you guys to keep the peace. I know you want that.” I looked at them each individually, stopping at Zo. “You tried to kill Antonio, and you turned everyone against him. It was for peace. I understand that, so there won’t be retribution, but we can never trust you again.”
He nodded like a shamefaced dog. I didn’t feel sorry for him or envy him.
“Go. Visit Antonio.”
They scuttled out. Only Otto made eye contact, and I winked at him.
I had this. Eventually, after enough torment, we’d give it all back to them. Even Lorenzo. He’d been loyal to his men and worked for peace instead of war. He’d do fine.
But first, I would rule.
fifty-seven.
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
theresa
hadn’t visited. He didn’t want me to. He didn’t want the parole board to think he would get out and stab me again. That was what he said, but I thought he just didn’t want me to see him behind bulletproof glass. I wrote him letters four times a week, keeping it all above board with newsy news and short declarations of love, and he wrote back with little in the way of prison happenings. It was obvious he didn’t want me to know.
The only thing I insisted on telling him over the phone was the only thing that might keep him from returning to me.