Forty-five: Cesare Luna

Forty-five:

Cesare Luna

“Why are we doing this again?” Marco must have thought that I was crazy. We were standing on the side of the road, about a mile from where I thought my family safe house was. A memory had come to me while we were driving there. It was Luna tradition that we had to fire a gun before we arrived at the safehouse. It was a way to let people know that we weren’t a threat.

“Because, Luna tradition dictates it.”

“You forgot how to use a fork at breakfast this morning,” Marco said, “but you can remember this?”

“I have a concussion from being almost killed,” I reminded him, “I still remember the important things. I can’t remember the pin number to my credit card, but I---for instance----remembered that I’m not married to Emmilia.”

Marco frowned at me. “What?”

I looked at the side of the road that led up to the big, modern style mansion that was up on the hill, guarded by a gate. “I was going to marry Emmilia. We weren’t able to get married before my brother went psycho