I Love You, Salvatore

by Marita A. Hansen

  I pushed through the kitchen door. The room was a mixture of state of the art technology and old-fashioned cookware: a stainless steel and ceramic heaven. Long-stemmed glassware hung upside down over a small island, which was covered with a variety of vegetables that had been homegrown in the large gardens out the back of the property.

  The old cook stopped chopping tomatoes and rushed over to me, directing me to sit down. “You shouldn’t be walking around after the operation, Signora,” she said.

  I settled on the stool she’d pulled out, knowing she was right. “I want some food and drink for Salvatore. Something I can carry to him.”

  “I can take food to him, Signora.”

  “No, I want to do it.”

  She nodded and turned to the fridge, busying herself with getting Salvatore’s food prepared. Once she was finished, she placed it all in a cooler bag with two bottles of water, as though we were going on a picnic.

  She held it out for me to take. “It’s all packaged so you don’t have to balance anything.”

  I pushed up and took the bag, thanking her.

  She smiled at me sadly. “If I can do anything else, just say and it will happen.”

  “Grazie.” I left, heading back to Salvatore, trying not to show how much pain carrying the bag was causing me. My incision was still tender, the doctor telling me it would take a while to heal fully.

  Again, people asked if they could help or if I was all right. The house had so many people under its roof that it felt like I was living in a small community.

  I entered our room, closing the door behind me. Salvatore was still sleeping. I laid the bag on my bedside cabinet and opened it up, finding containers of crackers, cheese, and fruit, again making me think of a picnic.

  I put it all aside, and turned to Salvatore. He had on pajama bottoms and nothing else. His hair was a mess and despite all the sleep he’d had, dark rings shadowed his eyes. It looked like he’d lost weight too. He also hadn’t shaved in weeks, his beard now thick. He was still muscular and beautiful to look at, but so sad, because I knew once he opened his eyes, his baby blues would show the grief embedded in his heart. I almost didn’t wake him because of it, but he had to eat.

  I prodded his arm. “Salvatore.” He moaned, but didn’t wake. I lay down next to him and kissed his cheek. “Tesoro,” I said, calling him a treasure, “wake up.”

  He opened his eyes, appearing half-asleep. Despite his beard, he looked so young in that moment. He was twenty-one now, a fully-grown male. But his eyes, his expression – it reminded me of when he was sixteen … so sweet.

  I brushed his hair off his forehead. “I got us some food.”

  Realization crossed his eyes. He pushed up fast and looked at the cabinets, stopping once he saw the bag. His gaze returned to me. “Did you leave the room?”

  I nodded. “To get you some food.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that. Someone else could’ve brought it up, or you could’ve woken me to do it.” He placed a hand on my stomach. “The doctor said you have to take things easy.”

  “I’m fine, and he did say it’s important for me to walk around.” I turned to one of the containers and opened it. The cook had layered the crackers with cheese and tomato. I placed the container on the bed and picked up a cracker, holding it out for Salvatore to eat. “I want to feed you.”

  He stared at me, looking like he didn’t understand what I was saying.

  “Let me feed you.”

  He took the cracker out of my hand. “No, I will feed you.” With his other hand, he propped the pillows up behind me. “Move back.”

  I did, liking how he was fussing over me. He directed the cracker to my mouth. I took a bite, chewing on it as Salvatore watched me eat. Once I’d finished it, he picked up another one.

  “That one’s yours,” I said, taking it out of his hand. I held it to his mouth.

  Not taking his eyes off me, he bit into it, my man stilling me.

  Amore.

  Love.

  That was all I could think of as I looked into his eyes. There was so much passion in them. I knew in that moment I could get through this tragedy and would eventually find my smile again…

  Because of Salvatore.

  1999 - 2004

  Though, more tears flowed. I lost another child in December of 1999 and had a miscarriage in September of 2000. I was examined by many doctors, the last one telling me why he thought I’d miscarried and had two stillborn children: Salvatore and I weren’t physically compatible. I’d gotten so mad with the doctor that I’d shouted that he was an idiot, and that there was no one more compatible than Salvatore and I. Sì, I was tiny and Salvatore was incredibly tall, but we fitted together so well that the doctor and all biology were the wrong ones.

  Regardless, losing three children still took a toll on both my mind and body. I started taking the contraceptive pill, because I couldn’t face losing another child. And I most definitely didn’t want Salvatore to be sterilized. I’d yelled at him when he’d suggested it, making him promise he wouldn’t get it done. After that, we went back to pretending that not having children wasn’t affecting our relationship. But it was, because I no longer felt good enough for him, my inability to carry a child causing me to fall into depression. He tried to help me, but I didn’t let him, always muttering, “I’m fine” and “Stop worrying” or if he persisted I would yell at him to leave me alone. He never bit back ... until his friend’s wedding the following year.

  I hadn’t wanted to go, but knew it was important to Salvatore. But as soon as I sat down in the pew a few rows from the altar, I knew I’d made a mistake. In front of me, a little girl pushed up, standing in her seat. She had a cherubic face and a head full of blonde curls. She would’ve been around the age of our first child if our angel had lived. It took all of my self-control not to burst into tears while she giggled and waved at me. Her mother grabbed her, sitting her on her lap as the bride walked down the aisle. Throughout the wedding ceremony, I willed myself not to look at the little girl, but my eyes kept getting drawn to her. With every look, my grief built up, threatening to spill over.

  As soon as the ceremony had finished, I shot out of the church, not waiting for Salvatore. He caught up with me just as I got to our car, the driver holding the door open for me.

  Salvatore grabbed my arm. “What are you doing, Rosa?”

  “Leaving.” I yanked free and climbed into the back seat, barely holding it together.

  He poked his head inside the car. “But we have the reception to go to.”

  “The only place I’m going is home!”

  “Fine!” He jerked his head out of the car and snapped at the driver to wait, then disappeared.

  A few minutes later, he returned, climbing in next to me. “I told Eduardo and his bride you’re ill,” he said. “It was the only way to explain why you rudely barged past everyone. Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t want to come.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  I turned to face the door.

  “Rosa, look at me.”

  I remained staring at the door. He took a hold of my chin, but I jerked away from him.

  “What has gotten into you lately?” he snapped.

  I didn’t reply, not knowing how to vocalize my thoughts without bursting into tears. The car engine started, breaking the uncomfortable silence. The driver pulled out of the parking spot and headed onto the road.

  “Are you’re regretting marrying me?” Salvatore asked.

  “No. Please, just drop it?”

  “Not this time. You’ve been moody lately and I want to know why.”

  I remained silent.

  “Rosa! Stop ignoring me. I can’t fix the problem if you don’t talk to me.”

  I spun around in my seat. “You can’t fix this!” I yelled, hitting my stomach.

  He jolted as though I’d hit him instead. His eyes moved to my stomach, then back to my face, understanding now coloring his ex
pression.

  “It was that little girl in front of us,” I choked out, unable to stop my tears. “She looked like how I’d imagined our angel would.”

  “Oh, Rosa.” He reached out, pulling me to his chest.

  “I want a baby so badly,” I cried.

  “I know you do.” He kissed my head. “What about adoption?”

  “No one will let us adopt. You’re mafia, we’re mafia.”

  “I could—”

  I jerked back. “No! You can’t take someone’s child.”

  He blinked at me, appearing stunned. “I was just going to suggest strong-arming an adoption agency. Why would you even think I would steal someone’s child?”

  Guilt swamped me, my upset emotions clouding my judgment. “I’m sorry, it’s just ... your father has slaves and I just thought—”

  “—wrong. You should know me better, and my father’s slaves are adults.”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking logically.”

  He reached out, wiping my cheeks. “No, I’m sorry,” he said, looking ashamed. “The fact there are still slaves in our household is horrendous.”

  I nodded. Although I never saw them, I knew they were there. They lived in a section of the house where only the men and older boys were allowed in. Salvatore had told me there were three women, all of them pleasure slaves. One taught the older boys about sex, another serviced the soldiers, while the last one belonged to Salvatore’s father.

  He grimaced. “When I was younger I never questioned having slaves, now I find it repulsive.” He went quiet for a moment, a frown darkening his brow.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked.

  “Whether God is punishing us for my sins.”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong. The slaves are your father’s doing, and you’ve voiced your opinion over them. He just refuses to listen.”

  “It’s not just the slaves; it’s everything about how I live my life.” He looked down at his hands. “I’m not a good man, Rosa.”

  “Sì, you are.”

  He turned his head towards me. “Only in your eyes, cara. But you’re a good person. You deserve happiness, and I want to give it to you. So, I will make sure the adoption agency helps us, as long as that’s what you want.”

  “It is,” I said, needing to share a little life with him.

  The car stopped. “We’re home, Signore e Signora,” the driver said.

  Salvatore kissed my head. “I will start the adoption process tomorrow.”

  He pushed out of the car, holding the door open for me. I climbed out after him, taking hold of his hand as he extended it. We headed inside the house, stopping in our tracks at the sound of wailing. Salvatore let go of my hand and rushed into the lounge. I followed him, stunned by the sight before me. On the floor, his mother was wailing her heart out, the agony on her face sending chills across my flesh. Anna had her arms wrapped around her, while Brando was holding Bella, the girl screaming hysterically. My eyes shot to Salvatore’s father, who was shouting at his soldiers, his face distraught.

  Salvatore headed for him. “What happened?”

  The Don turned to his son, his eyes wide with fear. “Alessandro’s been kidnapped.”

  ***

  The month Alessandro was gone, a dark cloud settled over the family, everyone, including the servants, mourning. But it wasn’t just sorrow permeating the walls, anger battered them as well. Salvatore’s mother was constantly screaming at his father to pay the ransom, while the Don refused, saying it would put the rest of the family in danger of being kidnapped if he did. Instead, he sent out soldiers day and night to search for Alessandro. He often went with them, and every time he returned without his son, the sorrow in his eyes grew.

  One day a phone call came, telling us that Alessandro had been found and taken to the hospital. A homeless person had come across Alessandro while shifting through a large bin. Salvatore’s baby brother had been thrown away as though he was garbage, not a beautiful, sweet young boy of fourteen.

  Salvatore and I went to visit him a few days before Christmas. He was in a coma and hooked up to wires, the boy painfully thin. His back was completely bandaged. We’d learned that the kidnappers had carved a cruel message into it, one that said he was so worthless that even his father didn’t want him.

  Salvatore sat down next to his brother and took a hold of Alessandro’s hand, kissing the back of it. A single tear dropped onto Alessandro’s skin.

  “How can men be so cruel?” he said. “He’s just a child.”

  “They have no heart or soul.”

  He turned his watery gaze on me. “They not only hurt Alessandro, they killed his girlfriend and her parents. No amount of money is worth that. I’ve killed, but only in defense of myself and my famiglia, never for money and never innocents. There is too much evil in this world.”

  I nodded.

  He continued, “Which is why we won’t adopt.”

  I went still. “What?”

  “If we bring a child into our home, this could happen to them too. Do you truly want to bring that upon a child?”

  “Just because Alessandro—”

  “No!” he snapped, now looking angry. “Alessandro isn’t my only brother who’s been hurt. Brando was beaten to within an inch of his life at the age of seventeen, while people have tried to kill Ricardo numerous times because he’s the heir. Also, I almost died from a car bomb, not to mention all the other times my life has been threatened. I’ve had to kill or be killed too many times. If we adopt a child, they will be at risk too. Do you really want that?”

  “I … I want a child, but…” I breathed out, my eyes going to Alessandro, the boy looking so small and helpless, “but we can’t, can we?”

  Salvatore shook his head. “I couldn’t bring an innocent into this life, not even for you, Rosa. It would be selfish and wrong to do so.”

  “I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t want to. But I had chosen to marry into the mafia—and I had to live with the consequences.

  ***

  Salvatore visited his brother every day, and every second Alessandro was in a coma, my husband’s eyes lost some of their brightness, his sorrow permeating his soul. And when Alessandro finally woke, the celebration didn’t last long. As a result of the beating he’d received, Alessandro had suffered a stroke. For a long time, he couldn’t talk properly. His words were slurred and hard to understand. And when he finally returned home from the hospital, he would avoid people, unable to look them in the eye.

  A couple of years after he was kidnapped, Ricardo found one of the kidnappers. Salvatore had burst through the front door, shouting at everyone to get to their rooms. Ricardo entered next, dragging Alessandro’s kidnapper inside, his face distorted with rage. I’d been watching a movie with Anna at the time. We’d gotten up, startled by Salvatore’s shouts and the kidnapper’s cries.

  Salvatore rushed towards us, yelling: “Get to your rooms. Now!”

  His mother appeared through a doorway on our right. Realization colored her face. I could tell she knew what was going to happen. She went for Ricardo, screaming, “Not in the house!”

  Anna grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the staircase. Behind us, I could hear the kidnapper’s terrified yells as Ricardo dragged him through the lounge, heading for the back door. Then his yells stopped all of a sudden. I glanced over the balustrade as I ascended the staircase. Ricardo was punching the kidnapper, the man unsuccessfully trying to get away. Although the kidnapper wasn’t small, Ricardo still towered over him, Salvatore’s brother packed with muscle and brutality.

  His mother continued to scream at him, trying to get Ricardo to stop. Salvatore grabbed her, lifting her off her feet. She struggled against him as he carried her out of the room.

  Unable to handle watching the sickening scene below, I resumed heading up the stairs, stopping as Alessandro appeared. He started descending the staircase, probably curious over the commotion.

  I grabbed his arm. “Go
back to your room,” I said.

  But it was too late; he’d seen the kidnapper. His face went ashen, fear coloring his violet eyes. That was when Ricardo glanced up at him. Something seemed to pass between them, an acknowledgement that Ricardo had found the correct man. Then all hell broke loose. Right there in the lounge, without caring who was watching, Ricardo lost his mind. He started beating the kidnapper in the most violent of rages I’d ever seen. His fists were moving so fast and hard that the man’s face caved in. Even after the kidnapper’s screams had died down, Ricardo continued to beat him. Blood colored his fists and soaked into the carpet, the scene horrifying.

  The Don rushed out of the office passage with Salvatore. Even though Don Santini and Salvatore were big men, they struggled to pull Ricardo off the dead kidnapper. It was as though Ricardo had inhuman strength, his rage turning him into a monster. They had to literally rip him away. It was at that point that I knew Ricardo wasn’t mentally stable. The kidnapper may have deserved punishment, but Ricardo’s level of violence was beyond extreme. And for him to do it in front of Alessandro, a traumatized sixteen-year-old boy, and to not stop even after the kidnapper was obviously dead—it shocked me beyond words.

  After that, Alessandro went into his shell even more. He became obsessed with bodybuilding. I’d found him asleep on a mat in the gym once. The boy had worn himself out so much from exercise he couldn’t even walk back to his room. I’d laid a blanket over him, knowing I’d made the right decision not to adopt, because there was no way I would ever want a child to go through what Alessandro had suffered.

  But God had a different plan for me and Salvatore.

  Part 3

  The Final Years

  2005 - 2009

  For the following years we enjoyed being together, our marriage a happy one. Of course, we had problems like any other couple. Sometimes I would get mad when he worked too long, while other times I would get scared because his work was so dangerous. And every so often I would get sad because we couldn’t have children. It got worse again after one of Salvatore’s brothers became a father in 2006. Since we lived in the same house, I watched the boy grow before my eyes. It didn’t help when I saw Salvatore every so often looking at his nephew with sadness. I’d questioned him over it once, knowing he wanted a son of his own. He admitted to it, but said it wasn’t meant to be.