Page 36 of The Italian Obsession

Don means leader.

I’m the eldest son. With my father gone, I’m next in line. But next in line to what?

Chapter 5

ENRICO

I sit in the foyer of the hospital and stare at a spot on the carpet. The carpet is new—recently laid. Why has it been replaced? Did someone tear it up in a grief-fueled rage?

I wouldn’t blame them if they did.

I’m waiting for my family—my mother, grandmother and Francesca—to arrive.

It should be any moment now. It’s a six-hour car trip. If I’d have known how this was going to turn out, I would have suggested they fly.

In hindsight, it’s for the best. I wouldn’t have wanted them to see what I have today.

Even as a policeman, where death is all around, nothing could have prepared me for this. Nobody should have to see their loved ones on their deathbeds. It’s a cruel reality that’s better off left alone.

I glance at my watch for the tenth time this hour. I didn’t want to tell them over the phone that our whole world just came crashing down.

How could I?

So I’ll wait here, to tell them in person.

I look around the lounge area, to the few men who have stayed behind to wait for my mother, and I wonder what their role is.

Did Mother know?

Did she know what her husband and father-in-law were capable of?

My stomach twists. What were they capable of?

It doesn’t make sense, any of this. Criminal families bring their children up in the midst of it. They teach their children the ropes—prepare them for the life they will lead.

I didn’t know.

I think back to when my father pushed me into the police force. His words come back to me.

You need this life experience, Enrico, trust me. One day, you will need it.

Did he know? Of course he knew.

I think of the money, the real estate, the lifestyle, and the special treatment everywhere my family go, and I clench my jaw. How the fuck did I not see this? Why didn’t it ever occur to me that this was my family’s history?

A few times through my life I’d heard rumblings. I once asked my father if the stories were true, too. He told me that most people are jealous of success, and that of course it would be rumored that they were criminals.

Jealousy was the root of all evil, he told me, and I believed him.

Maybe it’s not true. Maybe this is all a big mistake. I glance at my watch again. Where are they?

The door opens with a flurry of activity, and I stand and watch as they run in.

“Rico!” my mother cries. “Are they all right?”

I make eye contact with Roberto, my mother’s driver, and he drops his head.

He already knows. He isn’t a driver at all. He’s a bodyguard.