I don’t ask what the offer is. I don’t wanna know.
“The dogs?” I ask next.
Romeo sighs. “We surrendered them to our family in Tuscany. They’re thriving there. No children, only made men there, so it’s better for them to be there.”
“Sorry, Romeo,” I mutter. It hurts to talk.
“No worries, brother,” he replies. “They were like pets, but I don’t trust them after they’ve been tampered with and bribed. It ain’t right.”
I nod. It hurts to even do that. “I get it.”
“We made it brutally clear to the Campanelles that we won’t suffer another attack,” Mario says. “They swear they had nothing to do with it, but we know the man who shot you was associated with them on the periphery. We ain’t fucking around with this.”
I barely listen. I know Romeo’s right, if anyone’s a threat to us we have to end that and soon. But it seems we’ve maybe ousted the threat to us thus far.
“Seems you paid a visit to Carmine?” Romeo asks.
I open one eye and nod. “Yeah, we did.”
“Good work,” he says with a curt nod. “I’m confident we’d get a further attack from them if you hadn’t put the fear of God in him.”
“Put the fear of something in them,” I mutter. “Not sure if it was God.”
Romeo’s eyes glint at me with the hint of a smile.
It isn’t until the sun begins to set that the door to my room opens, and I see her eyes cast in darkness.
“Rosa,” I say, my voice a hoarse croak.
She rushes to me, sits by the side of the bed, and gingerly puts her head next to mine on the pillow.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers. “I can’t, Santo.”
I reach my hand to her hair and stroke her gently. “I’m getting better. I’ll get over this bullshit.”
“I thought we lost you,” she says, shaking her head. “We thought you were gone.”
I gently stroke her hair and don’t speak for long minutes.
Romeo is home and the threat against us has been silenced for now. Laughter comes from down the hall, and I look at her curiously. “What’s that all about?”
“We’ve had a lot of visitors recently,” she explains. “Sassy’s here with Marialena, Nonna’s sister came from Italy, and Mama has been cooking all day long.”
My stomach growls. “Damn, I’m hungry.”
“I’ll get you food,” Rosa says, rising, but I tug her back down.
“I want you here more than I want food.”
“Santo…” She bites her lip, and her voice trails off.
Something’s wrong.
“What is it?” I ask.
When she doesn’t answer, I tighten my grip. “Rosa,” I warn.
“Romeo says I was engaged to a Campanelle. He’s called off the wedding, for obvious reasons, but… Santo, you know we have to… end this.” A lone tear trails down her cheek. “I gave you back in the hospital. I made a promise to God that if you lived I’d never ask for another thing, that I wouldn’t pursue anything. That I’d… I’d let you be free.”
Being apart from her isn’t freedom.
I don’t respond.
I have to talk to Romeo.
“I’m moving to Tuscany,” she says finally. “Romeo says he’s strengthening the family now that we have the Montavios and Dario with us. I asked if I could go back to Tuscany and he said yes. He has… he has someone in Tuscany he wants me to marry.”
Again, I don’t respond. I hear her pleas, I hear her cries, and they echo my own fears. I’ve thought for years there’s no future for me and Rosa. How could there be?
“When do you leave?” I ask.
She grimaces and looks away. “That’s it? When do I leave? That’s all you want to know?”
I squeeze her fingers and she looks back to me.
“Tell me.”
“Day after tomorrow,” she whispers. “It’s for the best.”
People use that line so often it almost ceases to have meaning.
It’s for the best.
Voices sound outside along with heavy footsteps. She stands and moves to the side so we’re not touching. The footsteps fade.
“See? I’m tired of waiting,” she says with a cry. “I’m tired of hiding. You don’t deserve it any more than I do. You lived, Santo, and I promised if you did, I’d let you go.”
Still, I don’t reply. She’s afraid, and she doesn’t know what I do. She will soon.
“Come here,” I order. My voice is hoarse, and my body weakened, but she hears the command in my voice. When she reaches the bed, I take her hand. “I didn’t live so we could go our separate ways. Trust me, Rosa. Can you trust me?”
Her voice is soft and hollow when she nods and whispers, “Of course. I always have and always will.”
“Then go, Rosa. Do what you have to. Let me do what I have to.” I squeeze her hand. “But don’t lose hope, baby. Don’t.”
She gives me a look that says she wishes she could believe me. I know that look. I know that feeling. When you’ve been beaten down and hurt so many times, you fear trusting again. You fear the next blow to your heart will shatter it irreparably.