The Life: Sacrifice (The Life 3)

“You think I look like you?”

“Yes, yes, can’t you see?”

“Well, maybe we’re related. I’m here to find my family, and you say you’re from the village they originated from.”

“Your family, who is your family?”

“Antonelli.”

“Antonelli, si´, si,´ yes, there was such a family, but they do not look like this. This is Ricci.”

Yes, keep following those breadcrumbs until you get to where I’m leading you. “Tell me, who is your father?”

“Well, that’s a long and dark story,” I told him everything I wanted him to know about that night, keeping my eyes on him though they were well hidden behind the shades I’d put on as soon as we sat down.

I saw the tears and compassion in his eyes for the young girl his son had demoralized, though he didn’t know the half of it. I didn’t tell him anything more than I wanted to share because if I did, it would be too easy for him to see through my ploy and guess exactly why I was here. He’s Sicilian; he would understand better than most the need for revenge.

So, I downplayed my interest, pretending only to want to connect with my roots, and I made it seem like I was looking for my mother’s family. I didn’t mention his son by name, but he knew exactly who I was speaking of from my telling of the story. Strike one against him, he obviously knew his son was a monster, but in all fairness, from everything I’d learned about Salvatore, he wouldn’t have condoned such behavior.

He didn’t interrupt, not even to deny that his monster of a son would do such a thing. He didn’t ask any questions, just sat there and took it all in, and once I was done, he shifted his eyes away from me in shame and wiped them with the handkerchief he removed from his pocket.

“I am your grandfather; you’ve found me.”

“No, it can’t be; what are the odds? I just got off the plane; you’re the first person I’ve met here.”

“No-no, this is true, it’s la sorte, we were meant. Tell me, what kind of man are you in America? Who do you live with? What has happened to your life? Your mother?”

I told him the bare minimum about how Ma was sent to America by her father, how she met Pop, but I didn’t give him my surname, not yet. He remembered Ma vaguely but only because of her father and because of her beauty that had been talked about in her youth. He’d been too busy running an empire to pay much heed to his sons and their doings, so though he knew family names, he had no real affiliation with the younger generation.

I knew most of this about him from my research as well. He’d tried to do what Pop was doing, bringing his family into the twenty-first century, turning old money into new. But in this climate, that’s easier said than done. And now he knows that the son he’d chosen to carry out his wishes was nothing more than a piece of shit who did the things I’d described being done to my mother.

It was like adding gasoline to an already out of control fire. He was already second-guessing his decision to hand everything over to Alonzo when he retired, I knew that before coming here, it plays a big part in my new plans after all, so I couldn’t leave any stone unturned.

“You must come home with me.” I shook my head before he was through talking, giving a good impression of being upset.

“How do I know you didn’t know about this and did nothing?”

“No-no, I’ve done many things, but this, this is not who I am, please. There’s nothing I can do for that poor girl, your mother. But you are my grandson the first. There must be a reason why you were allowed to exist and to become the man that you are. It’s not your fault, and it’s not her fault, but do you really want to give up your life?”

“What do you mean? Give up my life.”

“Do you know who we are? Did your mother not tell you? No matter what life you had in America, it cannot compare to the life you’d have as the grandson of Salvatore Ricci.” Yes, I know.

“But how do you know that I’m your grandson?”

“I know, this is my father’s face, my face, my son’s face. Only certain men in the Ricci family have this exact face. If you want, we can do that…scusi,” He snapped his fingers and turned to one of his goons who’d been standing off to the side.

They discussed the word for DNA before he turned back to me. “Yes, we can have this done to put your mind at ease. As for me, I know. You will come to the palazzo. This,” he looked around at the five hundred dollars a night hotel with a sneer, “this is no good.”