Chapter 18
Marco was released on a Tuesday.
He was thinner than I had ever seen him. Pale. Weak. He needed a wheelchair to get around.
Rose was there to pick him up.
She had arranged for him to stay with her. Her apartment was small, but it was home. And she would take care of him.
We all went to see him that first day.
Marco was sitting in a chair by the window, looking out at the street.
He looked up when we came in.
His eyes were tired, but they lit up when he saw Leo.
"Hi, son," he said. His voice was weak.
"Hi, Dad," Leo said. He walked over and hugged his father carefully.
Marco closed his eyes, holding onto his son like he was afraid to let go.
Then he looked at me and my brothers.
"Thank you," he said. "For not objecting. For letting me come home. I know I don't deserve it."
Tony spoke for all of us.
"We didn't do it for you," he said. "We did it for Leo. And for Rose. And because it's the right thing to do."
Marco nodded.
"I understand," he said. "And I'm grateful anyway."
The next few months were difficult.
Marco's health declined rapidly.
He spent most of his days sleeping. When he was awake, he was often in pain.
But he was also at peace.
He and Leo spent as much time together as possible.
Marco would tell Leo stories about his own childhood. About the good times he had with our father. About the lessons he had learned—both the hard way and the easy way.
He would tell Leo to be a good man. To be kind. To be strong. To never make the same mistakes he had made.
"Your uncles—your Donnelly uncles—they're good men," he told Leo one day. "Learn from them. Be like them. They'll take care of you. They'll teach you how to be a man."
He looked at me.
"Especially Michael," he said. "He's going to be a good father to you. You're lucky to have him."
I felt tears in my eyes.
I had never expected to hear Marco Rinaldi say something like that.
One day, Marco asked to speak to me and my brothers alone.
We went to his apartment.
He was sitting in his chair, looking out the window.
"I don't have much time," he said. "I can feel it."
He turned to look at us.
"I need to ask you something," he said. "Something important."
"What is it?" Tony asked.
"Take care of them," he said. "Sarah and Leo. And my mother. Make sure they're okay. Make sure they're happy. Make sure Leo grows up to be a good man. A better man than I was."
He looked at each of us.
"You've already done so much," he said. "You saved their lives. You gave them a home. You gave them love. And I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."
He paused, breathing heavily.
"I know I can never make up for what I did to your father," he said. "But I hope that by asking this, by trusting you with the people I love most in the world... I hope that's a start."
Tony nodded.
"We'll take care of them," he said. "You have our word."
Marco smiled—a small, tired smile.
"Thank you," he said.
He reached into a drawer beside his chair and pulled out a small box.
He handed it to Tony.
"This is for you boys," he said. "I found it after... after your father died. It was in his desk. I kept it. I didn't know what to do with it. But I think you should have it now."
Tony opened the box.
Inside was a watch.
Our father's watch.
The one he had worn every day. The one we thought was lost forever.
Tony held it in his hands, tears in his eyes.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Marco nodded.
"He would have wanted you to have it," he said.
We left that day, all of us quiet.
All of us thinking about the complicated, flawed, human man who was dying in that apartment.
May you like
And about the complicated, flawed, human man who had been our father.
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