Chapter 12 - Letters from the Other Side of the Wall
Prison stripped Antonio of everything that had once announced who he was.
No tailored suits.
No drivers.
No private office.
No men standing when he entered a room.
For the first several weeks, he hated it.
Then something unexpected happened.
He began sleeping.
Not well.
But truly.
For the first time since Lorenzo died, there were no midnight calls about shipments or money.
No Damen.
No Vincent.
No men outside his bedroom door.
Only concrete walls, routine, and time.
Elena wrote every week.
Mia dictated additions.
Dear Mister Antonio,
Mommy says I cannot send pancake because envelope too little.
Biscuit sick again.
I am four now soon.
Your heart okay?
Love Mia.
Antonio kept every letter.
He replied to every one.
Dear Doctor Mia,
My heart is improving. Please tell Biscuit to follow medical instructions and stop causing emergencies.
Antonio.
Mia insisted Elena read each response six or seven times.
Sofia visited too.
For the first time since their son’s death, she and Antonio learned to speak without accusation.
One afternoon, Sofia sat across from him.
“I’m getting married.”
Antonio blinked.
“Congratulations.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
She smiled sadly.
“We wasted a lot of years being angry.”
“We were angry because being angry was easier.”
“Than missing him.”
Antonio nodded.
She reached through the visiting-room opening and squeezed his hand.
“Lorenzo would like who you're becoming.”
Antonio looked down.
“I hope so.”
Damen received a longer sentence.
His testimony mattered.
So did his crimes.
Antonio saw him once during a court transport.
Neither spoke.
Damen simply nodded.
Antonio eventually nodded back.
Not forgiveness.
Perhaps the beginning of something less poisonous than hatred.
Outside, Elena rebuilt her life.
She used part of Daniel’s insurance settlement, finally released after the investigation reopened his case, to enter a hospitality-management program.
The Moretti estate sold for millions.
A portion legally remaining to Antonio was frozen until his release.
Elena refused every offer of financial help.
“I’m not being kept by a mafia boss,” she told Rosa.
Rosa smiled.
“Former mafia boss.”
“Still no.”
She rented a modest house in Queens.
It had a tiny yard.
Mia was thrilled.
Every spring Saturday, she dug holes for flowers and worms indiscriminately.
Antonio received photographs.
One showed Mia covered in soil.
On the back Elena wrote:
Your future landscape consultant.
Antonio smiled for an entire afternoon.
At eighteen months, Elena visited without Mia.
Antonio knew immediately something was wrong.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That is not your nothing face.”
“I received a job offer.”
“Good.”
“In Boston.”
Antonio became quiet.
“It’s a good position.”
“You should take it.”
Elena's expression hardened.
“That quickly?”
“It is what you studied for.”
“And us?”
Antonio hated the hope in that question.
“You should not build your decisions around a man sitting in here.”
“There you go again.”
“What?”
“Deciding for me.”
“I am trying to protect you.”
“From happiness?”
“From waiting.”
Elena stood.
“I have been waiting for eighteen months because I chose to.”
“I never asked.”
“No. You didn't have to.”
Antonio's own fear turned into anger.
“What do you want me to say?”
“That you want me to stay!”
Other visitors turned.
Elena lowered her voice.
“For once in your life, Antonio, ask somebody not to leave.”
He stared.
Everyone he loved had left.
His father through death.
Lorenzo through tragedy.
Sofia through grief.
Damen through betrayal.
Antonio had survived by learning never to ask.
He looked at Elena.
“I want you to stay.”
Her eyes filled.
“But?”
“No but.”
She waited.
“I want you to stay so badly it scares me.”
Elena sat again.
“That was not difficult.”
“It was horrifying.”
She laughed through tears.
“I declined Boston yesterday.”
Antonio stared.
“Then why did you—”
“Because I needed to know.”
“You are cruel.”
“Former mafia boss complaining about cruelty?”
“Unbelievable.”
For several seconds they smiled at one another across scratched government glass.
Then Elena placed her palm against it.
Antonio placed his against hers.
“Eleven months,” she said.
“Eleven months.”
Neither knew that outside the prison, someone else was counting too.
Because that evening Elena arrived home and found an envelope beneath her front door.
Inside was a photograph of Antonio and Lorenzo.
On the back:
HE SHOULD HAVE DIED THE FIRST TIME.
Elena immediately called federal investigators.
The old conspiracy was supposed to be dead.
It wasn't.
May you like
And Antonio was trapped behind concrete walls while the threat moved toward the two people he loved most.
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