Page 7 of Third Degree

There was just one piece missing. I walked over to where a large portrait of Bea and me hung over the fireplace in the living room. A large fire was roaring beneath the hearth, reminding me of the warmth of our love.

It was a photo of us on our wedding day.

We were so young and in love back then. We thought we were boundless and could somehow live a life away from crime.

My parents both died in their thirties from an attack on the family. While this seemed like a sad story that I should feel terrible about saying aloud, it was normal in our culture that people only lived into their forties or fifties before some disgruntled gangster or cousin took them out.

With Bea, she didn’t die at the hands of an attack from our enemy. No, she had to die of breast cancer that metastasized to her brain. She didn’t suffer for long, but it was hard because I felt so out of control. I was desperate to find an answer for her, but I just couldn’t seem to help her except to ease her pain.

I walked closer to the photo, and my lip twitched when I saw Bea’s swollen belly. She was already pregnant with Julian but looked so happy in her oversized and ill-fitted wedding dress.

“Why did you have to go so soon, Bea? Ti amo, amore. (I love you, love).”

Later that night, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon when Nutella jumped on top of me as I was flipping through old photos of Bea and I together.

“Che cosa voui? (What do you want?)” I asked the dog while trying to push her off my lap.

Instead, she kept pawing at my knee and whining.

“Caring for a dog is harder in some ways than raising children.” I stared at her for a moment before getting off the couch to grab her leash with a sigh.

My wife’s favorite snack when she was pregnant with both boys was Nutella and bananas. When I saw the curly-haired little mutt that day, I knew, in homage to my late wife, that the dog’s name would be Nutella.

We walked out the back of the house, where I made sure to double-check this time that all doors were locked because I had no desire for a repeat visitor tonight; I wasn’t in the mood.

As dusk settled in, I made my way along the winding path that led to the beach, Nutella in tow. The evening air enveloped me, carrying a sense of tranquility tinged with melancholy. With each step, I felt both the weight of memories and emotions accompanying me on this journey.

Nutella trotted at my side, her leash held gently in my hand. Together, we ventured past the row of small houses that lined the street, their quaint façades illuminated by warm, flickering lights.

The scene was reminiscent of a painting, a picturesque tableau that captured the essence of a peaceful coastal town.

The path meandered through fields adorned with tall grass that danced and swayed gracefully in the whimsical wind. Their golden hues caught the last of the sun’s dying rays, casting long shadows across the landscape. Nature seemed to echo the bittersweetness, reflecting the beauty that could be found even in moments of sorrow.

Finally, we made it to the shore. The ocean stretched out before us, its powerful waves crashing against the sand. The salty breeze brought memories of my late wife, Bea, who used to bring our kids here when they were little.

It was also where I had scattered her ashes a year ago on the anniversary of her death.

The ocean stirred up a mix of emotions inside me. It reminded me of Bea’s love for our family and the good times we shared, but it also intensified the ache of her absence. I realized I needed to move on from this constant longing. I wasn’t just a grieving widower; I was a badass club owner, capable of intimidating anyone without breaking a sweat.

It was fucking embarrassing how lonely and pathetic I had become since Bea. I just wanted to find a way out of this grief.

In that moment, the ocean’s vastness brought me solace, as if it held the answers to my torment. The beach became a sacred space of remembrance, where Bea’s laughter and the joy of our children echoed in the crashing waves.

Suddenly, a dog’s bark shattered the silence, snapping me back to reality. Reluctantly, I followed Nutella’s pull, heading toward the right side of the beach. There, a narrow path wound through the nearby streets.

Usually, I sought solitude by going left, where modest houses offered a peaceful charm. But tonight, Nutella insisted on going right, leading me toward lavish mansions and bustling vacation rentals. I let out an exasperated sigh and begrudgingly followed her enthusiastic lead.

“A mind of your own,” I muttered.

As I reluctantly followed the dog down the unfamiliar path, a glimmer of realization flickered within me.

Perhaps this unexpected detour was more than a mere inconvenience; it could be an opportunity for a fresh start. It was time to loosen those chains, reclaim the fragments of my shattered existence, and weave them into a new tapestry.

“Hey.” A younger lady was walking across the path to the beach, where a group of younger kids were waiting. “I know you.”

“Oh?” I replied as the girl leaned down to pet Nutella on the head.

“Yeah. You work at one of our favorite clubs in Sac.”

---