Stopping before the wooden door, I close my eyes for a brief second, and then knock. “Enter.” The time has come. Standing next to his desk is not the same man I last saw. The Salvatore Ricci I know is tall and broad-shouldered, with his thick hair combed back, and sharp, piercing black eyes. This man is gaunt. His tailored suit nearly hangs off his frame. And his eyes have dulled and appear almost lifeless. “Hello, Father.” “Emilio.” This is not the larger-than-life king from my childhood. The one who rules an entire syndicate. I stand, awkwardly, unsure how to greet this new man. We’ve never
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