“Do we have any proof?” I wonder.
“We have all the proof we need,” Edoardo confirms.
I’ll take that as gospel, considering it comes straight from my father. There are a lot of ‘need to know’ situations that I’m being thrust in the middle of. I learned long ago to trust my father’s instincts, and this is no different.
We barge into Freddy’s apartment uninvited. There’s a woman cooking soup in the kitchen who screams and tries to run. Freddy is sitting on the couch, watching a soccer game. He tries to get up, but Edoardo pins him down.
I branch off to deal with the screaming woman. She tries to throw the boiling soup at me, but I duck. The soup hits the wall and splashes around, oozing its way to the floor. It barely touched me, much less hurt. I put one hand out, asking her to remain calm.
She looks at the doorway, as if trying to judge whether she can make it in time. I shake my head and pull out a chair for her to sit down. Reluctantly, she sits, and I leave her to join Edoardo in the living room.
My father’s chief of security patiently explains the problem to Freddy. We’re all aware of the heightened stress level in the room. I’m not prepared to do anything to harm anyone, but Freddy and his wife or girlfriend don’t know that. They think we’re all seasoned professionals who won’t hesitate to end their lives. That’s the key to the performance we’re enacting, and I play my part just like I’m supposed to.
Freddy finally leads Edoardo into the bedroom. I stay in the living room to cover our exit. A few grunts and groans of pain later, Edoardo returns, tucking something into the waistband of his cargo pants.
“Let’s go,” he says.
I walk out of that apartment just like it’s any other day. There will be no consequences for what we’ve just done, even though we scared that poor woman to death. Each time I must do something like this, another little piece of me dies. I think of Sofia, and how she betrayed me. But can I blame her? I’m turning out to be no better than the rest of the mafia princes out there. She was right to run away, and I was a fool to let her.
That night, I must force myself to study. Being a lawyer seems like a pipe dream. What kind of lawyer pretends that he’s muscle for the mob? No one that I know of, that’s for sure. I hope that with my law degree, I can put this kind of distasteful work behind me. I know that I’m not there to hurt anyone. Dad just wants me to understand what might have to be done.
I wonder if I’ll ever get a chance to lead the organization. I’m no fool. If I don’t do a good job, there are dozens of ambitious men out there who would kill to take my place. Mafia families are just as vulnerable as anyone else, assuming that the challenger isbloodthirsty enough. I hope that won’t be the case for me. Dad and Marlena can get out of the life before it’s too late.
I think about my father and his wife alone on a beach somewhere remote. I hope that they can retire in peace, no matter how difficult that will make things for me when they are gone. Marlena’s baby deserves the kind of life I never had. He or she should be free to do whatever comes naturally, without worrying about iron fences and bodyguards.
It’s too late for me, but it’s not too late for my baby brother or sister. I promise myself I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep my family safe. It’s no longer about my future, but the future of the people I care about. That gives me the strength to keep doing what I’m doing, no matter what the personal cost.
CHAPTER 32
SOFIA
Leaving my parents’ house, I’m not sure where to go. I don’t want to drive around listlessly for the rest of my life. I know I have to go back to my apartment and face the music. I’ve only been gone two days, but it feels like a significant amount of time.
I stop twice along the way, not having the same determination that I did on the journey to my parent’s house. But there’s still plenty of daylight by the time I arrive at my apartment building. I head inside, half expecting to find the place trashed. It isn’t. Everything is the same as how I left it.
I leave the suitcase in my car just in case. There’s no reason to undo all the work I did packing because I’m not sure if I can stay. I decide to fortify my place a little bit. I move some of the furniture around in the living room so that I can easily put a dresser against the door. That way at least Frankie’s hitman will have to spend some time before crashing in on me.
Feeling slightly better, but tired from all the work, I decide to order myself a pizza. There’s no reason to worry about my diet at this point. I’ll be lucky if I live long enough to get fat.
The pizza comes and the doorbell startles me. I must remind myself that I’m the one who called for it. I thank the guy and hand over a twenty.
“Keep the change,” I say.
“Thanks,” the delivery driver says cheerfully.
It’s not dinner, and it’s not lunch, but something in between. I manage to polish off three slices before I’m stuffed. I put the rest of the box in the oven for later. Now I’m staring at my four walls, wondering what to do.
I told Mr. Harlan that I was leaving for an unspecified amount of time. But all I want to do is get back to my office and figure out if there’s some way I can salvage my research. I change my clothes and walk back to my car, checking in all directions just in case I’m ambushed.
No one interrupts me, and I make it to my car safely. I drive back to work, careful to follow the speed limit. I need to find a way to live with this uncertainty, or it’s going to drive me crazy. Frankie’s threats ring loud in my ears as I ease into a parking spot across the street from the office. I’m starting to feel like he just wanted to scare me. He doesn’t have any big retribution planned. Of course, I can’t count on that, but it does give me a little moral boost to consider the possibility that I wasn’t wrong about Frankie in the first place. Maybe he is a good person who was just born into a bad family, but that doesn't mean his father won’t try anything.
I hurry down the stairs from the fourth floor of the parking garage and across the street. I swipe my badge at the front desk, and everything seems normal. In the elevator, I take a moment to center myself. Here, among my colleagues, I need to act likeI’m well put together. I don’t want to let on that I’ve been riding the emotional roller coaster from hell all this time.
My desk is just the way I left it, minus the few things I picked up before. I sit down and enter my login information, encouraged to find that it still works. Mr. Harlan is giving me some leeway, and I’m determined to take it.
I check all my files again, with the same result. Most of what I’ve written is missing. But there’s an extra document that I keep notes on that I didn’t check before. If luck is with me, I’ve captured some evidence.
I click on the document, and it opens up. I’m relieved to see that it survived. It’s a running list of phone numbers and sources I wanted to check out. It’s not proof of anything, but at least it’s a map I can follow to recreate some of what I’ve lost.
