Page 2 of Surprise Baby for the Mafia Boss

“I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone, Luca. Can you call the pilot and arrange an early morning flight back? As soon as you’re home, I’ll update you.”

“Nuh uh, tell me now.”

“Luca, I-“ My phone screen suddenly goes black and I realize that I’ve forgotten to charge it. “Shit!” I growl at no one but myself and run to plug it in. It takes a full three minutes to get it back on, and I dial my brother back as soon as it allows me.

“Luca,” he answers in a solemn tone, not giving me a chance to explain what just happened. “It’s Nonna. She’s gone.”

I freeze, the weight of my brother's words sinking in like an anchor dropped to the depths of the ocean.

"Luca." he repeats. His words hang in the air, a painful echo reverberating in my mind.

Our grandmother, the anchor of our family, the woman who weathered the storms of our lives with unwavering strength, was no more. A lump forms in my throat as I grapple with the sudden reality, one that feels inconceivable.

My mind races back to the last time I saw her, just a couple of months ago, before I left for Mexico. We had laughed over coffee, discussing the places she wanted me to take her shopping upon my return. She seemed lively, full of the same vibrant energy that had defined her for as long as I could remember.

The idea that this lively, indomitable force had slipped away, leaving behind only memories, feels surreal.

"Luca?" My brother's voice interrupts the flood of memories, pulling me back to the present.

"She held on for a long time," he continues, his own voice sounding raw with grief, "but this afternoon she took her usual nap, and when her nurse went in, she was gone. It was peaceful, and she was at home where she wanted to be."

She was almost eighty-seven years old, and it’s to be expected, when someone is that old, that they will die…one day.

I just never thought of her ever leaving us. Not really. She always seemed so full of life. It was only in the last year or so that she even seemed sick, and she never let that fully affect her.

"Okay," I manage to utter, the word escaping my lips like a fragile whisper.

The room feels smaller, suffocating, as if the air has been sucked out. After losing my parents at a time when my core memories were still forming, Nonna Ginny became my constant, the guiding force that helped me navigate the tumultuous waters of life.

She wasn't the stereotypical grandmother seen on TV, baking cookies and knitting in a rocker chair. No, Nonna Ginny was a force of nature, a woman who demanded respect and gave unwavering love in return.

My mind races through the lessons she imparted, the values she instilled. Loyalty above all, was her mantra, and she taught us how to stand by each other as family.

Nonna was the compass that guided us through the murky waters of life's challenges, showing us the importance of holding on to each other in times of need.

She also had no problem telling all of us — family, friends, business associates — exactly what she thought about our attitudes, and giving us tips to improve them if she felt that’s what we needed.

The realization that I could no longer seek her advice, share a laugh, or find solace in her comforting presence hits me like a tidal wave.

Nonna wasn't just a grandmother; she was the heartbeat of our family, and I already know that her absence will leave an ache that words can't capture. I’m not sure I’m ready to say goodbye to possibly the most important person in my life.

In the midst of my grief, I’m comforted with the thought that she passed away peacefully, in her home. She had always fought hard not to be sent to one of those old-age homes. Not that we would ever have sent her away.

“Alright,” I gather myself and my thoughts, tapping my finger on the bedside table next to my phone.

My brother has been rather quiet on the other end of the phone — strange for him. He knows what this means, and perhaps he’s worried that it will push me over the edge. But I have more control over myself and my emotions than he believes.

“I’ll be home tomorrow and we can start to arrange a funeral. Make sure everyone else gets home as soon as possible, too.” He’s probably already done that in the hours I was ignoring his phone calls, but I blurt it out anyway.

I arrange for my jet to be ready to fly at dawn, and undress to try and get in a few hours of sleep before I leave here.

Lying on this strange hotel bed, I think about my grandmother and everything she had ever told me in my life. The woman had wisdom, that was for sure.

I’m going to miss her, and saying goodbye is going to be hard. But I know she didn’t like pity parties, and definitely not any held in her name.

***

I wake up to the harsh ring of the alarm, blinking away the remnants of a restless sleep.

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