Eduardo Castellano died at 3:47 AM on a Tuesday in April.
Alessandro was there. Holding his father's hand. Watching the monitors flatline. Hearing that single, endless tone that meant a heart had stopped and wasn't starting again.
The doctors called it. Time of death: 3:47 AM. The nurses were sympathetic. His mother collapsed into sobs. And Alessandro just stood there, numb, trying to process what his father had been about to tell him before the second heart attack hit.
From people who don't forgive debts.
The words echoed in Alessandro's head through the rest of that endless night. Through the paperwork. Through calling his sister in Milan and hearing her break down over the phone. Through sitting with his mother in the waiting room while they arranged to have Eduardo's body moved to the funeral home.
It wasn't until dawn—gray and cold through the hospital windows—that Lucia finally spoke about it.
