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She nods.
I sigh. “I’ll be back. I just have a bit of business to handle.”
She groans in her sleep, and she turns to the side. I turn on the air conditioning, and I glance at her one last time before I step out to meet Donatello.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” I say, looking down at the cigarette and bottle of liquor.
“Oh, you too,” he says, putting the cigarette in his mouth. I snatch it away from him.
“Downstairs,” I order.
“You go first,” I say as we sit at the dining table.
Donatello sighs. “What exactly do I need to explain?”
I inhale. “You have to pick a side, Donatello.”
He sighs. “I’m not eighteen anymore. What are you, my dad?”
He meets my gaze and looks away. “I didn’t mean it that way—look, it’s been tough running the club lately.”
“Why didn’t you ask for some help?”
“I didn’t want to look incompetent,” he mumbles.
“I wouldn’t have let you run the club if I thought that you couldn’t do it. There is nothing wrong with asking for some help.”
He inhales. “Yeah—you’re right, I’m sorry.”
I stand up and snatch the bottle of vodka from him.
“No more drinking for the next couple of months.”
“Oh, c’mon.”
“If I see a bottle in your hands for the next couple of weeks. I’ll crack your jaw.”
“Sheesh, fine, man. You don’t have to add threats to the mix.”
I return the bottle to the bar across from us.
“It’s your turn now. Why are you out this late—with that woman.”
For a minute, I am lost in the recollection of the time we had spent together.
I clear my throat.
“We were—you know—talking.”
He gasps. “You’ve turned into an idiot. This is worse than I thought.”
I sit down and inhale.
“Can I talk to you, one man to the other?” I ask.
He stares at me, shaking his head.
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
