**Lorenzo's point of view**
My father has managed to get us an apartment in Palermo. A really nice one, in fact. With 24 hour surveillance, and guards all around the flat. I feel bad leaving him in Brooklyn, knowing how sick he is. Neither of my parents wants to tell me, but I can tell it in my mother's eyes, that it's really bad.
''Don't worry about it, mio. You have a lot on your own plate'' she said, right before I left their house. She means well, but I hate when I'm not in control. And I hate that I can't help my father get better.
I'm currently sitting in Peter's bedroom, using his desk to write down a plan for our travel. I never use electronics when I make such plans, I would never risk it. So I'm doing it the old fashioned way, with pen and paper.
