by T Steele
My father’s eyes look far away for a moment, then he clears his throat as his eyes return to mine. “I guess there’s no easy way to say this, and after what happened tonight, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. I’m the Boss, these three here: Luca, Frank, and Todd are my caporegime, and John, the driver in the front, is a soldier.” My eyes fly to John’s in the rearview mirror. His eyes are on the road, but I notice he’s white-knuckling the wheel. I almost laugh at the fact that I guessed his name correctly. “I’m Capo Dei Capi of the Italian-American Mobsters here in Detroit. That’s the technical term anyway. We actually call ourselves La Famiglia Silenziosa. It means ‘The Silent Family.’” My father’s voice is soft but his eyes are hard. “We stay silent for a reason.”
I gulp and break my father’s intimidating stare. As I look at all the men, their backs are straight. All of them are wearing suits, well, except Johnny Cash—I mean John. Shit, that nickname has stuck now. All of them have dark hair, even my father. I favor my mother in looks with my more petite build and blonde hair. I do have my father’s brown eyes, though.
“What does all that mean, exactly?” I ask.
I feel the tension rise in the car. I’m practically drowning in it, but I have to hear him say it. Because I think I know, but I need to be sure.
My father looks as though he’s steeling himself before saying, “We’re a mafia family. The leading family of the Detroit mobs, matter of fact.” He looks pleased with himself, and I furrow my brow. Does he want me to give him a pat on the back? His eyes scan my face, noting my expression, and his face becomes carefully neutral.
Even though I’d expected those words, they still make my heart beat faster. I’m in a car full of gangsters, I think to myself, then have to purse my lips to smother a nervous giggle.
Great, Ruby, you go through all this shit in one night, and the one working brain cell in your head decides it's a laughing matter?
Clearly, I don’t know how to process everything in a healthy fashion.
“Is that why Mom left you?” I ask and then slap a hand over my mouth. I don’t know why those words left my mouth. For all I know, he could’ve left her. I honestly don’t know what the story is or if I can even trust this man, but I’m dying to know. My brain must be so overwhelmed that it didn’t bother putting a filter on my mouth.
They have an immediate effect as everyone in the car tenses, and I see a flash of anger in my father’s eyes, but then he squashes it.
“Yes,” my father says, his voice deeper, sadder. “She—” he starts then pauses, “We didn’t want this life for you.” He stops, but I can tell there’s more he wants to say. I don’t know if he needed to collect his thoughts or if he wanted to pause for effect. “We both agreed you guys would be safer if you two left the life,” he finishes softly.
The rest of the ride is quiet, so I take that time to stew in my thoughts.
Mom knew.
She knew about my father and his mobster life and never told me. I can’t be mad at her, though. I won’t be mad at the dead. Mainly, not my mother, who I loved more than anything.
We keep driving farther and farther north, and I realize we’re in the more luxurious neighborhoods. Of course we are. This is the mafia. There’s probably a huge mansion we’ll be pulling up to. If there’s one thing I know about the mob, it’s that everything revolves around money.
I try to get a closer look at the men around me. My father sits beside me, outwardly calm as ever, but I can feel the hot temper simmering beneath the surface. I would wager that he curses a lot.
Well, he is a mob boss.
His skin is tan, and his hair and eyes are brown. His chin is still mostly squared, but I can see some of the fine lines of age starting on his once incredibly handsome face. His last name is Moretti, he’d told me. Would he expect that to be my last name now as well?
Luca is younger, and while I thought he had dark hair, it’s actually dirty blonde. I peg him to be the joker of the group, and though he has that mischievous look in his eyes, he isn’t any less imposing than the others. He’s the one who laughed the loudest when I’d asked my father to explain. That tells me he’ll be begging for attention in any way he can get it. You have to watch people like that—the ones who will do anything for their moment to shine and move up in the ranks.
The other two men, Frank and Todd, are African American. Tall and muscular like the others, but more professional. They scream military, and I wonder if they’re ex-cops.
Johnny Cash, I mean, just John, sits in the front quiet as ever. He is the wild card.
I know he killed the two men from earlier, and though they were trying to kill me, it still terrifies me that he did it so quickly. He obviously knew what he was doing because there wasn’t even a sound when the gun went off. All I remember hearing was two bodies hitting the ground. And John never let on. He didn’t say much, and by the way the other men acted, it was as if this was normal for him. So, he’s the loner assassin then. I know my father called him a soldier, but I know he is a hitman.
I’m so lost in my examination of the men in the car that I don’t even realize when we pull up to a house, and I’m pleased to know that I was correct. The house is a big mansion, a vintage brick Victorian with white decoration and a third-floor balcony. It sits on private property with no neighbors around it. I’m not sure if that’s comforting or not.
Just as we’re about to get out of the car, I think of Daphnee, who I called earlier. I gasp and grab my dad’s arm.
“Daphnee!” I exclaim. Four heads snap to me, staring. I feel myself flush but explain, “I called my friend Daphnee tonight before walking out to my car . . . she called the police when . . . well, when everything happened.”
“Oh, we know, dear. It’s all taken care of,” my father says dismissively.
Not knowing how to reply to that, I close my eyes with a sigh. Nodding my head, I let him lead me out of the car.
As we step outside, I hear the sound of dogs barking and notice several security cameras. A gentle pat on the back from my father brings my attention back to him.
He smiles warmly, an emotion in his eye that I can’t quite place. “Welcome home, dear.”
Chapter Two
After my father gave me a clean change of clothes, he showed me to my room with a promise of meeting everyone and a tour of the house tomorrow. I’m left sitting on a beautiful king-sized bed. The mattress is soft and plush and the comforter is white. Everything else is pink. Everything. I like pink, but this is a little much. The only things that are not pink are the white canopy bed and the beautiful white vanity with a matching white chair and an elegant oval mirror attached. It’s a little girl’s room, and I’m wondering if my father set it up for me a while ago, or if there had been another little girl in the house.
I sit on the bed staring at the wall, for I don’t know how long. I have this urge to trash the room. To throw things around. Then, my room will match my mind.
Instead, I turn on the TV to Spongebob and cry. It’s something I’ve always done when life gets ugly: turn on cartoons. Some mindless background noise that guarantees a happy ending. The heels of my feet brush against the blanket of my new bed as I bring my knees up to my chest and sob.
I let out all my fear and frustration. My body trembles and my face is sticky and hot. I lie down on the bed, hiding my face in a pillow, trying to muffle my despair.
Then, I hear a knock on the door.
Fuck, I just wanted a minute to myself to have a good cry. If I’m going to be staying with a mafia family, I cannot show weakness in front of them. I wipe my face on the pillow, sniffling, and try to slow my breathing. I run a hand through my hair and take a few more deep breaths.
“Come in,” I say, standing from the bed. My voice is hoarse with the evidence of my crying.
I expect my father to walk in, but instead, it’s Johnny Cash. My eyes widen, and I almost take an involuntary step back, but catch myself, rocking on the balls of my feet instead.
Don’t show any weakness, Ruby. You already look like a frightened kitten in his presence.
I clear my throat. “Umm . . . what are you doing here?” I try for a strong voice, but a whisper comes out instead.
I find that it’s hard for me to look him in the eye. His gaze is too much, too intense, too intimidating. His face is hard and symmetrical, beautiful yet sinister. He has a dusting of facial hair covering his cheeks and chin. His curly, dark hair is wild and mostly tossed over to one side of his face. I feel incredibly shy of him, and I hate myself for blushing when I finally meet his eyes. Although, he may not have noticed yet since I still feel the heat on my cheeks from crying.
He stares at me intensely, his features harsh, but his voice comes out soft. “I’m sorry for intruding, but your father asked me to stand guard in your room tonight.”
I feel my brow furrow. “So . . . you’re going to stand there all night and . . . watch me sleep?”
He gives a curt nod, leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed.
“Why do I need a guard?” More importantly, why would my father send some man into my bedroom at night?
“Safety precaution,” he says again in that deep, soft voice.
Could he be anymore evasive?
“What if I don’t feel comfortable with you in here?”
He shrugs. “Would you feel better if you talked with your father?”
“. . . Yes.”
As he hands me his phone, I take great pains not to touch his skin. My eyes sweep up to meet his and he’s already staring at me. A muscle tics in his jaw, and he nods his head towards the phone. “You better answer it.”
Looking down, I realize he already dialed and hear a faint ‘hello’ come through the phone.
“Umm, hello?”
“Ruby?” comes my father’s voice. “Why are you calling on John’s phone?”
“Umm . . .” God, I’ve got to quit saying that. I see John still giving me that flat stare, his eyes penetrating.
I walk over to the bathroom connected to my room and shut the door, hoping for some privacy.
“Why is some random man standing guard in my bedroom? I don’t know if you know this or not, but usually, fathers are overprotective of their daughters. They don’t send huge men into their bedrooms at night.”
I hear a wheeze on the phone and realize my father is laughing. “Oh, Ruby,” he says in between laughs, “I know we haven’t known each other long, but you kill me.”
I feel an indignant blush flow through my cheeks and have the urge to stomp my foot like a small child.
“Listen, Ruby. John is one of my most trusted men. You’ll be safest with him. You can trust him.”
“I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF I CAN TRUST YOU!” I explode and then cover my mouth even though he can’t see me. I rub a hand over my chest nervously and take a deep breath. When the silence thickens, I speak again, “Safe from what? Do you need to be that cautious in your own home?”
“Yes,” my father says without hesitation. “Now that my enemies know you’re my daughter, I can’t be too careful. For now, John will be your shadow.”
“Until when? What am I going to do tomorrow? I have a job, ya know.”
“Not anymore you don’t. I have enough money to give you everything you could ever possibly want or need.”
“I’m not staying here forever, and hey! I like my job!”
“Ruby, get some rest. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
The phone beeps, letting me know my father hung up before I get the chance to reply. I have the urge to throw the phone at the mirror and shatter my reflection staring back at me. I sit the phone down gently and brace my arms against the sink, head hanging. What am I going to do? I can’t stay with the fucking mafia. Or, from the way my father talks, he suspects I’ll live here. I have no idea about this life, except for things I’ve seen in movies or heard in a passing joke. Now here I am, the Boss’s daughter. My father is a scary man—they’re all scary men. I’m not one to cower, but the moment one of their cold gazes met mine, it was hard not to flinch and look away. How can I learn to play this game for my own self-preservation?
And John is out in my bedroom, waiting, his phone lying on the sink. I glance at it. Should I call the police?
No, the thought comes almost instantly. I don’t know how many dirty cops are on my father’s payroll.
That would just get me into even more trouble.
You could call Daphnee, though, my subconscious whispers.
Before I can think better of it, my hands are speeding over John’s touch screen phone, punching in the numbers.
I bring the phone to my ear, tapping my foot, hoping she’ll answer a number she doesn’t know.
She picks up, using her deep “man” voice, as she calls it. The one she reserves for spam calls, and the noise that leaves my mouth is something between a laugh and a sob.
“Ruby! What the hell happened?”
“Shh!” I hiss through the phone and then facepalm myself. If Daphnee thinks I’m in trouble, she’ll have a SWAT team out here lickety-split.
“Where are you?” she scream-whispers through the phone.
I sigh, and try to use my most calming voice possible while also trying to keep my voice low so that John doesn’t hear anything.
“This is going to sound weird, but I met my father tonight.”
“WHAT!”
I jerk the phone away from my ear, wincing. “I know, I know. Like I said, it’s been a weird night.”
“What’s really going on? Have you been crying? You don’t sound right.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip hard, trying to keep the despair from my voice. “It’s been a bit of an emotional reunion . . .” I trail off.
“Yeah, I bet. Do you want to come over and talk about it?”
I inhale deeply, tipping my head back and start blinking rapidly, trying to keep my tears at bay. “Well, that’s why I’m calling. I’m actually going to be staying with him for a while. I didn’t want you to think I died.” I try to laugh, but it comes out strangled.
“Are you sure you want to stay there? No offense, Rubes. I know he’s your dad and all, but it doesn’t sound like you really want to stay.”
I bring my fist to my mouth. “Yes, I do. I’m okay. Everything will be okay. I just wanted you to know what was going on and why you won’t hear from me for a while.” I glance at the time and realize I’ve been in the bathroom for ten minutes.
Before I can say anything else, Daphnee’s suspicious voice floats through the speaker. “Why are you calling on this random number? What happened to your phone? Is this your dad’s number? Can I call or text it if I want to talk to you?”
“No!” I squeak and then clear my throat. “My phone broke tonight during the . . .” I scramble around for what to call it.
“Robbery? Burglary? That’s what it sounded like on my end. Ruby, are you sure you don’t want to talk about things? I don’t want to, like, intrude on you and your dad or anything, but do you think I could come stay with you tonight? I know you’re going to be shaken up for a while after that.”
“No, no. I mean, thanks for offering, but it’s okay. You’re right, I am shaken up, but I’ll be okay. Look, Daph, I’ve gotta go, okay? I’ll call you when I get my phone fixed, but please delete this number and don’t call it. Things are awkward with my dad right now and I just wouldn’t know how to explain to him that I’m getting calls on his phone.”
“What’s your dad like? Is he mean?”
My stomach sinks. She doesn’t know the half of it.
And it doesn’t help that her father was an abusive drunk.
“No, he’s nice.” The lie tastes sour on my tongue. “Look, I’m sorry to rush—believe me, I want to tell you everything—but I really gotta go. And Daphnee?”
“Yes?”
“I love you and I’ll be okay, but please don’t ever call this number,” I say quickly and then hang up.
&nb
sp; I want to scream and cry and rage, but instead, I bend down, turning on the cold water and splashing my face. The coldness is a shock, but it’s what I need to keep myself from breaking apart. I take a few deep breaths and try my best to turn my emotions off, and then I delete Daphnee’s number from John’s recent calls list.
Though I’m a blazing mess of emotions inside, I feel like I absolutely can not break down in front of John.
I lean forward on my elbows over the sink and stare at my wild reflection in the mirror.
For some reason, I have the insane urge to take some silly photos and put them on John’s phone. The thought is so stupid, I feel a crazed smile spread across my face, then shut it down.
With a resigned sigh, I pick up the phone and walk out of the bathroom. I’ll have to deal with the way things are for now. I’ll have to take it one day at a time.
As soon as I open the door to walk out, I run into John’s hard chest. I let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal and drop his phone.
I hurriedly take a step back, rubbing my chest nervously. “Do I have no privacy now?” I snap.
I immediately regret it.
How do I know these guys won’t lash out at me? And wasn’t I just thinking of how I needed to learn to play the game? They likely see me as easy prey, and the truth is, I am. I’m a nineteen-year-old female in a house with a bunch of men who all have at least a good ten inches or more of height on me.
I look up at John’s face. God, why does he have to be so tall? His whole aura says he’s unbothered and unapproachable. That’s how I need to be.
“I was just making sure you weren’t trying to call the cops or kill yourself,” John says, emotionless. Then he picks up his phone and goes back to leaning against the wall.
I feel anger and panic surge through me, but I tame it down. He couldn’t have heard my conversation with Daphnee. He would’ve barged in, ending the call, I’m sure.
Hide your emotions, Ruby. Don’t let these men bring you down. As I’m giving myself this little pep talk, my eyes dart to the TV which is still playing cartoons. Fuck, why did John have to see me in my depressing cartoon stage? I try not to let my embarrassment show as I flop down on the bed and turn off the TV.