I settle down, much more comfortable with the topic of food choices than mortality. We pass a lovely hour as we work our way through one home-cooked delicacy after another. The chicken is moist and tender, and all the side dishes are extraordinary.
“If you have food of this caliber in your home, you’ll have to invite me over,” I say. I’m tossing the suggestion out as if it has no consequences, but secretly I’m hoping he’ll say yes. More than going into the restaurant for some takeout or hanging around the library looking up names in old phone books, I want to be where the action is.
If I can secure an invitation to the Corello family compound, I might really understand the whole situation. It will give me tons of material for my article, and I might even find something to confirm my suspicions. I don’t know what that something might be, but if there’s anything at all that will help me bring the Corellos to justice, I’m positive it’s in their house.
Frankie doesn’t answer me and I’m not sure if I’ve pushed too far. He doesn’t strike me as a dangerous person, and I’m nolonger sure he knows all the details about his father’s business. But he must know something because he’s strangely quiet about the prospect of inviting me over for dinner.
I don’t want to push my luck and repeat my request, so I give up. This whole dance we’re doing is very delicate. I want him to trust me, so I have to move slowly. I can tell he doesn’t suspect that I have an ulterior motive. To him, we’re just two young people sharing a picnic lunch in the park.
I wish that were the case. If everything were equal, I might even enjoy spending time with Frankie. But he’s caught up in one of the largest and most powerful criminal conspiracies in the city. And I’m the one who’s going to take him down. He just doesn’t know it yet.
If he doesn’t invite me over to his house today, he will. I’ll keep working on it, chipping away at his resolve until he absolutely has to introduce me to his father. If that means I have to make him fall in love with me, so be it. I’m not above breaking his heart to get what I want.
I feel like I’m channeling rage through my veins. It allows me to do things I would otherwise find abhorrent, like using Frankie to get to his father. I tell myself that I have a right to discover who killed my brother. I cling to my duty as a sister to get to the bottom of the crime. But even though I don’t feel like I have any choice in the matter, I’m still sick to my stomach. I wasn’t expecting to care about Frankie. Now that I do, I still must betray him.
CHAPTER 11
FRANKIE
“Frankie, can I have a minute?” My father asks, startling me on my way out the door.
I’ve got my backpack in one hand, with my laptop, charging cables, snacks, and a bottle of water. I’m on my way to the library where I think I can get some studying done. There’s also a small chance I’ll run into Sofia again, which I’m looking forward to.
“Sure,” I agree, because there’s only one answer to any of my father’s questions. If he says “jump,” you’re supposed to ask, “How high?” If he asks you a yes or no question, the answer he’s looking for is invariably “yes.”
“Come into my office,” Dad says, leading the way down the hall.
I glance at the door, lamenting not having left sooner. I know I should be grateful for everything my father’s position has afforded me. I have enough food to eat, water to drink, and a fantastic living situation. But my favorite time of day is any time I can get outside these four walls. It looks like that won’t be happening anytime soon. When Dad asks me into his office,there’s usually an entire agenda, or a lecture. I can’t decide which is worse.
I follow him dutifully and set my things down on one of the two chairs facing his desk. I take a seat on the other chair, waiting to hear what he has to say. He closes the door, and I wonder why we’re alone. Usually, he has a bodyguard sitting in, or Uncle Gio. I’m not sure if privacy is a good thing or a bad thing this time.
“Where are you off to?” Dad asks, circling the desk.
“I thought I would go to the library to study,” I say.
“You’re studying a lot lately,” Dad observes.
“Do you want to know the truth?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he answers.
“The sample questions for the bar exam are complicated. There’s a lot of case law I need to know. And more than that, I must prove that I can apply the case law to a new situation.” I study his reaction carefully. Ordinarily, I would assume that I was boring him by now, but he doesn’t look bored. He’s giving me space to answer the entire question and listening like a concerned father should.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he replies after a moment passes.
“I just don’t want to walk into the room and blank out,” I say, revealing some of my insecurities.
“I think you need to relax,” he says. I translate that to mean he has something else planned for me today.
“Okay,” I agree.
“You don’t want to burn out on studying,” he continues.
“Right,” I say. I can’t tell what’s on his mind, so I’m forced to wait patiently for him to reveal his agenda. In the meantime, there is no way I’m going to anger him by refusing to cooperate. If he wants me to take a break today, that’s fine. I’ve already done enough studying.
“I’m really proud of all the effort you put into becoming a lawyer,” Dad says.
My heart pounds inside my chest. This is getting dangerously close to something like affection. I know my father loves me, but he doesn’t express it often. I don’t want to move or breathe, for fear that his moment might evaporate. I wait to hear what he says next, knowing that it comes from a good place.
