I shake my head, and grab a new Kleenex as the tears spill over my cheeks once again.
With a loud sigh, she begins mixing drinks. Then she carries over a tray with chips, salsa, a bowl of peanut M&M’s and two large margaritas with salt and limes. Setting it down on the coffee table, she mutes the movie, then picks up one of the margaritas and hands it to me.
“Okay, spill.” She’s sitting facing me. Her expression is tight with concern. The dark circles under her eyes fill me with guilt—I made her come over to hold my hand through this crisis, even after her long day. But she’s here so… I put my popcorn on the table, take a few swallows of the margarita and cough. It’s stronger than she usually makes it. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Let’s start with who the hell was that? And how you know him?”
Sandro’s face appears in my mind, the details sharper now that I’ve seen him again. I take a few more sips and then turn to my friend. “Thatwas Alessandro LaRocca of the LaRocca mafia family. My first crush. My first kiss. My first heartbreak. My first everything.”
I said “crush” but it was more than that. It was love. Born from innocence, it grew wild and unchecked without walls, inhibitions or fear as only first loves can. That first rush of oxytocin through my bloodstream when Sandro pulled me onto his lap at thirteen was more addictive than any drug. We chased that high every summer for four years.
Sloane’s eyes widen, her perfectly plucked and defined brows rising. “Why have you never mentioned him? How in the world did you meet a man in themafia?” She whispers the word “mafia” like they can hear her.
I pull my legs up, wrap an arm around them. This is getting into painful territory. “I was thirteen. My mom worked cleaning rooms at Club Paradiso, so I basically lived there.” We had this apartment, but only came here to sleep or on her days off. “Ironically, she forbid me from hanging out with the mob kids. But she was busy, and I was rebellious.”
“Ah,” Sloane says with a knowing nod.
Everyone local knows Club Paradiso is the mafia’s summer playground. I told Sloane my mother had died when I was seventeen, but I never told her how.
Her eyes are swimming with empathy. “Tell me about the first kiss. That’s a good memory, right?”
Despite the hollow ache in my chest, I smile.
That’s a great memory.
“It was the summer Sandro turned fifteen. My mom knew they were having a big birthday party by the pool for him, so she kept me glued to her side. Made me help her clean the rooms. I was so angry with her.”
Sloane folds her legs beneath her as she clutches her drink, getting more comfortable. “So, she knew about your crush?”
I shrug. “She must have.”
“But, Mom, why can’t I go? Just for a little while? Cold Play is going be there.”
She’d stared at me like she knew it wasn’t Cold Play I was dying to see. “These people, they’re not your friends, Lennon Rose. They can never be your friends. Their world is one of death and sorrow. Please don’t disobey me on this.” She took my face in her rough, dry hands. “If anything ever happened to you, I couldn’t bear it.”
Her words only stoked my anger and frustration. Why does she have to be so overprotective? She doesn’t even know Sandro. Sure there are some cruel anddangerous people who spend the summer here. But not Sandro. He would never hurt me.
“Whatever,” I muttered as I went back to stripping sheets off the bed in front of me.
After another hour of mindlessly cleaning rooms beside my mother, the band started up outside. Glancing behind me to make sure Mom was still cleaning the bathroom, I hurried over to the glass doors and slid them open. Stepping out into the thick, balmy late afternoon air, I gripped the balcony railing and looked down at the pool. I was on the fourth floor, so I had a pretty good view of the whole area.
Cold Play was set up on a stage between the hot tub and tiki bar, jamming to their set. The pool was a glittering blue square. Round tables with lanterns had been set up around the outside of the deep end. Some of the adults were dressed in slacks and polos, sundresses for the women.
I spotted Sandro’s mother talking to some other women. I’d never met her; he kept me far away from her. His father never came with them. Sandro said that’s because he’s some big-shot boss in New York.
Most of the teenagers and kids were in swimsuits. They were dancing, pushing each other in the pool, screaming and laughing and probably drinking whiskey-spiked Coke. There were the usual guards standing around the perimeter in suits, scanning the crowd with a practiced eye. Like anyone would dare attack a mafia prince at his own birthday party.
I searchedthe area for Sandro, finally finding him standing with Gunnar and his younger brothers Rocco and Dino. They were watching the band, but every once in a while, Sandro turned and scanned the crowd. I smiled, pretending that he was looking for me.
Look up, I willed him. Please look up. I’m here.
“Lennon Rose,” my mother called.
With a heavy sigh, I let myself have a few more seconds of watching Sandro and then headed back inside.
By eleven PM the party was winding down. I just wanted to go home and crawl into bed and forget this day ever happened. But that wasn’t in the cards.
“I have to stay to help clean up the party,” Mom said, fatigue evident in her voice. When she saw my disappointment, she ran her hand down my hair. “It will give me a nice bonus on my check. Maybe we can get you some new clothes with it, huh? Have a little shopping spree?”
