IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

Dino Cavallone and Hibari Kyoya are slowly but surely getting closer and closer day by the day. How will this affect the silverette and his mission? Squalo is still facing the demons of his past.


Fly me to the Moon was long gone. Now, it had been replaced by a classic rock song, Have you ever seen the rain.

That song suited that old school styled restaurant more, Squalo thought as he sat in front of Vito. The old man had just finished a cup of coffee and was getting a refill, all the while idle chatting with the waitress (a young lady in her mid-twenties). He told her to leave the carafe.

Just like the younger silverette, Vito Giordano had swapped his three piece Dolce & Gabbana suit for a more casual look; dark and very classy thick-knit cardigan layered over a bright grey, light-weight wool sweater, and black trousers that ended with Santoni's ankle boots. At that moment, that old man barely looked like he was in his sixties anymore; had a stranger passed by that table and saw Vito and Squalo together, they would have never been able to tell the older male's age, at most they would have said the older male was barely older than Squalo.

"Voi, old man, I didn't come to the US to fucking drink coffee with senile geezers. Let's get to the point already." Squalo irreverently started the conversation.

"You don't have to hasten things." Still cheerful, Vito replied as he versed the fuming liquid in a cup for Squalo. "But first, let's talk. Like two old friends, like how we used to in the past. Do you remember, when you were just a small bambino, we would often eat here on Sundays. After all, that's what we are, friends, aren't we?"

"Oooh." Squalo sneered. "Even in those conditions? Old man, my Boss literally sent me here to fucking get anything I can get from your old ass."

Vito replied to Squalo's sneer with a colder, more sadistic one. "Can I blame him? That brat got balls. And the only thing in this world that make you get what you want in life is balls."

Squalo burst in laugh. "Well said, old man."

"I'm glad that made you laugh, but you'll have to tell me… Squalo." Vito paused. "Ah, I'm sorry. I'll never get used to that name-"

"Just fucking get used to it."

"Very well… Squalo. You have to tell me how you ended up working for that kid. (Vito literally spat that word 'kid') When you left, Sarah and you, it hadn't been very difficult for me to find out about your retreat. You guys knew I just couldn't let you run away like that, as if nothing had happened. Not in the situation we were in, twenty years ago. For Lord's sake, what was she even thinking… Well, something like that is nothing for a man like me. Even when she… even when that woman died. My men still could keep track about your whereabouts. But only for few years. But you… You just… disappeared off the map. Fortunately, by then, a lot of water has gone under the bridge. It was pointless to rub salt in the wound by running after you again. You had earned your freedom and I had more urgent troubles to deal with."

Vito Giordano had pronounced his tirade very slowly, with his voice and demeanor deadly serene. However, never once did that dark and ominous glow leave his dull grey eyes which had been constantly locking with Squalo's. His lips were barely moving when he was talking, and when he was done he simply cleared his throat, just like a politician after they're done haranguing the crowd.

The long haired man nonetheless wasn't impressed by such a sudden change of humor. He was living with some obnoxious, borderline psychopath Italian man. Squalo knew more than anyone how to address that kind of fella.

He leaned on the table, lips stretched wide in a half charming, half carnivorous grin.

"Old man, you think that I owed you anything?" Squalo replied with an unusually low tone that was mimicking Giordano's. "Was that really what your decrepit brain cells were telling you all that time? Voooi, you better not tell me that you called me only to tell you that, Giordano. I'll crack your fuckin' head wide-open in front of everybody in this fucking restaurant. The kids in the back may scream a little, and that guy at the bar you brought here with you (your chauffeur or just your assistant for all I care) may whine a little. And I may feel sorry for dirtying the old Freddy's floor. But I'll fuckin' crack your head wide-open."

Instead of taking the silver head's threat seriously, Giordano burst in laugh and enthusiastically patted the former's left shoulder. "Ha! Ha! That's some guts you got, son. At least that's something you're not lacking! Hey, did you hear that, Simone?" The old man yelled at the guy at the bar. "You've heard what he just said?"

"Yeah, I heard it, and I really don't like it at all." Vito's chauffeur (or was he this assistant) answered from the counter. "Mr. Giordano, I've already told you we should've come here with Mr. Genkishi. I've graduated from Columbia. I ain't no Chuck Norris."

"Listen to that coward there."

"Oh? So you actually came without any bodyguards."

"Yes, of course, it's just a dinner. We shouldn't even be talking about business. By the way, Giacobbe!"

"Yes, sir?" Giacobbe rushed from the kitchen.

"Come on, young man, where are your manners? Bring this gutsy boy's dinner. You haven't eaten yet, have you? Giacobbo is in charge of the kitchen now but you'll see it, it's the exact recipe as Freddy's. You won't even be able to tell the difference."

Outraged by how he got stopped in his previous murderous surge, Squalo was about to tell the old Giordano to fuck off with his dinner, but he didn't have the opportunity. The waitress had already both their meals carried to the table.

"Here you are." The young lady announced with a very noticeable New Jersey accent. "Baccala' campagnolo for you (she placed the bowl in front of Squalo), and mozzarella alla caprese for you, sir."

After putting down Vito's dish, the waitress quickly left. Squalo didn't appreciate that sudden change of pace. Was that motherfucker telling him to just sit there, at the same table as he who had just disrespected him, and eat some fucking fish? Goddamnit! The silverette was about to tell the older man to go suck an egg, but at that precise moment, the delicious scent from his plate hit his face… Okay, he was angry, but it was no reason to waste food, wasn't it?

Eyeing suspiciously at Giordano's jovial face, he took a spoonful of the baccala. It had indeed an exquisite taste. But more than that, it also had that peculiar wistful flavor in it, not just the "it tastes like nonna's food" flavor. For Squalo, that flavor was bringing him almost thirty years back in time, at the same place, his childhood with Sarah.

Vito Giordano wasn't eating. He would only take a sip from his cup, now and then. Squalo knew what it was about.

"Stomach ulcer, isn't it?"

Vito smiled. "Lately, the signs are becoming quite obvious. My doctor told me to not overdo it with work anymore. But you know how it is, don't you? You can't let people do as they please. If you're not 24/7 on their back, you'll never know when they're going to screw everything up until you get a call from your informants within the Federals to clean their mess ASAP."

Kindly remembering how useless his underlings are, Squalo couldn't help but sigh deeply. "I kind of know that."

"Oh, but I'm pretty glad you remember about my health problems. I don't think I already had them back then?..."

The silverette gritted his teeth. "I do not. Of course I've made some researches before coming here. Well, not exactly. I didn't even had to, it was already in the news. Two surgeries in the past five years, that doesn't sound very nice for your retirement, old man."

"Sure, that doesn't." The older man chuckled with genuine bonhomie. Now, all trace of Giordano's previous viciousness was gone. On the contrary, he seemed to truly enjoy that dinner with the long haired man. And Squalo was, as a matter of fact and no matter what his lover, coworkers and former students could tell, a very easy-going person: as long as you don't get him triggered, he'll quietly finish what he was doing and leave you alone.

And what he was doing at that moment was enjoying his meal; he hadn't have a quiet and copious meal like that one in a while. However, he suddenly paused as though that last remark by the head of SLW Ho. rang a bell deep in his unconscious self.

"At any rate, it's not like I remember much about what happened that long ago. I mean, there are things, places and people I do remember. But most of it is like a big blank space now. How to say it…" Squalo looked aside as he was trying to find the right way to explain himself. Finally, he gave up and, with a shrug, resumed his eating. "It's not like when adults don't remember things from when they were kids. It's just that I don't remember. One very clear memory. And two others completely blurred. A blank. That doctor from that time (the time when Sarah passed away) said that it was because of stress or some shit like that. But since I don't have difficulty forming new memories, it's not that bad." The silver haired man crudely stated before finishing his soup.

For a man like Squalo, all of that was just a detail, nothing that mattered in the process of defining who he was. The silver haired man knew perfectly who he was, regardless of what he was or what he could have been.

Nevertheless, the expression that could be seen on Vito's features when Squalo pronounced those words was indecipherable. Incomprehension, concern, uneasiness and sadness were shown in turn on the usually composed face. As well as a guilt. It wouldn't have surprised Squalo to learn that Vito already knew about that somehow peculiar medical condition of his. On the other hand, Squalo himself didn't give a damn about it.

'Now is my present.' The words he chanted like a mantra at his first meeting with Giordano were still echoing in his mind.

Yet, in spite of everything, things didn't feel quite right for the silverette. He was a proud man, no matter what might have happened in his past. Still, it wasn't as if he had never felt curious about it too, sometimes.

"Do you want me to tell you?" Out of the blue, Vito said, as though he could read the silverette's mind. "You said you don't have clear memories of you when you were a kid. But, you see, for men like us, nothing is granted. You can wake up tomorrow and lose everything: your money, your house, your loved ones (Squalo flinched a little)… But only one thing will last forever: that's your past. There's nothing sadder than forgetting where we come from."

Squalo eyed him curiously. "Voi, why would I do that? If you want me to sit here and listen to you rambling about old shit, I tell you-"

"They've found you and your mother's dead body in that shanty, ten days after she died. She didn't even have a proper sepulture. Please, Squalo, please. The least I can do is to honor her memory is… to tell you about Sarah. Let me tell you about how we got here. Please."

Vito Giordano suddenly looked very tired. It was more than obvious that what he was about to say would be a heavier cross to bear for him than for the younger man. At that point, Squalo didn't want to stop him anymore. What else could have he done? He listened to what Giordano had to say.

"I won't say that I'll be impartial in the way I tell this story. I won't ever try to be. I'll tell you how I saw things back then, from my own perspective. After that, you can conclude what you want. I'll just ask you to try and understand how we were, at that time, and that everything has never been totally black or white.

"Well, you'll be the only one to judge afterwards.

"Now where should I begin… Maybe I'll start with where she and her parents were living. They had a small business in Clinton, on the West side. You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Yes? It was bakery, Sarah's father's. So it was your grandfather's. I think it's not there anymore. It has been replaced by a gas station, if I'm not wrong.

"You certainly don't remember your grandparents anymore. You were so little when your grandfather passed away, and your grandmother… well I'll explain everything a little later. It's alright. You only have to know that they were very good people, a very hard-working Catanzarian man and his wife. You scarcely can find real men like him nowadays.

"I don't know exactly when they started their bakery business in NYC, but I know his father before him was already running this kind of business back in Italy. That was… before an unfortunate incident with a local 'family' put your grandpa's father out of business. That's when they left for here and started their own stuff. That was the 50s, 60s too; sons were not ashamed of having the same job as their fathers.

"A hard-working and God-fearing father, and an absolutely kind-hearted mother, that's how I'll always remember them. When I arrived here, I had nothing. Only a piece of paper with your grandpa's name on it. I was a distant relative of theirs, I don't even think I've ever met them before, yet they opened their arms wide open for me. They welcomed me as if I were their own son, me, a little runt from God only knew where. They let me stay in their house when I had nowhere else to go; they shared their meal with me when I was almost starving to death.

"Sarah was born and raised in that kind of family. She was a very pretty, bright and candid five years old. She had very long and silky hair, just like yours now. Ha! Ha!... I recall it now. People used to say that, at her age, you looked exactly like her. Her smile could brighten up the whole room, as though it had been blessed by divine hands. And her laugh… It was comparable to a choir of angel. She couldn't speak Italian and I didn't talk English, but it was as if we still could understand each other, with our souls."

At this point, Giordano leans on his chair. For some times, he just looks with empty eyes at the wall behind Squalo. Then he sighs deeply before resuming.

"The days I've spent with them were the most peaceful days in my life. However, I had been a fool. A complete fool. I was looking for a job. I couldn't keep on bothering the old man forever, and even if we didn't live in misery, I knew – yes, I knew – that we could have more, I could give more to that family. But back then, who would have hired me, eh?" Vito laughs. "People said that I had that 'evil eye' or something. They just didn't like my face. Well, I can't blame them for that. I looked quite miserable, back then. At times like that, there's only one answer for a young and healthy man who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty."

Vito pauses again, but this time, it's with an ironic smile stretching his lips.

"No need to tell you that your grandfather was totally against my joining the family. He threatened to kick me out. He eventually did. He wouldn't accept the money I gave him and forbid his wife to take anything from me as well. It couldn't be helped: his father before him lost everything because of the mafia; he didn't want anything to do with those people anymore.

"So I moved out, but I didn't want to cut ties with them, my lifesavers. I often took Sarah to school in the morning, or sometimes, when she was fighting with her old man, she'd give me a call. I'd take her to the movies, I'd buy her anything she wanted. In any case, when all of that happened, Sarah was still too young to understand why her father chased me out of their house. But I didn't tell her the reason, you understand? I didn't want to tell her that I was working for bad guys. But it's not like I could hide that from her forever. We live in a very small community: if the uncle of the son-in-law of my gardener's mistress got in jail, I'd hear about it at most three or four hours after.

"Rumors were going on in her neighborhood, in her school, that she was seen with some 'shady' guy after school, that that 'shady' guy was a member of the local family. At first, she didn't want to believe that the boy she grew up with was a cold-blooded killer. And you see, with time…" Vito sighs again. "Well, with time, you kind of get used to that sort of thing. You accept it as part of your daily life. In her eyes, nothing was different. I was still a friend, a brother. Although I couldn't tell anything to her dad. I didn't want to get that kind girl into trouble.

"We kept that lifestyle, and it was only few years later, in the middle of the 70s, that I finally became une persona perbene, a made man, as we say. Your grandfather still hated the guts of me, but at least, the daughter wouldn't be ashamed to walk with me in the street anymore. I had a brand new car, a house to my name, a tailored suit for important events. Yes, I was pretty proud of myself; I could look at myself in the mirror and thump my chest with satisfaction.

"By that time, your mother has graduated from high school. She was more beautiful than ever. Your grandpa had high hopes for her. He could already see her in Dartmouth, in Yale, Harvard… But money! Money was always an issue! I asked Sarah if she really wanted to do it. With that crystalline laugh of hers, she said she didn't mind it. That was more than enough to convince me. Like an idiot, I took all the cash I had in my house and rushed to her father's place and told the old man, 'Pops. I respect you more than my own father. Please let me repay my debt and use this (I shoved a bag full of banknotes under his nose, there were approximately ten thousand dollars in there. My savings for five years) to pay for Sarah's college.'

"If at first the old man looked quite astounded and annoyed at my coming to his shop, when he saw the bag of money, he snapped. He threw the bag on the floor and beat me out of his bakery. 'And don't you ever come near my daughter, rascal!' He yelled at me in the street before slamming the door. I went back home like a whipped dog.

"After that, I obeyed the old man. I didn't try to contact his daughter anymore. I was avoiding the places where she could go, I ignored her when she knocked at my door, and when she called I would just hung up without saying a word. The girl was devastated. I couldn't forgive myself making her go through all that shit. Never before in my life have I been so ashamed of myself, of my life choices: if I didn't choose that life but instead did some decent job, the old man would have be so proud of me! Sarah wouldn't be crying at my door! Things would have been so much easier. It went on and on and on for few weeks…"

"And then a night, it happened." Vito resumes, his hands laying flat on the table. "I was at home, fast asleep when I heard a loud knocking on my door. Altogether with woman's weeping. At first, I thought it was Sarah again. I was about to tell her to go back home, that a young girl shouldn't be out at that time. But it wasn't her, it was her mother, calling my name. I didn't even know how she got my address… Well, she was there, crying, I let her in before her sobbing would wake up the whole neighborhood. She was screaming and gabbling incoherent things. She was visibly extremely mad about something, but when I asked her what the problem was, if anything had happened to Sarah or to the old man, her eyes would cast me a glare (just like yours, her eyes are exactly like yours) and tell me, 'Everything is your fault! It's your fault!' That woman who had never raised her voice, always so kind, so simple, that woman was yelling at me, cursing me… by dint of pleading I finally tore answers from her mouth…"

For the nth time, Vito is silent. However, his appearance is gloomier than earlier. He stares quietly at Squalo, then at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat. He has the same expression as an adult who is about to tell something that may seem too inappropriate to a child. Vito Giordano remains silent for some time, his body immobile apart his heaving chest.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I think it's getting late, Squalo." Finally, Vito pronounces. "This story is getting too long. Yes, I know I was the one who wanted to tell you this story, but it's not…. Not today, not tonight… Maybe next time we meet… Yes, next time I see you, I'll tell you the rest. But for tonight, that's all I could tell you. Simone, I'm going home now."

After bidding an unexpectedly fast good night to the silverette and the people in the kitchen, Vito gets up and leaves the restaurant, followed by his assistant.

He hasn't touched his salad.

TBC