Chapter 6 - THE THREE-LEGGED RACE
At exactly 11:00 AM, the loudspeaker crackled across the sports field.
“All right, fathers and daughters, line up for the annual three-legged race! Parents, remember to tie those ribbons securely around your ankles!”
Emma tugged frantically at Lorenzo’s sleeve. “Come on, Mr. Duca! We have to stretch! Tommy Miller and his dad have been practicing all week, and Mr. Miller has giant legs!”
Lorenzo allowed himself to be dragged over to the starting line.
A cheerful volunteer mother handed them a strip of bright orange cotton ribbon. Lorenzo knelt down on the grass, carefully wrapping the cloth around his right ankle and Emma’s left ankle, tying it into a secure, double-knotted bow.
“Too tight?” he asked.
“Nope, perfect!” Emma beamed, clutching his forearm for balance.
Next to them, a bulky, red-faced contractor in a gym suit named Mr. Miller gave Lorenzo a competitive grin. “Morning, neighbor. Hope your legs are ready. Me and Tommy take this trophy every year.”
Lorenzo offered a cool, polite smile. “May the best team win, Mr. Miller.”
“On your mark... get set... GO!” blew the starter whistle.
Chaos erupted across the grass. Dozens of pairs of fathers and daughters lurched forward in wildly uncoordinated hops, tumbles, and laughs. Mr. Miller and Tommy shot out of the gate with impressive, thumping strides.
Lorenzo, however, had spent twenty years dodging bullets, navigating tight alleyways, and maintaining absolute physical control under pressure. He adjusted his stride to match Emma’s shorter steps with terrifying, mechanical precision.
Left, right, left, right.
They moved across the grass with unexpected, fluid synchronization.
“Faster, Mr. Duca, faster!” Emma laughed, her face flushed with pure joy.
With a sudden burst of acceleration, Lorenzo lengthened his stride, sweeping past the other families one by one. As they crossed the finish line a full two seconds ahead of Mr. Miller, the entire crowd erupted into cheers and applause.
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Emma threw her hands up in the air, shouting, “We won! We won!”
Lorenzo untied the ribbon from their ankles, picking her up effortlessly and swinging her in a circle as she giggled. For a few seconds, standing in the middle of a suburban schoolyard under the autumn sun, the dark ghosts of Little Italy, the cold marble of the Manhattan ballroom, and the heavy burden of the Duca family name completely vanished.
