by Mj Fields
“Thank you. And Sabato?”
“He’s still in surgery.” He looks down. “We are doing everything we can.”
“Do that and then some,” Zandor Steel says.
“We will try.” When the doctor leaves, all eyes are on me.
Oh, right. They probably have no idea what just happened. “Thor is his brother. The woman, Maria, told him. Salvatore was not his father.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Fuck! He needs to wake up, he has a family!” I say out loud, without meaning to.
*.*.*
Two hours later, we get word that they are still ‘doing everything they can’ for Sabato. They are trying to remove bullets that are in danger of rupturing his heart. Thor is in recovery, but still sleeping.
“He needs someone there when he wakes up.”
A nurse comes in and asks for Melyssa Chance.
“That’s my maiden name.”
“Your parents are here,” she tells me.
I look at Nikki, and she smiles wanly. “I called them.”
“Dear God.” I suddenly have to sit down.
When they walk in, they look awful. Both stressed and confused.
“Hi,” I say.
“You okay?” My dad sits next to me.
“When he wakes up, I will be.”
“He...meaning....?”
“My husband, the man I love.” Suddenly, I’m irritated all over again. “And no, I won’t apologize for getting swept up. I won’t apologize because then I am lessening how much he means to me, so please, don’t expect me to do that.”
I can’t believe the words that just came out of my mouth or the strength behind them.
“Okay,” Dad says.
Mom is quiet, but that’s okay, better silent than angry.
“Mrs. Efisto?”
“Yes?”
“Your brother in law is waking up. Come with me.”
I don’t bother saying anything else to my parents, I just follow the nurse.
When the elevator stops, I immediately ask if Sabato is on the same floor and they tell me yes.
“When he comes out of surgery,” I tell her, “they should be in the same room.”
She gives me a look as if I am some disillusioned girl.
“He will wake up. If he doesn’t, someone will pay.”
I walk through the curtain in the post-op room and look at the man who is supposedly Sabato’s brother. I see the resemblance immediately.
“How are you?”
Thorello shakes his head weakly. “How is Sabato?”
“Still in surgery.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Melyssa.”
“I know this,” he holds up his hand, which is attached to an IV.
Thankfully, the doctor told Thor, the bullet just missed his spleen.
“I need to get back to my home, as soon as possible.” He tells me. His accent is very thick compared to Sabato’s, but their first impressions are not much different. Except, Thor doesn’t have that implacable, sensual pull. At least, not for me.
As I sit next to him, I feel that he is very intimidating, but I won’t leave him alone. He is family.
“So...you’re a police officer.”
“Yes, very different from your husband,” he says, in a condescending tone.
“Well, maybe not as much as you’d think.”
“You do not know him.”
“I know enough. Look Thor, I think you might be surprised if you saw how much he—”
“It is none of my concern,” he interrupts.
“Okay, but....”
“I don’t wish to discuss him any further. I am tired, and need to rest.”
“Well, okay. I’ll be here until he wakes up. So you go ahead and rest, because you and your brother have years of catching up to do.”
“Ragazza testarda.”
“Ragazza testarda?” I fold my arms. “Okay, I’ll add that to the list of things to Google. How does one say ‘family’ in Italian?”
“Una rompicoglioni,” he says, as he leans back and closes his eyes.
“Una rompicoglioni...is a good thing?”
I notice a smirk and then it is gone.
I go out to the nurses’ station when I know he is asleep. “I need an update on Sabato Efisto.”
“We’ll let you know soon.”
I nod, even though I’m not happy. “Thank you.”
For more countless hours, I sit and wait and pray and fight tears.
Each passing second feels like an eternity. I weather them silently, stubbornly watching over Sabato’s sleeping brother, like somehow that will bring me closer to him.
“Pain in the ass.” I look up, startled when I hear Thor’s voice. “Una rompicoglioni, means pain in the ass. Is he awake yet?”
I shake my head, no.
He looks at the ceiling blankly for a while and then he says, “Famiglia.”
“Famiglia.”
“You should rest. I will make sure to wake you when they come in.”
“He is very handsome.”
“When he wakes up and he smiles, you’ll think you’ve seen an angel.”
“He’s okay.” I hear a man’s voice. “I don’t know why you’d pick a man with holes in him to fall in love with.”
“Dad, those aren’t holes, they are love bites.”
“I don’t wanna hear that from my kid.”
“One for each of the women who were allowed to love him.”
“Allowed, huh?” I hear a woman’s voice.
“It’s definitely a privilege.”
“It’s been four days. You should prepare yourself, Melyssa.”
Melyssa. I hear Melyssa.
“We have unfinished business, him and I. So yes, he will wake up. He has everything to live for now.”
“When he heals, I’m gonna kick his ass.”
“You’ll have to go through me first,” I hear her laugh and then feel her lips on my forehead.
“Man to man, I owe him, he knows that.”
“Why? At least he called you.”
Melyssa.... I want to say her name, but I can’t.
“He called, all right. ‘I am marrying your daughter,’ he told, not asked me. And he sounded like Count Dracula. Now, how can my little southern Mel fall in love with Count Dracula?”
She laughs. “Southern Mel, Dad? I’m too old for that.”
“It still fits you,” the woman says, her mother I believe.
“I’m going to grab some coffee, anyone want some?”
“Yes,” they both say.
“When he wakes up, you’ll see how perfect he is, Mom. His eyes are so expressive, and I promise he doesn’t sound like Count Dracula.”
“It’s okay if he does, I just want to meet the man my daughter loves.”
I slowly open my eyes. They weigh more than usual. The light stings, but when I see her, I don’t want to look away.
“I wish I had taken at least one of those bullets. Just one and maybe he’d be awake.”
“He’s breathing on his own now. That’s a good sign, honey.”
Melyssa’s mother looks at me, my eyes lock with hers and she smiles in relief. “Well. the eyes are a very nice shade of brown.”
“I know and they are so—”
“Open. Honey, they are so open.” Her smile broadens. Melyssa has her smile.
My wife turns quickly to look at me, but she doesn’t say a word. She only closes her eyes and mouths ‘thank you.’
Then she smiles. “Hi.”
“Hello, Melyssa.” I croak out.
“Get him a drink,” she says to her mother, as she reaches for me.
“Thor?”
“Awake and in the room next door. He gets released tomorrow. I’m letting him stay at our place.”
“Maria?”
“Dead, the rotten bitch.”
“Melyssa,” her mother scolds, as she hands me a drink.
“Thank you.” I reach for it, but Melyssa takes the cup an
d holds the straw for me to drink.
“Toothbrush?”
“I’ll get the nurse.” Her mother pushes the call bell.
“Sit here?” I move over and she tells me not to. Once she sits, I whisper, “Mi sei mancato.”
The nurse walks in, pushing Thor in a wheelchair. “You’re awake.”
“I am.”
“Good. You going to stay that way?” He asks.
“I plan on it, yes.”
“Good.” He scowls. “Your wife seems to think you and I need to move forward. She has also offered a place for me to stay while I stick around for a while for physical therapy. You okay with that?”
“Yes, if she is.”
“Good. I will see you again soon.”
“Glad you’re all right.”
“You too.”
The nurse begins poking and prodding me and then things become incredibly busy with people in and out of the room.
When things finally slow down, her father comes in with coffee. Her father is a big man. Like a bear. He looks at me with intent to intimidate, but with all I have survived, I can’t really be intimidated.
“You married my daughter.”
“I did, as I said I would.”
“I suppose.”
“If you hurt her, I will tear you apart.”
“Dad,” Melyssa gasps.
“Understood.” I nod.
At the end of the day, everyone has come and gone. When I say everyone, I mean everyone: Valentina, Zandor, the rest of the Steel family, Abe, Melyssa’s friends, even the owner of the apartment building, who would not stop apologizing that the doorman let in a would-be assassin.
I feel ready for another four days of sleep, but I also feel ready to be alone with Melyssa.
“Come,” I pat the bed.
“Okay but you need sleep. I want you home.”
“Will you be going home tonight?”
“No, I haven’t been there since, well since....”
“Where have you stayed?”
“Here, of course.” She looks at me like it’s the simplest answer ever, easier than two plus two.
I look at her and really take in her eyes. “I have so much I need to say to you and so many reasons that I should not.”
“Sabato....”
“No, listen.”
She smiles and braces herself, as if she is waiting for her world to fall apart, yet she is not afraid.
"Sono così innamorata di te, Melyssa. Penso che volevo esserlo quando ti ho incontrata. Credo che avevo paura di ammetterlo. La mia speranza per il futuro è più forte della mia paura del passato Ma l'amore é più forte della paura e della speranza. Io vorrò sempre stare con te, niente di più, niente di meno. "
She looks at me and nods, “I have no idea what you just said, but okay.”
“Okay?”
“I love you, so whatever you need, whatever you want...okay.”
“Just like that.”
She nods. “Just like that.”
I decide to tell her in English, even though it’s incredibly hard to do so. Hiding behind a language she doesn’t know is enough for her, but I want to give her...more.
“I said, I'm so in love with you, Melyssa. I think I wanted to be when I saw you. I think I was afraid to admit it. My hope for the future is stronger than my fear of the past. But stronger than fear and hope is the love. I'll always want to be with you, nothing more, and nothing less. "
“I just fell harder,” she whispers.
*.*.*
The visa application is in review and an immigration officer is on his way to our house. Melyssa has flowers sitting on almost every flat surface in the house. On the kitchen table, there is coffee, tea and pastries.
“It’s a civil servant, not the Queen, correct?”
“Hush,” she laughs at me, the way she always laughs. Joyfully and without apology.
I roll my eyes as I watch her carry the painting through the house again.
“I love that painting,” I remind her, as I have every time she hides it, which tends to piss me off. She isn’t afraid when I am ‘pissy,’ though. She thinks it’s adorable, she says so often.
This time, Melyssa comes out with another panting, one I haven’t seen. Of course I follow her. What else do I have to do? I am a ‘man of leisure’ now, which is a cool way to say ‘unemployed.’ Of course, I’m still rich and that doesn’t hurt.
I watch as she stands on her little step stool and hangs the painting.
To say I am shocked is an understatement.
She steps down and turns to me.
“When I was cleaning a few days ago, I saw an old folded up paper with a picture of this painting. You must have had it for a long time.”
I nod, unable to form words.
“I wasn’t sure why, but I think I know. That woman Maria, she mentioned that you tried to end your life many times. Now I think I get it. When I thought I may lose you, I decided I wanted to die. That life without you,” she stops and swallows hard, “would be unbearable. That one love, even one that was unspoken, would never be able to be replicated.”
She looks back at the photo.
“I’m so glad that you’re still here,” she whispers.
“Me too.”
“I looked into the picture’s meaning and well, its art and art is subjective so this is what I see when I see this. I see three women, the Graces, the girls that were at your club when...well, before.” She smiles sadly at me. “They adore you, and I know if they spent so much time with you, they were able to see into you deeper than most. The angel represents many, the loves you have lost. Your mother, Luciana and your father. But the woman right there is me, and the man lying there just needed to open his eyes. He was hurt, not dead. And as soon as he opens his eyes, he will see how loved he is, by so many. I can’t change your past, I can’t pretend I was your first love, or your first sexual partner. But I know on some level that you love me. I feel it every time you look at me. I don’t want to push your past in your face, but I know that it made you the man you are. The man who makes me dizzy with lust, full of love and so incredibly aware of just how lucky I am.”
“Thank you.”
“Can we keep it?”
“Of course.”
*.*.*
We are sitting at the table as the man pulls his notepad and a folder out of his briefcase.
I have my hand on Melyssa’s leg under the table to hold it still. She is fidgeting like crazy and I don’t want her to stress about a thing.
“We have your application, so the basics are covered. My job is to find out if this marriage is real. The questions I ask will reveal that. Please answer them completely so that I can make my decision without having to fill in the blanks myself.”
We both nod.
He looks at me, “When did you fall in love with Melyssa Chance?”
“The first time I saw her.” He rolls his eyes slightly, which pisses me off. “I didn’t know it then, but it’s true.”
“Of course,” he says as if he’s heard that a thousand times. “When did you first have sex with her?”
“Excuse me?” I snap and Melyssa squeezes my hand.
“When did you first have intercourse with Melyssa?”
“A few days before our wedding.”
“I see.” He starts writing.
“You see what?” Melyssa gives my hand another squeeze.
“Typically, sex between people who are in such a hurry to get married is immediate, unless they wait for the wedding night.”
“Well, we fucked around before we had sex, isn’t that typical?”
“Sure.”
“I would have fucked her the first time we were alone, but she said no.”
“Sabato,” Melyssa tries to stop me but the fucker is rubbing me the wrong way.
“When you say ‘fucked around,’ what does that mean?”
“It means—”
“Could you explain the relevance of these questions to g
etting approved?” Melissa interrupts me.
“The validity of your relationship, Mrs. Efisto.”
“Well, as you can see, we live together and have been for a few weeks now. The only time we weren’t in our residence is when he was hospitalized, because of a mad woman being allowed into this country, who was issued entrance by the very government who allows you to question our marriage.”
“That has nothing to do with this.” He gives her a look like he’s annoyed with her.
“Watch how you speak to my wife.”
“I’m fine, Sabato.”
“Is this an intimidation tactic, Sabato Efisto, who has mafia connections and—”
“Those connections have been severed.” I glare at him.
He points his stubby little finger at me. “I am not intimidated by you mister...Pacino, of the Pacino Pacinos, so you listen to me, Dom Perignon, your threats don’t scare me, Tony Soprano.”
“Wow, that was...a lot of references.”
I look over at Melyssa and she is shaking because she is trying not to laugh. This little comb-over, briefcase-toting bastard is obviously confused, or racist against Italians, or just fucking crazy.
“Scarface doesn’t intimidate me, you don’t intimidate me, you can’t make me an offer I can’t refuse,” his fake Italian accent is horrible, and I am trying really hard to be angry at this little fuck, but Melyssa is right—it’s actually very funny.
“I’m not afraid to be swimming with the fishes, no sir, I am not! So you stow that gun, I’ll take the cannoli.”
Melyssa laughs out loud then and I can’t help but laugh too.
His face is red as he stands and grabs a handful of pastries, none of which are cannolis and basically runs to the fucking door. “I’ll be back!”
As soon as the door shuts behind him, Melyssa and I are laughing so hard tears are rolling down her cheeks. She stands up and walks to the counter, where her phone sits. “I’ll call and ask for someone else.”
“Will they do that?” I try to stop laughing so she can make the damn call.
“I don’t know, do you know?” She uses the Godfather voice and then falls into a fit of laughter.