My grandfather always favored me when I was young. I figured it was because I was the first born son, because other than the moments in which he was teaching and training me, we never spent time together. I'd return to LA at the end of the summer with very few 'grandpa and I time' memories. To me he was just my quiet grandfather who never said much except when it served as a lesson.
But in seeing the river of blood pouring from the bullet wound, I realized that memories or no memories, his death hurt the same. I felt slight but rapid taps on my leg and when I looked down, I found my bloodied hands shaking.
My grandmothers wails and Orlando's cries snapped me out of my haze. Cane was carrying Francesca gently tryout to peel Francesca off of Amico's breathless body; She clung to him, nails digging into his lifeless hands. My guards ran up the stairs, Sergio in the lead.
"We have men following them," Sergio said. The guards behind him had their guns raised as the scanned the perimeter.
"Where were they? Where were you all," I asked softly. I felt the immense urge to yell, but something inexplicable had overcome me.
"The wood-side alarm had been tripped so we went to check it out. We were able to attack some of them before they reached here. The rest scurried off when the new shift arrived." I checked the time on my stained watch. Emiliano had miscalculated the fact that our guards changed shifts at this time and so now their escape would be hard to get away with. At least I hoped so.
"Clear," one of the guards told Sergio and I. The others confirmed it and swarmed Amico's body.
"Get him cleaned up," I told them. They nodded and waited for Cane I to get my grandmother off of him. We carried her over to the living room couch and Natalia brought her a glass of water.
My grandmother took a sip and mumbled a prayer to herself.
"Nonna, va bene. Va bene," I tried to console her. She rested her head on my shoulder and sniffled, occasionally picking up where she left off.
Night fell fast, but everyone agreed they were leaving Italy for a while. My grandmother opposed the idea, but I promised we'd be back in three days. I needed Zhara more than anything right now. I needed to see my kids, to hold them. I just needed a moment of peace.
All of us did.
While everyone packed up their bags, Natalia packing Francescas stuff, I led Francesca to Amicos room and gave her some privacy. Stephan, Natalia, Jessica and Orlando took their turn together once Francesca was done. Not long after we'd finished, the mortician came in with his assistants and they took him to the morgue.
The runway lit up in the dark of the night. Our SUVs headed up to the tarmac and dropped us off by the jet. We each piled in quietly, except for who was Orlando crying as the plane took off. I watched as Jessica rocked him to sleep. She herself got tired, and Stephan had already fallen asleep, so I held him. After an hour, I was the only one awake. I looked down at a sleeping Orlando and fell into the hold of a distinct memory.
Flashback (Marco is 15 years old)
It was the last day of our summer vacation in Italy. Of course, my grandfather hadn't allowed me to take a break from training to enjoy this moment. I walked down the stairs and headed for his office. I knocked on the door and when I got no reply, I entered.
He wasn't at his desk or on the phone like he usually was. I felt the summer evenings warm breeze tickle my feet and noticed that the balcony door was open. I stepped out and found him seated with a chalkboard and chalk. The lesson was short, thankfully. But he hadn't dismissed me yet so I sat and impatiently waited. Soon, I forgot I wanted to go play and instead observed the birds flying past the sun. They chirped and the sound of ocean waves crashing in the distance blended well.
