As soon as it was sent, I pulled out my SIM card and tossed it in the nearest trash can. It landed beside a coffee cup and a crumpled receipt, and that was the end of seven years. A SIM card in a trash can. The most important severance of my life, and it weighed less than a gram.
It was nearly midnight when I arrived at the station in my hometown. The coastal air hit me first, salt and cold and something green underneath it. Marchetti territory. The old neighborhood. A world away from the Sloane empire's concrete and glass.
As I stepped off the train, I saw Dad waiting for me.
Giuseppe Ferrante stood under the station's fluorescent lights in his old wool coat, his hands in his pockets, his posture the patient stillness of a man who'd been waiting for hours without complaint. He smiled the moment he saw me and led me to the car.
Sitting in the passenger seat, I noticed a large bag of my favorite cannoli from Benedetto's and a carton of yogurt waiting for me.
Before starting the car, Dad chuckled softly, grabbing one of the yogurts and poking a straw through the lid, handing it to me. "Here, drink this," he said warmly.