I returned to packing. I’d already filled three boxes with clothes and shoes. The jewelry Lord had given me remained in its box on the dresser. I hadn’t decided yet whether to take it. Each piece represented a moment of happiness. There were the diamond earrings for our six-month anniversary, the sapphire pendant when I passed the Nevada bar, the tennis bracelet just because I came back to him after the high-speed shootout. They were all beautiful symbols of a relationship built on lies, drama and sometimes violence.
I moved to the nightstand, the one place I hadn’t yet checked. My side had contained books, a satin bonnet, a sleeping mask, a fingernail and a few other nighttime essentials. I pulled open the bottom drawer, expecting to find it empty like so many other spaces in the house.
Instead, I found a stack of photographs.
I hadn’t expected this. The pictures weren’t there before. I lifted the stack from the drawer and returned to the bed. The topphoto showed us at North Avenue Beach back in Chicago. Lord’s arm was around my waist, and we were both smiling.
I flipped to the next photo. There was a glossy picture of me and Lord at a charity gala at the Palladium. I was in a red dress that he picked. We looked like the perfect couple.
The next photo made my heart hurt. It was from Chicago, before everything. It was before Vegas, before the Bregoli family had fully claimed him. It was a selfie. We were at Navy Pier, eating ice cream, laughing at something long forgotten. No, I remembered. We were laughing about the Ferris wheel. A story he’d shared from his teens. I remembered that day. I remembered how normal it felt. It was early in our relationship, when I still believed Lord was just a successful businessman. Before I knew about his mafia family connections, before I understood what being with him would truly mean.
I kept turning through the photos, each one triggering memories that flooded back. There was even a selfie in front of the Vegas sign. Then another photo. One of Lord teaching me to shoot a Glock 19 at a private gun range, a necessary skill he’d insisted I learn. There was also a candid shot of me asleep on the couch, my law books spread around me as I’d studied.
Some of these pictures had come from my phone. How did he get them, and why did he print them out? Had he left these photos in the drawer knowing I would find them? Was this his way of reminding me what I was walking away from?
The last photo in the stack was different from the others. It wasn’t of both of us, but of me alone. I stood in the backyard of this house, gazing out at the desert landscape beyond our property line, unaware of the camera. I remembered that moment. It was the day we’d moved in, when the house had felt like a fresh start, a promise of our future together. A bullshit promise because Lord couldn’t even marry a Black woman. If he wanted a wife, she had to be Italian.
I set the stack of photos down on the nightstand and cussed him under my breath. Why was he playing these stupid games? Lord wasn’t the man in those photos. He was something else. He looked like a man who loved me. But he was really just a man who had lied to my face, who had been with Lolita behind my back.
I wiped away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. This house, these photos, and the memories they contained, they were part of my past now. Just like Lord. I would pack what remained of my things, I would welcome my sister when she arrived, and tomorrow we would finish the job of separating my life from his.
I was making the right choice. The only choice, yes, but the right one. I deserved better than this. Even when it hurt, I deserved the truth. I deserved loyalty. It was time for me to start over again. I did it before, and I could do it again. I wasn’t new to this. I was true to this.
Chapter Nine
NICCO (THE DON)
Iwoke up without the aid of an alarm. It was just like another night at the Palladium. I didn’t get much sleep, and I slept less now that I was the don. I looked over at Marie Ignacio lying beside me. She’d been back from Wisconsin for three days now, and the suite already showed signs of her return. The clothes she brought back were neatly hung in the closet. Her toiletries were arranged on the bathroom counter. I studied her face. She was peaceful in sleep. I considered how quickly she’d settled back into my routine. It was almost as if she hadn’t been thrown in a trunk, kidnapped and held hostage.
I reached for my cell phone on the nightstand. Marie stirred beside me, her eyes opening slowly, adjusting to the morning light. She always woke when I did, another habit she’d developed during our time together. Her dark hair was tousled from sleep, framing her face in a way that made her look younger than her thirty-two years.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice still hoarse with sleep.
I just looked at her and then went back to scrolling through my overnight messages. The first one was from my wife asking if I was coming home.
I glanced around the hotel suite, noting the subtle changes since her return. An unpacked suitcase stood in the corner, lid open, half-emptied. A few children’s toys, small plastic dinosaurs and a well-loved stuffed rabbit had been carefully tucked onto a shelf. She was making herself at home, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Marie sat up in bed, pulling the sheet with her to cover herself. Her eyes followed me as I moved around the room. Still, I could sense something brewing behind those dark eyes.
“I brought my laptop back from Wisconsin,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Your security people have all of our electronics. I was thinking I could email Tom’s old address? I know he probably won’t respond, but I’d like to try it for you.”
“For me?” She was trying to butter me up with her words.
Tom. Her brother. The one loose end I hadn’t been able to tie up. He killed my father, and I couldn’t find him. My soldiers couldn’t find him. My Triad allies in Chicago couldn’t find him. At this point, I was willing to try anything to get any information about his whereabouts.
“You’re willing to set your brother up?” I asked, moving toward the bathroom.
“Yes, I want to be free of all of this.”
“I’m going to kill him. You know this.”
“Tom is my brother by blood, but I care more about my kids. I wasn’t brainwashed by Fredo. I hated him. He was a monster, and he made Tom a monster just like him.”
“Your mother is dead. Tom is the only family you have left.”
“I have my kids.” She clarified.
“If I let you email your brother, how do I know you’re not going to try to warn him?”
