You've been my beacon of light in the darkness of the mafia, even without knowing it.

You've been everything I've ever needed since I was little.

You have some health problems that require extra care. Everyone in the mafia says behind your back that you're weak, that you wouldn't survive that long. Idiots.

I stare at you, furious (both with unfinished business with the mafia and with you).

"Why didn't you tell me the meds ran out? You know it takes a while for the doctors to make new ones and transfer them here." I pepper you with questions, trying to understand what happened to you.