Snowfall in Venice

A Happy Ending

A HAPPY ENDING

I was in the process of placing a long-distance call to Murano, Italy. I wanted to talk directly to The Don. Finally, the call went through.

"Don Benedetti, it's Mark. We just wanted to call and thank you again for the generous donation, although Gayle is still mad at you for the joke you played."

"My friend, it's good to hear your voice again. Tell Gayle I apologize for my bad joke. But tell me, how are your plans working out?"

"Well, we have run into a slight problem. We decided we could be operational faster if we made an offer to purchase the clinic that we used to work for, but the owner, Donald Kingston, just laughed at us. We offered him four million dollars in cash, which is a fair price, but he said he wouldn't even take double. We have two real estate firms looking for possible sites, and hopefully, they will come up with something soon."

The Don told us that Angelina was out with Pietro now, but he knew she wanted to talk to Gayle. "We will call you back tomorrow at 5:00 p.m. New York time. Goodbye for now."

Precisely at five the next day, the phone rang. It was The Don. "How are you today, Mark?"

"Don Benedetti, I'm staggered. Just an hour ago, that cheapskate Donald Kingston, called and accepted our offer without any conditions. He even threw in a brand-new MRI machine that has been paid for but not delivered yet."

The Don was chuckling. "That's very good news, Mark."

I was suspicious. "Tell me something, Lorenzo, were you involved in his sudden change of heart?"

There was a short silence on the other end of the line. "It turns out that Kingston is well known to my associates. It seems he has been instrumental over the years in helping certain people undergo cosmetic procedures to hide their true identities from the law."

I gulped involuntarily. "But how did you get the Kingston to change his mind? He's a stubborn prick at the best of times."

That deep laugh again. "It was easy, Mark. We just made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

When I stopped laughing at the old Mafiosi cliché, I handed the phone to Gayle to speak to Angelina. Her face lit up when Angelina came on the line. Gayle listened intently for several minutes, then said, "We wouldn't miss it for the world, Angelina."

After she hung up, she turned to me. "Angelia and Pietro are getting married next summer. We are both invited, and she wants me to be the matron of honor."

I laughed. "Honey, you might want to go on a small diet before buying your dress. I think all those pasta dinners at the villa are catching up with you."

Gayle stared at me. "Okay, smartass. You may be the world's best cosmetic reconstruction surgeon, but you sure stink as a doctor."

I was puzzled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, it seems if a doctor can't tell the difference between pasta blubber and a baby bump, I can rest my case."

I was dumbfounded. I was delighted with the news, but I couldn't manage to get a word out, so I just kissed my wife twice, then three times more, with great enthusiasm. She smiled lovingly at me, then put my hand on her tummy so I could feel the movement myself.

After dinner, when Gayle went off to bed, I moved to my den and poured myself a small cognac nightcap. As I savored the fragrant liqueur, it reminded me of the many similar evenings I spent in The Don's office in front of the fireplace discussing the state of the world.

Even after my prolonged exposure to Don Benedetti, the man still remained an enigma to me. I recalled seeing him in moments of frightening rage but also in moments of extreme happiness like the magical evening we experienced during the rare snowfall in Venice.

I'm not sure I was fully aware yet of the collective impact of my experiences in The Don's sphere of influence. I was looking forward to our return trip to Murano for Angelina's wedding, but my anticipation was dulled a little by a vague sense of apprehension.

Who knows what we might encounter when we returned to the sphere of a man who lives his life on the edge? I knew from The Don's remarks that we would always be under his protection, but were we also deeply in his debt.

Who knows, indeed.

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