“Twirl around.” She rests her index finger on her cheek, and I stand on my tippy and twirl like a ballerina. “I have the perfect evening gowns to fit your body type. Welcome to the famiglia.” She cups my face, plants a soft kiss on my cheeks. “I’ll see you Friday to drop off your dresses.” Then she exits the condo.
I sit back on the couch. The bodyguard proceeds to head towards the kitchen.
“Is your name Max?”
He nods.
“Can you take me to my grandpa’s house?”
He nods again.
After eating lunch, we drive to my Nonno’s house. I want to see him one last time before I kill my soon to be husband.
When I knock on the wooden door, his nurse Holly opens up. She tilts her head to the side, examining Max like he’s eye candy and her cheeks flush the color of a pink Starburst. Then she glances back at me. “Roselyn. It’s so good to see you.” She has her hair tied into a neat ponytail and her bronze skin is glowing. Her belly peaks from under her tan shirt. She looks like she’s due any day.
“How is he?”
She beckons us in and Max stands by the outside of the door, with his arms folded across his hard chest.
“He had a bad fall this morning, but he’s okay.” I don’t miss the sorrow in Holly’s tone. Pain burns in my chest. Grandpa’s health is depleting and there is nothing I can do about it. Papa doesn’t give a shit about him so I’m the only person who hasn’t given up on him.
His Alzheimer’s is progressing really fast. Last week, we had to put adult diapers on him because he forgot how to use the bathroom. I clear my throat. “You can take your hour lunch.”
“Thank you. I already changed his diaper. It’s time for him to eat.” She grabs her purse from the coat rack and leaves us alone.
I bounce to the kitchen, open the vintage fridge, and grab the container of chicken noodle soup and warm it up in the microwave. I mentally thank Holly for not feeding him and allowing me to do it, because I want to help him as much as I possibly can.
Sadness lingers in my chest at the thought of having to leave here, while I will be living far away from him, but the mafia is no place for a woman. It’s a man’s world. Most women who are raised in the mafia, would be thrilled to marry a Don. It brings power and wealth, but you can’t put a price on a peace of mind and freedom.
The microwave beeps. I remove the container, grab the folding table and head to the living room. Grandpa perches on his dingy yellow recliner watching Matlock. Bending down, I plant a soft kiss on his rubbery, wrinkle cheek.
His dull brown eyes narrow. “Hey, Cosetta. How is Lex?” A smile paints his face. He wears a checkered shirt with khakis pants. His white hair is thinning so I can see his scalp.
“I’m not Cosetta. I’m her daughter, Roselyn,” I explain.
He examines me as if I’m the confused one, then recognition flickers across his face.
“It’s been weeks since I last saw you.” He saw me the day before yesterday, but I don’t bother correcting him. I was told I look so much like my mother.
I place the portable table over his lap, sit his bowl on the table, then I grab a napkin and tuck it in his shirt. I dip the spoon in the soup and bring it to his mouth.
He spits his food out. The clear liquid drips down his wrinkle chin. I use a napkin to wipe him. “This is nasty, sweet pea. You’re trying to send me to an early grave. Put some salt in it.” He pouts like a five-year-old.
“You know you’re not allowed to eat salt. You have hypertension.” I dip the spoon in the soup and bring the spoon to his mouth again.
“Where is my daughter in law? She hasn’t visited me in a long time. Nor has my son.” He frowns.
I continue to feed him. I don’t have the heart to tell him she passed away a year ago from overdosing on her medication. My mama suffered from bipolar and depression. Papa wouldn’t take care of her. He left her in the hands of strangers while he ran around with the next young woman he could find. She overdosed on her medication to get away from this lifestyle.
“She’s busy right now and so is Papa. You know how it is in the mafia. When the job calls, you have to stop what you’re doing to attend to it.” My cheeks flush and I feel bad for lying, but I don’t want him to spend the next few minutes in mourning. Imagining myself away from him is unbearable and my eyes water with tears. Growing up, he stood up for me when Papa used to verbally attack me. He has been my number one cheerleader at all my ballerina and art shows. He acts more like my papa, than my real papa.
“I’m going away soon.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Frankfurt, Germany. I’m going to live there for a while.” Tears stings my eyes. The thought of leaving him makes my stomach turn. He’s my best friend.
“Will you be back?”
I remove the empty bowl and set it on the kitchen table. He’s not going to remember what I said in the next hour or so. but it feels better to share my plans with someone else. When I return to the living room, I sit on the sofa next to him. My gaze lingers on the wedding picture of him and grandmother. The one sitting on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Grandmother died from a heart attack seven years ago.
“I don’t know. Maybe one day. Who knows? I’m trying to get there first, but you will be
