Ivy’s head snaps up and her watery gaze locks onto mine. “What?”
“If you believe the news, they died of natural causes or took their own life because they couldn’t cope with surviving such a crash. But we know differently. Someone is cleaning up the leftovers from the crash, and that includes you.”
Her eyes dart back and forth as she shakes her head, and the bottle crinkles louder under her fist. “But I… I-I don’t know anything! I didn’t do anything! I would never hurt someone. This isn’t my fault!”
“I know,” I reply calmly. “But I know you found the drugs on board. And I don’t know if that was intentional or accidental, but it makes you look like you know more than you’re letting on.”
“Who would you think that?” Ivy screeches as panic takes over her. “I’m just a regular person! I had a shitty apartment, and I work a long job. I deal with arrogant and whiny passengers all day. That’s it. That’s all I do! I don’t… I’m not a criminal!”
She’s convincing. So convincing that she might be telling the truth.
“There are two criminal families at war in New York City right now. The Sidorovs, a Russian family, and the Romas, an Italian family. They’ve been at war for a few years now, under careful guidance, and the drugs on that plane were part of a peace agreement between the two. One was selling and the other was buying, so when that plane went down, a lot of money was lost on either side and people are pissed.”
Ivy closes her eyes, and fearful tears roll down her pale cheeks. When she opens them, her eyes are still swimming. “What do you mean, crime families? Like the Mafia or something?”
My lips twitch into a brief smile. “Exactly.”
“That… that makes no sense. If there werecrimefamilies, the police would arrest them all.”
A small huff of amusement warms my chest. “You underestimate the power these families have.”
“More powerful than the cops?” She wipes under her eyes with her knuckles, but the tears keep coming. Her entire body starts to tremble as if she’s fighting to keep control of herself. I stand and fetch her some kitchen towels, then retake my seat.
“Yes. More powerful than cops. The way the world really works would shock you, but most remain in the dark for their entire lives, and we prefer it that way.”
“How can people be at war and no one knows? It would be on the news or… or the mayor would talk about it or there’d be a lot of arrests and stuff.”
“The media don’t report on it because we don’t let them. The cops get a cut of the deal and that keeps them in business. That’s just how things work.”
Her lower lip wobbles, and more tears fall silently down her cheeks even as she wipes them away. “I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”
Running my tongue along my upper teeth, I study her face as I speak, looking for any sort of reaction or hint toward the truth. “The deliberate destruction of that plane and those drugs leads each family to believe that you, the only survivor with knowledgeof the plane in any capacity, are a spy working for the other side. The Russians think the Italians paid you off while the Italians think you’re a Russian mole.”
“I’m not either of those things. I’m American!” Ivy whines. “I’m not a spy for anyone!”
My lips curl faintly, amused by her claim. Nothing but shock melts across her face. I think I’m right. She doesn’t have anything to do with this. But someone thinks she does, which means she’s either caught up in it by accident or someone is trying very hard to make it look like she’s involved.
“I’m sorry, Ivy. These suspicions are, I think, what led to your father being murdered and your mother being attacked. What happened to them is a very cut and dry Mob hit.”
“No,” Ivy whispers, shaking her head back and forth. “It’s not true. It’s not. My parents are good people. My dad just works in a bank. My mom’s a florist. We’re just normal people. It’s not true, it’s not!” A sob finally tears out of her, and she clutches one hand to her chest like it physically pains her. “I c-can’t believe Dad’s dead.”
For the first time in a long time, a real pang of sympathy stabs through my chest. Her tears and her grief feel so genuine that it’s difficult to believe she has any roots in the criminal world. Someone who does knows that at any moment the scales can tip and loved ones become a message.
“I-Is that why you k-kidnapped me?” she gasps through her tears. “To kill me?”
“No.”
“Then can I leave?”
“No.”
“B-But I want to be with my mom!”
“No.”
“No?” She stands abruptly and sends the chair clattering back against the tile floor, then she clutches at the crutch to stop herself from falling over. “You can’t keep me here!”
“I can.”
