Machiavellian (Gangsters of New York Book 1) by Bella Di Corte

Author:Bella Di Corte [Di Corte, Bella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bella Di Corte
Published: 2020-05-07T16:00:00+00:00

Tito was talking to Nonno about new treatments for cancer when I walked up. He was listening but shaking his head. I could’ve told Tito to save his breath, but he never did. I had tried to talk my grandfather into more treatments, but Nonno refused to even entertain the idea. He said he was old enough, had lived enough, and when his time came, he wanted to be at home, in the comfort of his own bed. It was time for him to see my grandmother and my mother again. A life full of living had given him the grace to accept death.

Their conversation slowed when I pulled up a seat in front of the bench, but Tito didn’t stop talking until he felt he was done. After, silence filled the space between us until my grandfather knocked his cane against the ground. His eyes were heavy. He was tired.

“You wanted to see me,” I said.

Tito looked at me from underneath his explorer hat and crossed his skinny legs. “Mariposa looks different, Amadeo.”

“She does,” I said. “She’s flourishing.”

My grandfather leaned against his cane and then cleared his throat. “You did not tell me,” he said in Italian, “that Mariposa was the child you traded your life for.”

My eyes locked with his. “She told you.”

“I told her a story, a story of a man who traded his life for a woman he hardly knew, the greatest sacrifice known to man. She told me she knew a man who was as honorable as that. When I asked her who was this great man, she told me you. I am dying, but I have not lost my mind yet.”

The old man was sly. He had taken her comment and connected it. He probably asked her how old she was and did the math. Then he had tricked me into admitting it. The only way he knew that I would.

He slammed the cane down again, looking away from me. “Tell me, grandson, will you give her the life she deserves?” He met my eyes again. “You saved her life by sacrificing your soul. What will your sacrifice mean if she ends up hiding in a closet while the only man she loves is killed because he is a reckless fool?”

“Amore?” I laughed, but both men narrowed their eyes at me. I continued in Italian. “Loyalty. That’s what we share. That’s our foundation.”

“What of love? Now or in the future.”

“Love makes us foolish.”

“Says the man who has never opened himself up to it,” Tito muttered.

I narrowed my eyes at him. He narrowed back.

“Perhaps love does,” my grandfather said. “But what would you know about it, Amadeo? How can you speak on such things when you have no idea what you’re speaking about? Or do you? Prove me wrong.” He eyed me hard for a minute, and when no answer came, he grunted. “Perhaps to men who have loved, you are the fool.” He tapped his cane once, twice, three times against the ground. “Remember, Amadeo.

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