The Italian

The large metal door clicks open, and I walk inside the room-sized safe. It’s filled with transactions, money, and paperwork.

I know where the will is. I saw it in here last week when I was retrieving something else. I look over the shelving until I see a large, dark brown, leather box way up high.

It’s in there, I remember it from back when they were going through everything with me. I stand on the stepladder, take it down, and go back to my desk to open it. It’s a large leather-bound book. I flick through the handwritten pages, and I frown. Title deeds, ownership papers, the properties I own… businesses…

What the fuck am I looking for here?

At the bottom of the box are loose papers. I take them out, and that’s when I see a large yellow envelope.

FOR ENRICO FERRARA TO OPEN

WHEN HE FINDS THIS.

My heart stutters.

I stare at it for a moment.

How haven’t I seen this before?

I tear open the large envelope to find three smaller envelopes in side, titled in my father’s handwriting. Each one has a name on it.

Enrico

Andrea

Matteo

I put my hand over my mouth, hesitant to open it—Frightened that every memory of my father is about to be crushed.

I open the letter addressed to me.

My darling Enrico,

If you are reading this my son, I have left this world.

I want to start this letter by telling you how proud I am of the man you have become.

Emotion overwhelms me and I blink through my tears.

I miss him.

God, how I miss him.

Hopefully, you will never read this and we will have had this conversation face to face. But, in the tragic event that both my father and I go together, I needed to leave this letter for you.

I’m guessing that you are reading this letter in the days after my death…perhaps weeks.

I didn’t want this handed to you until you were searching for answers. I know you would have had enough to deal with at the time of my sudden passing.

I’m so sorry, son. I wish we had more time together.

I can hear his voice.

I have no idea how to write this or what to say, so the beginning seems like a good place to start.

You may ask why I kept the Ferrara business from you, Enrico—why I didn’t prepare you better.

It was my greatest dream that, by the time you learned of this, I would have held the helm for a good period of time and the violence would have been a distant memory for our family. I knew that one day you’d find out who your ancestors really were, and I wanted you to be prepared.