Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
He flinches and covers his mouth with his coffee mug like he’s trying to hide himself from my watchful gaze. “How do you know that name?”
“I know a lot of things. I know Manuel was at a meeting with Don Bruno and Federov and a bomb went off. I know that’s how he died. What happened that day, Papa? Why was Manuel there with Don Bruno and the Russian?”
Papa’s eyes close like he’s recalling a time long ago. I know the loss of Manuel hurt him deeply and the scars never faded. He prays nightly for his fallen son, for his dead wife, and he fears that all the bad things he has done will outweigh whatever beliefs he holds in his heart, and I know he fears never seeing them again.
“These things are long gone,” he says quietly. “I do not want to talk of them anymore. Does your husband know you’re here?”
“He knows I left,” which is true, he knows, but he didn’t give me permission. “And he doesn’t matter. I need answers, Papa. I came all this way.”
He stands abruptly. The coffee splashes down the side of his cup, a long dark smudge on the white porcelain. He turns to the windows and looks out at his land and I watch him. He’s in a plain tan shirt over his brown skin marred by scars and wiry hair. Papa’s a strong man, always has been, a hard man willing to do a hard man’s work, but there are some pains that can drag him under even when he tries his hardest to keep them at bay.
“I need you to understand that I was sick,” he says quietly, not looking at me. “That’s the only reason I wasn’t at the meeting myself. I’d picked up something during my travels back to Mexico and was busy sweating in bed when the bomb went off. I was too delirious and feverish when it first happened and they tell me I screamed at my men for two days in my sorrow. The fever broke eventually and I began to understand that my son was truly gone, but in those first days, I only remember it like a nightmare.” He leans his hands against the glass and takes deep breaths before looking back at me.
“Boris Federov was a small-time gangster with control of a few clubs back in those days. He wasn’t strong and he wasn’t important, but he was friendly with me and he was friendly with Don Bruno, and that mattered. He approached me one night saying Don Bruno wants to speak about ending the war, and so I agreed to go to the meeting. We were losing, but it was a bloody, vicious war, and it was costing both sides a lot of lives. Don Bruno was ready to put an end to it, and I had little choice. But like I said, the sickness hit me, and so Manuel went in my place.
“I only know what I was told later. My understanding is the meeting went well. Manuel and Don Bruno hashed out a rough idea of what a peace would look like, one that would leave us able to exist and prosper without bothering Bruno interests overmuch. We would seclude ourselves and leave Phoenix proper to the Famiglia, but we’d be allowed to stay in America. It was a good offer, and I would’ve taken it gladly. However, at the end of the meeting, the bomb went off and destroyed Don Bruno’s car. Boris and Manuel died in the blast, I’m told they were standing closest to the car when the bomb detonated, but Don Bruno survived. I suspect he only lived because Boris and Manuel took the brunt of the explosion for him. After that, the Don was too angry to negotiate, and he drove our people out of Phoenix with a savage aggression. He blamed us for the car bomb, though to this day I swear that it wasn’t me. I never would’ve tried to kill him like that, with such a cowardly act. Not when the peace was coming.”
Papa’s face is drawn and exhausted. The face of a man that’s spent a decade thinking about his dead boy and wishing things were different. I can imagine Papa’s fury and grief at being stuck in a sickbed while his little boy died and it breaks my heart, it truly does.
“He negotiated a peace,” I say softly, chewing on my lip. I pick up my coffee and sip it again. “Which means it makes no sense for it to be an attack from Don Bruno.”
“No, it wasn’t the Don. Remember, it was his car that exploded, and I wasn’t even there. He knew I wouldn’t be present, so why bother? Killing Manuel did nothing but make me fight harder. No, I believe the bomb was meant for Don Bruno alone, and whoever planted it made a mistake when Boris and Manuel died instead.”