Page 118 of Revenge Vows

“No, Luca. You need to come home now.” My brother is good at bossing me around, but this sounds more like a desperate plea than a command.

“What happened?” I ask, my breath quickening.

My gut tells me something’s not okay, and I think about the family members at home who might have been at risk before I left for Mexico.

My brother is clearly fine, but then I think about my sister. She’s usually smart and good at keeping herself out of trouble. But if anyone has tried to harm her, I’d have their heads before they knew I was even coming for them.

“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.

“For fuck’s sake,” 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. 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 was to be expected I guess. But my heart feels like it isn’t even beating anymore.

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 suddenly hits me like a tidal wave.

“Luca?” Enzo says to me, his tone cautious. “Luca, don’t freak out.”

I stare at the phone in my hand like I’ve never seen one before. I end the call and set my phone on the bed with shaking fingers.

The chaos inside of me feels like deep, dark water sucking me under. I grip my temples, trying to calm down, trying to get a hold of myself.

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.

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