“I’m so sorry, sir. I’m just doing my job. I swear, I don’t know what’s in the package.”
Frankie doesn’t even flinch. He just lifts his hand and gestures towards the box.
“Open it, then.”
“What?” The driver blinks, clearly confused by what Frankie just said.
“You heard me. Open the fucking package.”
There’s a second of pure silence where I think the driver might decide to bolt for the door, but he must think better of it. He quickly moves to the box and fumbles with the tape, his hands trembling. It’s taped so tightly that he can’t even unwrap it.
“Jesus Christ,” Frankie mutters before pulling a small pocket knife from his pocket, flipping it open and tossing it to the driver.
Out of what I assume is a natural reaction the drivercatches it in his hands before realizing what it is and dropping it quickly. He looks up at Frankie with wide eyes.
“It’s just a damn knife. I don’t have all day. Get on with it.”
The driver nods, picks up the knife with shaking hands and slices the package open. Books immediately spill out. Dozens of them. All of them are mine. I lurch forward, ready to jump into the pile and practically bathe in my precious books, but Frankie’s arm clamps around my waist. He drags me back against him, his breath hot against my ear.
“What the fuck are you doing? You can’t just run toward a package because there are books in it. That’s the equivalent of getting in a white van that says they have candy.”
I can’t help it…I laugh, twisting out of his grip and pointing at the pile.
“Those are my books. Check the sender.”
Frankie flicks his chin at a guard, who walks over and peels the label off the box.
“Says the sender is Andre Manitellie. There’s a note too.”
“Bring it to me,” Frankie snaps.
I snatch the letter from the guard before Frankie’s fingers can grasp it, ignoring his glare, and unfold it. My cousin’s handwriting is a mess, but I can read it just fine:
Liana, I hope that asshole lets you read this. First off, I’m so sorry for what Alessio did. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I hope you forgive me one day. I have so much to tell you but it’ll have to wait until I see you in person. The only news I can give you right now is that your Uncle Alessio is dead. I’m doing everything I can to get you back to me but until then, I need you to be strong. I love you, Liana. –Andre.
P.S. Sasha wanted me to tell you she made you a promise and intends to keep it. She hopes this package is enough of an escape for you until we can see you again.
The words on the page blur until I can’t even tell what I’m reading.
‘Don’t cry, Liana.’
Everything I’ve kept locked down tight, surfaces. The grief over not seeing my family, the anger at my uncle for sending me away, the suffocating misery of this lonely place I’ve been sent to…it all starts to seep out at once. The walls of this prison are suddenly starting to close in on me and now that I see an escape, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it together. My cousin said he is coming for me. My uncle is dead. I might actually be free.
I barely register Frankie’s grip on my arm or his other hand digging into my waist. The possessive press of his fingers should bring me out of this trance, but my mind is six thousand miles away.
I try to picture him hunched at a desk with Sasha right next to them. Instead, all I have are these battered paperbacks, and hope that what my cousin wrote is the truth. This letter is home. It’s a promise that Andre is out there, trying his hardest to get me back to him. I can feel Frankie’s eyes on me as I read the letter again and it hits me…I don’t know if I want my cousin to succeed. I’m not sure I want to leave this house…not with Frankie still in it. Frankie, a man I can never actually be with, or my family? I think I want both.
A metallic clang yanks me from my thoughts and we all eye the driver like he’s about to blow himself up. He puts his hands up in defense as his keys dangle from one palm.
“I’m just trying to get back to work,” he says with a shaky voice.
“Go,” Frankie says as his grip tightens on me. Then I watch as a rush of chaos ensues. His voice comes out sharp as he speaks in Spanish, barking orders at the men around us. I only catch a few words and phrases here and there.
“Contact Santiago.”
“Alert security.”
“Alessio Manitellie is dead.”
