You see, there are these apps where anybody can write books, stories and the sort and one day, scrolling the FB (which I don't usually do but I kill time with it on occasions) my eyes fell on a title that made me scoff.
The title, 'Mafia in Love'...
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"Nonna, ma che fai qui?" I say surprised to see my grandma Olivia in front of my club, especially at this late hour. (Grandma, what are you doing here?).
She never visited my clubs before, she never asked and she never liked hearing about it. I didn't even realize she knew the address.
"Perché sei qui, Nonna? È tardi e fa freddo," I keep talking taking off my suit jacket and throwing it over her bony shoulders. (Why are you here, Grandma? It's late and chilly).
"Avresti dovuto chiamarmi se avevi bisogno di qualcosa," I continue rattling doing the best I can to avoid her scolding eyes. (You should have called me if you needed anything).
"Per favore, dimmi che non porti ragazze piccole nei tuoi club," she bluntly says and I look into her eyes for the first time. (Please tell me you don't bring small girls to your clubs).
"Nonna, di che cazzo stai parlando?! I lash back at her but that fires back like thunder in a stormy night. (Grandma, what the fuck are you talking about?).
"Watch your language, Raffaello Giacomo Capozzi!"
I laugh at her cuteness but that doesn't tame the anger she has.
"Perdonami, Nonna," I soften my voice pulling her in a hug and planting a kiss on the crown of her head, for which I have to bend my head and flex my knees.
She is an elegant, petite woman, slim but feisty still, and unfortunately, she has become smaller every day in the past years.
She's the only family I have left after Grandpapa passed away and I care for her more than I care for myself.
I turn her around and we take the way to the back of my club, the second entrance to the facility. I don't want her to cross the entire club while we go to my office, it's not a place for Nonna.
I'm guessing she must have something important to talk about since she has come all the way here, so late in the evening.
"Sit here, Nonna," I show her the armchair facing the two-seat sofa once we are inside, and she quietly sits, slowly, leaning the weight of her body on one hand holding my forearm, and placing her purse on the floor.
"Grazie, caro," she says grateful for finally sitting down. (Thank you, dear).
"Do you want something to drink, Nonna?" I ask her while walking towards the bar and filling a glass for myself.
"No, caro. I know you'll be busy here so I won't stay for long," she says, placing gracefully her hands on the lap and locking her eyes with mine in an intense stare which makes me suspect some not very good news.
"Tutto bene, Nonna?" I ask in an awkwardly shivering tone. (Everything alright, Grandma?).
The silence she chooses takes my anxiety to a whole new level, drying my throat while my legs are uncontrollably shaking so I throw the booze down my throat hoping it will work.
