Page 39 of Ribbons and Roses
“I didn’t think it was possible. Not after being raised by our DA father.”
“That’s probably what made him more curious. Isn’t that what drew you to me? The fact that I was off limits?”
I sigh as we stop at the wooden bench under a tree and take a seat. “This feels different. Me falling for you was organic. He’s sought out one of the worst crime families and gambled away his entire inheritance. For what reason?”
“That’s a question you’ll have to ask him,” Salvatore admits. He grabs my hand that’s resting in my lap and gives it a reassuring squeeze, his touch warm and firm. “But we’ve survived again, Phi. What did I tell you?”
A small smirk almost tugs at my lips. “We can get through anything together.”
“I should’ve been more excited for the holiday. More enthusiastic about spending time with you and the kids, celebrating Christmas.”
“Jon, I get it. It’s a difficult time of the year for you. I should’ve been more considerate of that instead of trying to be so over the top with the festive stuff.”
“The kids love it. If it were up to me, Christmas would be some thirty minute occasion of giving them presents and turning them loose to play with their toys. I wouldn’t think to do decorations and play in the snow and sit by the fire drinking hot cocoa and looking at the Christmas lights. All things they’ve loved. All things that will stay with them for the rest of their lives.”
My heart swells at his loving words. I lean into his side and rest my head on his shoulder. He responds by slipping his arm around me to draw me even closer.
“Want to go check to see if there’s an update on your brother?”
I nod, inhaling more fresh air to calm my spirits.
When we return to the waiting room, we find Dad speaking to one of the ER nurses. Stitches and Sasha are doing their best to cheer up the kids, having brought back an armful of snacks from the vending machine.
We approach Dad and the ER nurse.
“He’s out of surgery,” she says. “He’ll be ready for visitors soon. Adults only until he’s transferred to an inpatient room.”
We turn toward each other.
“You both go,” Salvatore says. “I’ll stay behind with the kids.”
“We’ll watch them,” calls Stitches from the other side of the room. “All three of you go. We’ve got this.”
We take Stitches and Sasha up on their offer and follow the ER nurse to the post-surgery room they’ve placed Marcel in until they move him to the room he’ll be staying in.
It’s clear from the moment we walk in that Marcel’s barely lucid. His eyes are squinted half shut and his round features contorted into a near grimace. He seems to barely recognize us as we walk through the door and gather on either side of his bed.
“How are you feeling, son?” Dad asks.
“Like… I was… shot in the gut,” he croaks in a hoarse voice.
I move over to the rolling table to grab the pitcher of water and pour him a glass. He can hardly incline his head to take a sip as I hold it up to his chapped lips.
“You scared us,” I say.
“I scared myself,” he mumbles.
“Son, what the hell happened?” Dad puts his hands on his waist and gives a solemn shake of his head. “If you were in financial trouble, you know you could’ve come to me.”
“Or us,” Salvatore adds. “I would’ve helped you out. A man with your business knowledge? I could’ve found you a spot in my organization. Something that fits your background.”
I can’t help glancing lovingly at Salvatore. It amazes me how he can be so forgiving and understanding when he recognizes it’s important to me; he knows how I love my family and offers them olive branches even when sometimes they don’t deserve it.
After how Marcel has treated him, he would be within his rights to never speak to him again.
Yet here he is, offering him help.
I wrap my arm around him and nod at what he’s said. “Jon is right, Marcel. We would’ve helped you.”