Chapter 1
Sly
The moment the wheels of Sully’s plane touch down, I am immediately displeased. The small window shows me everything I need to know about San Francisco, and I cannot wait to continue my travels.
“Sir,” the stewardess says quietly so as not to disturb me too much. Which is funny, considering I could feel her eyes on me throughout the entire flight. “We’ve arrived in San Francisco. It’s been a pleasure to serve you today. Can I get you anything before you disembark?”
Dragging my gaze across the fog-locked tarmac, I slowly shift my eyes to hers, which are nearly too large for her facial structure.
It is jarring. She looks like a character from a cartoon movie.
“No, grazie,” I tell the woman, whose name I haven’t bothered to remember, as I unlatch the seat’sbuckle. She nods and walks away, looking over her shoulder as she goes.
Sighing, I pull my phone from my pocket and power it up. Numerous missed calls and messages pop up on the screen: Sully, Mamma, Papà,Vinnie.
My stomach lurches to my throat when I see message after message appear with Vincenza’s name, but I cannot bring myself to open them.
Not yet.
Slinging my black backpack over my shoulder, I exit the plane, taking the stairs down to the tarmac, where a car is waiting for me.
As my foot lands on the asphalt, my phone rings. Lifting my hand, I see it is Mamma again.
“Pronto, Mamma,” I greet as I reach out and take my suitcase from the overly-attentive stewardess. I nod at her, and she hands me a small piece of paper before scurrying away.
I open it to find a set of numbers scrawled over it—numbers I will never use.
Crumpling the scrap of paper, I shove it into my pocket to toss into a trash can later.
Mamma’s voice pulls my attention back to the phone as she booms through the other end, scolding me as though I am a small child again. “Sylvester Lucchetti, come hai potuto alzarti e andartene senza dire una parola?”Sylvester Lucchetti, where are you? How could you just up and leave without a word?
The driver steps out of the waiting car, and I shake my head at him, motioning for him to get back in.
This call might take a moment.
“Mi dispiace, Mamma.”I’m sorry, Mamma.
I begin to pace in front of the stairs, regretting picking up the phone. I should have waited to answer.
“Sei dispiaciuto? Questo è tutto quello che hai da dire a tua madre? Per quanto tempo pensi di stare via questa volta?”You're sorry? That's all you have to say to your mother? How long do you plan on being gone this time?
“New York mi ha spezzato il cuore, Mamma. È ora che me ne vada per un po'. Ciò non significa che non ti rivedrò mai più. Semplicemente starò via per un po'.”New York has broken my heart, Mamma. It is time for me to leave for a while. It does not mean I will never see you again. I will just be away for a while.
“Dove sei?”Where are you?
Expelling a breath, I begin walking toward the car again.
“California.”
A small whimper leaves her, the sound sinking my heart. “You are across the country?”
“Sì. I will stay in touch. This is only temporary,” I assure her, but the lie feels bitter on my tongue as I say it.
The truth is, I have no way to predict how long I may be here—perhaps until the pain of losing the love of my life subsides, if that pain ever truly leaves.
“Please check in with me from time to time, Sylvester. Don’t shut me out.” The plea in her voice is palpable, carrying all the way from the East Coast.
“Ti amo, Mamma,” I tell her. What little is left of my heart feels like it’s dissolving into dust.
