causalities

**Savannah**

My heart feels to big for my chest. It beats against my rib cage like a hammer. I watch him go to fifty families. They know him. He knows them.

I guess because I usually don't even notice the actually Famiglia, I kinda font think about it. And I thought he didn't care much either.

But he talks to every family. He smiles for the children. Usually, I notice he sends them away. I smile. It's considerate. Now, their mother can tell them how she sees fit.

He knows their names. Knows how old the kids are, knows their personality.

It never occurred to me that he has probably done this before.

Some of the smaller children wails and cry. He hugs them. He'll hold them. And usually he'll something that will make them smile.

Then there was only family left a large one. They look like they knew. One of the woman hit him over and over, crying and yelling. He just let's her, and apologizes.

Then there's me. He looks at me and he musters one of those I'm so tired smiles and hugs me to his chest.

I walk us to our bedroom. His arms tighten around me, even when we get into the room. But when I shut the door behind us he drops to his knees in front of me.

"Fifty. I lost fifty brothers. Uncles, Sons, Cousins, Best Friends, Husbands, Fathers for nothing."

I run my hand through his hair not knowing what else to do.

"I can't keep doing this, Savannah. It's not worth it. In this game the more violent the less humane you are, the better."

"Do you know that some of the children, and women were taken a few days ago? Thirty children, fourth women. I had to get them, Savannah. I couldn't leave them there."

"But you know what's worse?"

I look in his eyes. They look dead now. This is hurting him more than he'll show.

"The ones who come home. The children and women that we rescue." He shakes his head.

“A few days with those men and they will never be the same. Ever. Even if I bring them home, all I bring is a shell. Most of them kill themselves in the first week."

He slumps against me,

"Now what do I do Savannah? Because having honor isn't working?"

He looks at me, and I swallow when I realize he wants an answer?

"I think," I start carefully, running my fingers through dark hair. "That losing your honor may be necessary. Just don't lose your humanity."

I look at his brown eyes. And tell him truth. "You'll never get it back."

He tightens his grip around my legs his face against my belly.

"Grazie, gattina mia. Ancora,"

(Thank you, my kitten. Now,)

My eyes widen. I open the door and yell for a doctor just as he passes out on the floor.

I open the door and yell for a doctor just as he passes out on the floor

"How is that possible?"

The doctor raised his bushy eyebrows. "Because he's been shot more times than this."

"Io sono bene, gattina. Ancora, veni qui e bacami."

(I'm fine, Kitten. Now, come here and kiss me.)

I kissed his forehead, then his nose; then his lips.

"You need to get better."

"Ma, Io sono bene?"

(But I am fine?)

"Sleep."

He patted the small little space on the medic bed. I roll my eyes, and carefully climb beside him.

He yanked me to him. I whimper at the thought of his IV, being yanked out.

"Be careful! I'm right here. I can't get any closer."

His hooded eyes lock on mine.

"Mio moglie è bellisima."

(My wife is beautiful.)

The. He gives me this adorable dopey grin and I can't help but hug him, and kiss him again.

"I love you, dope."

His eyes widen, but the Morphine pulls him back into sleep.

Just as well. As soon as I said it, I knew it was true. I want him to be in health when I tell him.

Or at least conscious.

I got my chance the next day

I got my chance the next day. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he said it was his bed or no bed. So here we are.

He just sat there against the headboard grinning at me.

"I love you," I blurt.

He freezes. "I am still on Morphine, no?"

"No. You're not on any Morphine. I love you."

He blinked at me. "You what?"

"I love you."

"Why?" He asked incredulously, as if loving him the stupidest idea in all the universe.

"Well, you're sweet, kind, considerate, person. You're a good man, Luciano."

His brow furrows. I'm not sure who this incredulity is insulting but it's one of us.

"You are sure?"

"Are you Italian?"

Everything in the estate, anything owns really is made from Italy.

The best things come from Italy, he'll tell me. I mean look at me! Hello, I'm gorgeous!"

"Yes," he sat up straighter with a proud smile, "I am. All the best things co—"

"I know. Hello you're gorgeous."

"I'm sayin'!"

I laugh, like I do every time. I think the funniest part is the fact he is not kidding at all. And if you suggest that Italy isn't the place for everything then you're gonna get hurt.

Let me tell you the recent story of my life:

"You want Chinese?"

"I''ll try it. Can't be better than Italian, but I'll try it."

"I got new shoes!"

"Are they made in Italy?"

"I dunno."

"Is the designer Italian?"

"....he's French, if Google is to be believed."

"We always believe Google. Now go back to the store and get new shoes. Prada, Gucci, Dolce and Gabanna, honey we make the best of the best."

"I got pizza!"

"Get. That. Shit. Out of my house."

But:

"Can we go to Italy?"

"Oh look baby, it's a rainbow!"

"No it's not."

"Oh look baby, it's a elephant!"

"No it's not."

"Oh look baby—stop killing my style!!!"

So when I say are you Italian it's like saying is the sky blue.

"You love me?"

"I love you."

"I love you too... Now help me up, I have to pee."

I help him out bed and staggers to the bathroom. I walk behind him.

"If you make a mess you're cleaning it."

"Please, I can still—Mother of Mary that hurt worst the bullet!"

I chuckle sitting on his desk. On of the drawers were open. So I go to close it when I see my name.

He got my file. He never told me he had my file.

I shove it in the drawer as he comes out.

"Baby, do know how I'm gonna shower? Cause that seems like a death trap. Baby?"