“Which is?” he wonders.
The sunlight feels good on my face. I know that he’s just been through a serious scare, but I’m feeling more lighthearted than usual. Just the thought that the man I’ve been seeing might not be directly involved in any violent activities cheers me up. I’m just as determined to bring down Francisco Corello, but his son Frankie is another story. I’ve grown to like the man, and I’m happy to think he’s not responsible for what happened to my brother.
“You know the place where you picked me up last time?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says suspiciously.
“That’s not really where I live,” I admit.
“So, you lied?” he accuses me, a smile tempering his accusation.
“Yes,” I own up to it. “I lied. But in my defense, I didn’t really know you.”
“And now?” he wonders.
“Now I feel like I have a better understanding of what makes you tick,” I reply.
He nods, letting my words sink in. We don’t hug or kiss; we don’t say anything to each other, simply walk back to our own cars and get behind the wheel. I’m going to show him the way to my apartment old school style. Instead of texting him the address or allowing him to locate it on his GPS, he’s just going to drive behind me.
If he thinks this is weird, he doesn’t say so. My guess is that his father is equally cautious, and it doesn’t occur to Frankie to think that anything is amiss. I hope he’ll buy that same rationalewhen it comes to my apartment. Because the last thing I want to do is tell him exactly why I lied.
CHAPTER 13
FRANKIE
Ihave to focus just to fit my key into the ignition. My father has cars that are push-button, and for a moment, I wish I had one of those. But the key finally cooperates, and the engine turns on. I ease out of the parking lot, feeling like I’m driving on fumes. Any moment now, I worry the car will break down, leaving me stranded. So, I’m extra careful with every turn, and I don’t speed up to five miles above the limit the whole way there.
I’m not surprised that Sofia lied to me about her apartment. She’s a single woman, and she didn’t know me very well. My father has safe houses stashed all across the city so that he can meet with people without giving away his location. It seems so commonplace, I don’t even give it a second thought.
I have to remind myself to keep Sofia’s car in view. I don’t have her address so I can’t find her apartment if I lose her. That also doesn’t bother me because I assume that we just didn’t coordinate this convoy well enough. If we had more time, surely, she would have given me her address. Neither of us is thinking straight. I just had an existential fright, and she’s only worriedabout comforting me. Things slipped through the cracks. That’s all there is to it.
We pass the place I thought was hers and continue on for just a few more blocks. It may not have been the right building, but it’s in the same neighborhood. Her apartment is in a much smaller building. It doesn’t have a doorman or an awning out front.
She circles around back to a large parking lot and chooses a spot near the back door. I pull up beside her and get out, clicking the key fob to lock my car. Sofia takes my hand, which is a welcome gesture.
She guides me upstairs to the second floor, and down the hall to her apartment. Inside, I’m struck by how small it is. My suite in my father’s house is bigger. Sofia has a kitchen, which I don’t have, but hers is mashed together with the living room in a space smaller than my bedroom. There are two doors on either side, which I assume are a bathroom and a bedroom. The brown leather couch that takes up most of the space looks like it was sourced from a thrift store.
I try not to be judgmental. I know my circumstances aren’t normal. My father is determined to display his wealth through the house and the cars, the interior design, and the pool. He says it’s important that people who come to visit need to know who they’re dealing with. All the furniture in my father’s house is custom-made, and a top interior designer selected all the paintings on the walls.
Since he married Marlena, a few things have changed. There are more cut flowers in more artistic vases, and a few paintings with warmer colors. But the entire scene remains unchanged. It is a testament to his power, and he likes it when people are impressed.
In contrast, Sofia’s place seems cozy. There is no pretension here, no indication that she cares what anyone else thinks. I suddenly feel unwelcome, as if I’m some kind of voyeur who is taking up space in her home without permission.
My heart rate speeds up. I feel a wash of heat creep up my neck, and I’m having trouble breathing. I’m not sure why this is happening again. Sofia has done nothing to elicit this kind of response.
“Is it happening again?” Sofia asks, her voice heavy with concern.
All I can do is nod.
I feel her hands on my shoulders as she guides me toward the couch. I sit down gratefully, and a moment later, I’m rewarded with a glass of water.
“Sip slowly,” she instructs.
I follow her advice, taking a small sip. The cool water lifts my spirits, helping me relax. I’m still wound up tight though, and I can feel my heart thundering in my chest. A moment later, something heavy falls across my shoulders. I stiffen, ready to spring into action. If life with my father has taught me anything, it’s that you always need to be ready to fight.
“It’s a weighted blanket,” Sofia says softly. “It will help.”
Some of my panic deflates, and I focus on my breathing. This time isn’t as bad as it was in my room. At least now I know what’s going on. I close my eyes, clutch the glass of water in my hands and breathe in slowly.
