Page 28 of Sweet Prison
I. Can’t. Breathe.
Her eyes go wide with surprise. And recognition.
It isher.
The first thing that shoots through my mush of gray matter is:Where are her pigtails?Unlike with Nera, I don’t remember much of Zahara as a child. She was only a toddler who tended to get in the way, so I stayed clear. But I remember the pigtails. And for whatever fucked-up reason, I expected an older version of the same.
I can’t fucking tear my eyes away from hers. Her gaze holds much more than a mere realization that she’s looking at Massimo Spada, a largely forgotten man, standing at the graveside. There’s knowledge. Awareness of who I am. Not in the sense of “shadow leader of Cosa Nostra” or “asshole with a chip on his shoulder stuck behind bars.” Nope, this is the only soul who has peered deep inside mine. Among more than three hundred mourners here, she’s the only one who knowsme. A man.
My throat suddenly feels very dry. I try to swallow, but can’t. The only thing I seem to be capable of is staring at her. The girl.
No, the woman. The woman who unknowingly found a way.
To save me.
From myself.
In my long quest to make every person from my old life forget about me, I’ve, somehow, almost forgotten myself. But all those things I told her about myself in my letters, things that were supposed to be simple misdirection to hide the real message in my notes, they weren’t random fillers. Every single detail was true. And if she hadn’t asked, I might no longer remember the answers. In prison, everything that Massimo Spada used to be was stamped out. Forever, I thought. But she brought me back. And now, looking into her eyes, I realize that if it wasn’t for her letters, the person who I was—I am—would have been truly lost.
I know you, her gaze says.
More than twenty feet separate us, but it feels like she’s right here, next to me.
I know who you are.
She does. Maybe even better than I do.
I know you.
The apprehension and hypervigilance that’s weighed me down since I stepped out of the prison van suddenly fade away. Inquisitive looks from the Cosa Nostra members all around don’t burn into my back anymore. I no longer feel the need to wrap my hands around their necks and squeeze until they fall limp at my feet. For the first time in fifteen years, I am at peace.
The priest starts talking. The cemetery staff begin lowering the casket. I don’t even glance at it. My entire being seems to be bewitched by my little spy. She is so fucking beautiful. I try to take in the rest of her, only then noticing the unusual discoloration around her eyes and on her forehead. A birthmark? Did she have one and I don’t remember? Or is it a scar? Whatever it is, it doesn’t take away from her beauty. I’m still struggling to breathe because of her effect on me, despite feeling serenity for the first time in years.
Zahara blinks and quickly looks away. Her eyes anchor to the ground as if she’s trying to hide from me and in that instant, the blissful peace disappears.
Gritting my teeth, I make myself refocus on Nera, while my higher reasoning slowly kicks in. She’s watching me from the other side of her father’s casket with trepidation in her eyes. I hold her gaze, clinging to it with everything I have, all to prevent my eyes from sliding back to Zahara. Rapidly going over all the possible solutions for this new predicament we’ve landed in.
With Nuncio dead, Batista Leone will step in to take over the Family. He’s been waiting for that since my father’s death. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the slimy motherfucker himself was actually behind Nuncio’s assassination. With my parole denied, I’ll be stuck behind bars for close to four more years, serving the full extent of my sentence. Rage washes over me anew, and I barely keep my shit together. Patience. And focus. I won’t allow anyone to take away what’s mine. No matter what.
The priest finishes and a few Family members approach to throw dirt on the casket before leaving the cemetery. Then, the burial staff start pouring soil into the grave. Keeping my eyes on Nera’s, I walk around the burial site until I’m standing in front of her.
“Munchkin.” I give her a slight nod.
Nera gapes at me for a few heartbeats, then takes a step closer and tentatively wraps her arms around me. “Hello, Massimo.”
Her action surprises me. I expected indifference or even plain disregard. But my resolve doesn’t waver. The new plan I’ve concocted revolves around her. She’ll probably hate me for it, but I don’t give a fuck.
“Let’s go, Spada,” the guard barks from behind me, yanking my arm.
I take a step back, pulling out of Nera’s embrace.
Keeping my eyes from sliding to the left, where Zahara is standing, is a losing battle. I never stood a chance. Is she real or simply a figment of my imagination? My fingers itch to reach out and brush her hand, to confirm she’s actually flesh and blood. Why won’t she look at me again?
She’s scared of you.
Scared? Doesn’t she know she’s the only person on earth who has no reason to fear me? She knows me.
My point exactly.