Page 13 of Third Degree

I may not have gone to business school, but I had a knack for the nightclub scene. It suited me well because I suffered for a long time from insomnia at night. When my parents died, they were murdered in the middle of the night.

The nights became almost unbearable to go through alone, so I figured out quickly it was easier for me to be awake during the night and sleep during the day. It was the very reason I ventured into the club business, where I could embrace the cover of darkness.

When the kids were still infants, Bea would take the day shift while I gladly assumed the responsibility of watching over our boys during the night. And after Bea’s untimely departure, it was the motive behind my late-night walks with the dog, where the crisp air embraced me, void of sympathetic smiles from passersby.

It became a solitary journey, just me and the weighty burden of my thoughts. Not that the grief that usually joined such walks were welcome.

But last night had been different.

I pulled out my phone and quickly called Tony.

“Boss man,” the overly cheery kid answered. Tony couldn’t be older than twenty-five himself.

Both my boys had offered to take over the club for me, but I insisted that they go to school to become proper businessmen, unlike myself. So, I hired a kid who graduated from the UCSF business program to take over.

The club was in the heart of San Francisco, about forty-five minutes from where I lived. Before Bea’s passing, I was there almost nightly during the weekend, getting the club’s business sorted and helping out in the basement where the Gambinis liked to handle their own affairs.

It was mutually beneficial for all of us.

Now, as I was looking at these ledgers, I thought we were close to shutting the doors. The club was losing money fast, and a tinge of regret spread through my chest.

I should have been there sooner for it. Bea wouldn’t have wanted me to have neglected it for this long.

“I’m coming back in two weeks. When I do, you’ll go back behind the bar.” I wasn’t firing the guy, but I should have. He’d probably quit once he realized his pay would be cut by working behind the bar.

“Oh.” It was silent on the other end, other than that word.

“I think what you mean to say is congrats, Mr. Marchetti, and welcome back,” I retorted. Man, it felt good to be an asshole again. I’d be remiss to say I didn’t miss barking orders around at people.

“Yes, sir, of course. Congratulations, sir. We will be looking forward to your return.”

With a roll of my eyes, I quickly shut the phone off and then spent the rest of the evening obsessing over ideas for revitalizing the club.

Just as the sun set, I heard my phone ring again.

“Pronto(Hello),” I answered, then looked to see who was on the line. Ricardo.

“Friday. 7 p.m. Dinner at the Ricci mansion,” his smooth voice demanded.

“Cazzo, ma va bene. A dopo. (Shit. Well, fine. See you later).” The last fucking thing I wanted to do was go play nice and get a verbal lashing for not going back to the club, but alas, here I was.

I glanced over at the clock that read 8 p.m. It was the exact time I’d left yesterday. I was a fucking simp at this point as I grabbed my tennis shoes and threw them on, along with some jeans and a cardigan.

I didn’t meticulously pick this outfit. And I most definitely hadn’t stared at the clock for the last three hours to make sure I didn’t miss this moment.

“Come on, Nutella,” I urged, heading outside.

The very thought of even the slim possibility that I could see Gianna again. Watch as her brown eyes lit up in the night sky or the way her hair blended in with the shadows. The way she looked so curious and talked so passionately…

The incredibly tiny chance that I might run into her tonight made my heart lurch in a way it hadn’t in years.

I walked down the path the same way I did yesterday. I kept going past the spot where I’d met her before, and when she wasn’t there, I felt something in my chest explode. A very familiar feeling of loss and sadness. The same type of feeling I often had when I thought of my late wife.

It was silly to think of it with a girl two decades younger than me, whom I had just met yesterday. Nonetheless, the feeling was there. I looked out at the darkness in the ocean. A familiar place of solitude and sadness.

I offered a quick glance at the dog before I turned on my heel and headed back to the house.

“Come on, Nutella. Let’s go home.” I gazed at the ocean before that wave of guilt washed over me.

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