Chapter 14 - SIX YEARS
Prison did not make Dante Romano gentle.
But it made him patient.
The first year, he fought twice.
The second year, once.
After that, not at all.
He worked in the library.
Read books he had laughed at as a younger man.
History.
Psychology.
Business.
Parenting.
Leo teased him about the last category.
“You reading instructions now?”
“Apparently I needed them.”
Every Sunday they talked.
Sometimes five minutes.
Sometimes an hour.
Leo told him about school.
Basketball.
Girls.
Teachers.
A kid named Ryan who copied homework.
A science fair disaster involving baking soda and a smoke alarm.
Dante told Leo about prison life without pretending it was interesting.
Marco brought Leo to visit once a month.
Marco had avoided prison through his cooperation and because his involvement had been far smaller than Dante’s.
He opened a legitimate construction company.
“No envelopes under the table?” Dante asked him.
“Not even coupons.”
“Proud of you.”
“Shut up.”
Salvatore received twelve years.
He and Dante never spoke again.
Victor Hale was sentenced to life.
Javier Morales was buried without ceremony.
Dante paid for the grave anyway.
He never told Leo.
On the fourth anniversary of Elena’s death, Leo asked a question during a visit.
“Do you forgive Javier?”
Dante leaned back.
“No.”
Leo nodded.
“Do you hate him?”
Dante thought about it.
“Not every day.”
“That’s weird.”
“Getting older is weird.”
“I’m fourteen.”
“Exactly.”
Leo looked almost exactly like Elena around the eyes now.
It hurt.
But differently.
Not like a wound.
More like a scar you touch sometimes to remember what happened.
“You getting out next month?” Leo asked.
Dante nodded.
Good behavior and cooperation had reduced the sentence.
Six years and two months.
Leo smiled.
“I passed my driving test.”
Dante’s face dropped.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can go back to crime.”
Leo laughed.
Dante hadn’t heard that laugh in person for months.
He held onto it.
Release day came on a cold Tuesday morning.
Dante walked through the prison gate carrying one cardboard box.
Clothes.
Letters.
Photographs.
Elena’s old recorder.
Detective Cole had returned it after the trials ended.
A black pickup waited across the road.
Marco leaned against it.
“You look old.”
Dante hugged him.
“You look fat.”
“Successful people eat lunch.”
“Where’s Leo?”
Marco smiled.
“Home.”
Dante frowned.
“He couldn’t come?”
“He wanted to do something.”
The drive took forty minutes.
Dante recognized the neighborhood.
Then the street.
Then the iron gates.
He stared.
“You kept the house?”
Marco shook his head.
“Sold the big one.”
The truck turned toward a smaller property.
Not a mansion.
A normal two-story house.
White siding.
A garage.
A basketball hoop.
Dante stepped out.
The front door opened.
Leo walked onto the porch.
Fourteen years old.
Almost as tall as Dante.
For a second, neither moved.
Then Leo ran.
Dante caught him.
The cardboard box fell.
Dante held his son so tightly Leo laughed.
“Can’t breathe.”
Dante immediately released him.
Leo grinned.
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
Marco laughed behind them.
Dante grabbed Leo again.
“Look at you.”
“You got gray hair.”
“You caused that.”
“I was eight.”
“You were difficult early.”
Leo smiled.
Then his expression softened.
“I missed you.”
Dante nodded.
“Every day.”
Leo picked up the fallen box.
“What’s that?”
“Stuff.”
He saw the recorder.
His smile faded.
“You kept it.”
“Yeah.”
Leo touched the scratched metal.
Then looked toward the backyard.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“I wanna show you something.”
They walked around the house.
Dante stopped.
White roses filled the garden.
Dozens.
Elena’s favorite.
In the middle stood the ceramic frog from the old shed.
Dante stared at it.
Leo shoved his hands in his pockets.
“I saved it before they sold the place.”
Dante couldn’t speak.
Leo continued.
“I thought Mom would like the roses.”
Dante’s eyes burned.
“She would.”
A voice came from the neighboring yard.
“Hey, freak.”
Leo stiffened.
A boy about sixteen stood behind the fence with two friends.
Dante’s instincts woke immediately.
Cold.
Fast.
Old.
The boy pointed at Leo.
“Your criminal dad finally home?”
Dante started forward.
Leo grabbed his arm.
“Dad.”
The neighbor laughed.
“What’s he gonna do? Kill me?”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
Leo stepped toward the fence.
Dante watched.
This was the moment.
The kind of moment where fathers hand their sons either poison or medicine.
He waited.
Leo looked at the boy.
“You done?”
The boy smirked.
“Your family’s trash.”
Leo took one more step.
For an instant Dante saw himself at fourteen.
Ready to swing.
Ready to hurt.
Instead Leo said, “Maybe.”
The bully frowned.
Leo continued.
“But my dad did his time.”
He pointed toward the street.
“Yours is screaming at your mom again. Maybe worry about your own house.”
One of the other boys laughed.
The bully’s face went red.
He shoved the gate open.
“You wanna say that again?”
Dante moved.
Leo held up a hand.
“I got it.”
The older boy stepped close.
Leo didn’t flinch.
“Go home, Tyler.”
“Make me.”
Leo smiled.
“No.”
Tyler looked confused.
Leo turned his back and walked away.
Dante stared.
Tyler shouted something obscene.
Leo kept walking.
Dante followed him.
“That’s it?”
Leo shrugged.
“What?”
“He insulted your mother.”
“Yeah.”
“Your father.”
“Yeah.”
“And you walked away?”
Leo looked at him.
“You taught me fear.”
Dante went still.
May you like
Leo smiled slightly.
“Mom taught me strength.”
