Normal men do that when they fuck women.
Sergio?
Nah, he’s like, hey, let’s take it a step further and put notches on my body when I send people to Hell.
Fun guy, real fun guy.
He’s a joy at parties.
“My turn.” Sergio wraps his knuckles, and Ash actually smiles at me like, be my guest—the more blood, the merrier.
“Sure thing.” Ash chuckles. “I’ll go check in with Valerian. He said he had some info on the arson for the Family meeting later tonight; one of his guys knows a guy who knows a guy.”
“Everyone always knows a guy.” Sergio jokes. “I sent him all the video footage I had. We’ll catch whoever it is. I’m not worried.”
“Can I be worried?” I ask, raising my hand. “Because you look sexually repressed, and I feel like the guy you want to beat up right now to get rid of that frustration.”
“Repressed?” Sergio barks out a laugh. “That’s adorable. Are you even old enough to have sex?”
My eyes narrow.
“Aw, you gonna get pissed now?” Sergio charges me.
And let’s be honest, he may be in his mid-fifties, but the guy is jacked as hell; he looks like he’s in his prime, and he’s fast as fuck.
I dodge.
I move.
I get in a few good hits.
And then I get his fist in my face.
I’ll be lucky to have teeth when this is over.
My skills at grappling are better though, so I try to take him to the ground in order to get the upper hand. When I finally do, I try to choke him out but end up getting an elbow to the head.
After an exhausting half-hour, I finally take a time out to grab a water.
Both of us are bleeding about the same.
And both of us are smiling like lunatics because, hey, it feels good, and for one small moment, I didn’t feel like I was dying.
I felt like I was fighting.
And surviving.
If only this sickness was the same way.
If only I could beat it to death and come out of it smiling like this.
“Sooooo…” I don’t want to pry, but I’m curious how Sergio got over Andi, the love of his life, only to marry Val, have kids, and be as happy as he is. “Can I ask you something?”
Sergio snorts. “Out with it, Sinacore.”
“Wow, last-named. Someone’s in a mood.”
Sergio grins. “Seriously, what’s up? You need the sex talk? Don’t know how to put on a condom? Oh and no, as an almost doctor, there are things that aren’t sanitary, so doing things like—”
“Please stop.” I cringe.
He barks out a laugh.
Clearly, he’s messing with me.
“Was it hard when Andi died?”
He freezes, his expression goes blank. “Define hard.”
“I know about the list of things she wanted to do before she died. You did everything man, you were originally a dick but ended up being everything to her, a hero, husband, best friend.” The more I talk, the more his expression changes. I can feel the sadness pulsing from his body. Maybe I already have my answer.
“At the time, I had no choice,” Sergio starts. “But to be everything to her, and then time, like it so often does, just slips past you until you’re suddenly out of it and staring death in the face.” He takes a long swig of water and turns to face me, sweat running down his temples, his hair pulled away from his ponytail. “I think she was ready. I think she was more ready than me. So doing all those things, creating all those memories, while I’m grateful, there’s not a day that goes by that I’m not reminded of her. I love that we keep her memory alive, but sometimes, I selfishly wish I could hate her so that the pain would leave. Remembering her is like cutting open a nearly closed wound. You think you’re doing good, almost there…” He shakes his head. “And then you start to bleed out again. I do know, I couldn’t have survived it without Val. She doesn’t get jealous or angry; she just loves me the way I love her, she understands, which sometimes makes the guilt harder.”
“Would you do it again? The same way?” I ask, almost afraid to hear his answer.
“Yes,” he whispers. “Then some days, no.” He shrugs. “It happened the way it was supposed to. Some might say it was ordained that way. Who am I to question it? Pain is pain. Loss means exactly that—losing something precious to you, whether you love it or hate it when you lose it—you sure as hell still remember it. I guess you just have to decide what sort of memory you leave when you go if you even have that choice.”
I don’t say anything for a while.
“Is there a reason you’re asking?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “We’re the mafia, man. I’m just curious how everyone deals with the death, the grief, the very real possibility of not being around tomorrow.”