“I don’t like to talk about it. Actually, it’s one of the reasons I agreed to make up a fake back story. When I lost the house Igrew up in, which was the only home Kit had ever known, I felt like a failure as a father.”
“But you were so young when you became a dad. You can’t blame yourself for hitting a rough patch.”
“I was twenty-four when my mom died and we lost her house. I should have been able to take care of my son and myself by that point. Eventually, I managed to get us into a tiny apartment in a shitty part of town, but I still felt like I was failing. The neighborhood was so rough that Kit couldn’t even play outside. It was years before I was able to move us into the apartment I live in now.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “To me that’s the story of a fighter, a self-made man who overcame adversity and became not only a business owner, but a respected member of your community.”
“That’s not how I see it.” I turned back to the buffet and started filling a plate. “I was failing as a business owner, too. Sal’s Place was totally in the red, and I was drowning in debt before my son-in-law became my business partner and bailed me out. If it wasn’t for him, the diner probably would have gone under by now. I would have let down all the people who rely on it.”
“I didn’t realize it had been struggling.”
I shrugged and carried my plate to the table. “I wanted you to think I had my shit together, even though that’s far from the truth. It’s why I jumped at the idea of giving each other fake back stories.”
“I wanted you to have the chance to get to know me, instead of leading off with the fact that I was a criminal.”
That was way too much to get into right now, so we both fell silent. He put some pasta on a plate and sat down at the other place setting, which was at the head of the table. I started stuffing my face, but he just poked at his food with a fork.
After a while, he said, “I’m glad you’re speaking to me again.”
“I wasn’t trying to give you the silent treatment earlier. I was just really scared and angry, and I didn’t want to lash out.”
“And now?”
“I’m still upset, but we’re each other’s only ally in this weird fucking alternate universe, so we need to stick together.”
“You’re right about that.”
After a moment, I said, “I know there’s a lot we need to talk about, but can we try to get through this first? I’m almost at my breaking point, and I can’t?—”
“That’s fine. We’ll talk whenever you’re ready.”
Before we could say anything else, Fitzpatrick breezed into the room carrying a tablet. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, in that same cheerful tone of his. “I trust you’re enjoying your meal. Mrs. Silva is an outstanding cook.”
“It’s wonderful,” I said. “Please thank her for me.” It wasn’t her fault that I was a hostage.
“Will do.” He folded the tablet’s cover into a stand and placed it on the table, positioning it so we could both see the screen. “As requested, Mr. di Pietro, we’ve located your uncle. Here he is.” He tapped a window, and an empty chair appeared on the screen.
We could hear the sounds of a struggle. A moment later, a big, beefy guy dragged a man in a leather jacket into the frame and pushed him into the chair. The man cussed and fought him and tried to get back up. Then a guy wielding a gun appeared, so he scowled and sat back down.
The guy with the gun pointed at the camera and said, “Talk to your nephew.”
The man looked confused, blinking a few times before asking, “Sal? Are you there?” I’d assumed he could see us, but apparently not.
Salvatore replied with a curt, “Yes.”
His uncle started speaking in rapid-fire Italian, but Fitzpatrick cut in by saying, “In English please, Mr. Bianchi.”
Bianchi asked, “Are you alright, Sal? Are they mistreating you?”
“Don’t pretend you care about me,” Salvatore said flatly. “The only reason Ashcroft was able to track me down is because you gave him my name.”
“They forced it out of me. I couldn’t help it!”
“As a matter of fact,” Fitzpatrick interjected, “he gave us the names of his entire crew within minutes of being brought in for questioning. He probably hoped my employer would go easier on him if he cooperated.”
“I’m sorry, Sal,” his uncle started to say. “I was only?—”
“Thinking of yourself, same as usual. I don’t care about that. I just need you to answer one question.” Salvatore took a breath, and then he shocked me by saying, “I want to know if you killed my parents.”
