by Sophia Reed
Instead, it felt as if I was watching a movie of someone else’s life.
As I stood at a corner, a bus pulled into the bus stop, and I hopped on, riding it to within a few blocks of the Dwight D, the hotel the suite was attached to. Once I arrived, I stood outside the door of the detached cottage, staring at it. Marco had made certain I had a keycard to it, but after everything that had transpired, I didn’t know if it would still work.
When it did, I slipped inside.
My feet took me straight to the bed I’d so recently shared with Marco, the bed where we’d made love, the bed where he’d told me he loved me. But again, those things felt like they’d happened to a different Kelly Carr, a Kelly who wasn’t me. They didn’t have the impact I might’ve expected.
I got into the bed as if it were just another night. As if Marco might be home any minute, or as if he were in the next room, just out of sight. I laid back on the pillows then turned toward his side of the bed, realizing that his pillow still smelled like him, that fresh mix of sandalwood and him. Clutching it against my body as if it were him, I nuzzled my face deeply into it, breathing it in.
Then, without any difficulty at all, I fell asleep.
I woke the next morning, finding that the numbness remained. I went on living there, going through the motions. I showered, watched television, stared blankly at the wall, but I didn’t feel much.
When I began to feel hungry, I searched the fridge in the kitchenette, delighted to find it had been partially stocked. Probably by Marco’s buddy Vinnie. I was thankful. It meant I didn’t have to burst the bubble I’d created around myself.
Six days after my life had imploded, I jerked awake in the dead of night from a bad dream. Sweating and panicked, I reached for Marco, but he wasn’t there. The realization brought everything back to me, all of it. Everything I’d somehow put off experiencing hit me like a sledgehammer and I burst into sobs that wracked my entire body.
After they subsided a bit, I got up to get a drink of water. All the things I’d been able to ignore or even forget for the past several days came back to me with a vengeance. Did my mom need more pain pills? Had my absence caused her to miss any important doctor’s appointments? Were my parents paying their bills? Had my brother wondered where I’d gone?
Was Marco okay? Where was he? Still at the police station or somewhere else now? Would his case go to trial? Would he be taken to some dangerous maximum-security prison where he might be hurt or killed?
I should be mad at him, I realized that. Maybe I shouldn’t even care about whatever he might be going through. But I did. I worried about him. My feelings for him weren’t some faucet I could turn off and on. I loved him, and no matter how much he’d been hiding from me, and how shocked I’d been by it all, my heart still missed his. Ached for his.
I remembered the way he’d looked at me in that police conference room, the way he’d sounded. His tone had been beseeching, anguished. He’d even had unshed tears in his eyes, something I’d never seen from him before.
But that hadn’t dissuaded me at the time. Unable to deal with the situation, I’d had to get away, so I’d left him. I hadn’t known what else to do.
I’d continued that trend. That was why I was here instead of at my parent’s apartment. It was why I hadn’t contacted anyone or allowed myself to feel anything. I glanced around at my luxurious environs. I didn’t even know what day it was.
I looked at a calendar placed near the front door that had images of some of the more popular Philadelphia tourist sites. Although it was the first day of February, no one had flipped the calendar over from January. I took the time to do it, replacing the picture of the Liberty Bell with one of the Franklin Institute.
A thought skittered through my head. It was the first of February, and I hadn’t started my period. The day everything had happened with David arresting Marco had been the day I was due, which meant I was now six days late.
I was late.
I was never late.
My body had always been as reliable as clockwork when it came to my cycle. I’d been one of those lucky women who didn’t suffer from PMS. No bloating. No headaches. No change at all. Except for needing to wear a tampon, it didn’t impact my life much. Maybe that’s why it only now registered with me that I’d missed one.
Did that mean I was…
But, no. Marco had not only been a generous and tender lover, he’d also been conscientious. He’d used a condom. Every single time. I remembered because there were a few moments when I’d been caught up in the sensations of what we were doing only to realize that he’d put everything on hold for long enough to roll on some protection. He’d been cautious and careful with me in every way.
So me being late must be some sort of fluke.
Still, I hurried back to our bedroom to the nightstand on his side of the bed. When I opened the drawer, I found what I was looking for: the condoms he’d been using. A couple had been scattered loosely along the bottom, and next to those was a new unopened box. He’d taken responsibility and had been consistently prepared.
One thing about being a virgin until recently meant I hadn’t given much thought to birth control. I hadn’t needed it, so I’d concentrated on the things more pertinent in my life. I knew about the various forms, of course, I wasn’t completely ignorant about them. But I wasn’t overly familiar, either. To remedy that, I began to read the instructions on the box.
There was nothing on there that sounded like we’d used them improperly. The rate of success was ninety-eight percent as long as they were used correctly, and I had no reason to believe that Marco hadn’t. The two loose condoms were a different brand from the box, so I inspected the square foil packets, just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, but the instructions seemed to be nearly word for word the same.
Maybe the stress of everything that had happened had knocked me off my routine schedule.
I put the box back and was about to return the foil packets, too, when I noticed something. Black typed lettering ran along the side of each packet. An expiration date.
That particular condom had expired six months prior.
The other loose packet had the same date, while the box didn’t expire for another three years. Did that matter? Did using expired condoms make a difference in their effectiveness?
I had no idea.
I grabbed my coat and purse and flew out the door. It was time for me to find out.
24
Marco
Ricky gawked at me as if I’d told him I wanted a noose to hang myself with. It did sort of feel that way, if I was being totally honest. But I knew in my gut I had to do it. This option had the best chance at succeeding.
As long as it didn’t crash and burn anyway.
Luca, Alessandro, and Gabriel had all come by to visit me, each of them displaying various levels of pissed offery. I’d anticipated Luca being absolutely livid at me. I’d gotten captured by the police and endangered a business that’d been more than profitable up till then.
But once Sandro and Gabriel had left, my eldest brother had seemed more frustrated by the circumstances than anything else. The judge that had been assigned my case wasn’t someone on our side. The accusations being leveled against me could have far-reaching effects, especially where Varasso business interests were concerned.
Luckily, Luca had double and triple back-ups in place in nearly every aspect of what we did. He also had escape plans at the ready if the shit really hit the fan. He’d be able to get everyone else out of the country if necessary, even if that meant I had to become the sacrificial lamb. And the probability of that was going up with each passing day.
Detecting the direction the wind was blowing, I confided in my brother one last time.
“I fucked up, brother. I admit that.”
He frowned, scratching at his scruff in irritation. “You trusted the wrong person. It happens.”
The thing is, it didn’t often happen to Varassos. When someone broke our trus
t, typically that person was never seen again. Problem solved. But that wouldn’t work this time around.
“Maybe. But it’s not her fault. I don’t want anything happening to Kelly Carr, Luca. I love her.”
He huffed out a burst of air. “Marco…”
“I know, okay. I know. But she’s this sweet girl who’s been taken advantage of. Her whole life she’s been taken advantage of. By her parents and her brother. I even did it for a while, though I never intended to. But I have to try to repair things with her, make things last with her. I got her into this mess, so it’s on me to get her out.” I looked up, waiting for him to meet my gaze. “You remember that favor you promised me? This is me calling it in.”
“What is it you need?” he asked me, and I braced myself.
Then, I told him.
And now I was explaining that same plan to Ricky.
“God, Marco,” Ricky addressed me not as my lawyer, but as a friend. Someone I’d known most of my childhood. His mouth had opened in astonishment, and the furrowing lines between his eyebrows ran deep, but I wasn’t changing my mind. “Are you sure about this? This could go bad so easily. It could be legal and personal suicide.”
I’d come to a crossroads where it came down to a choice between giving all I had or doing nothing and letting the fates decide. And since I’d never been much of a believer in blind fate, I was going all in.
“I’m sure.”
The hard-assed Lieutenant Stroud entered the conference room, her expression one of curiosity. “I heard you wanted to speak with me.”
“That’s right,” I told her. “I need you to contact the FBI.”
“The Feds?” her tone utterly perplexed. “Why?”
“I have information they’ll find useful, and I want to offer them a proposal.”
“Two things,” I told Luca. “And I realize that may mean that I’ll have to owe you.”
“This isn’t about debt, Marco. You saved my life, yes, but you’re also my brother. I told you anything you needed is yours and I meant it.”
I let out a breath. “I need you to track Kelly down and give her this.” I handed my brother an envelope with a letter I’d written. It was my last-ditch effort. My hail-Mary pass. “Read it, first. It’s not sealed. I can give you all the addresses I have on her, but I don’t know for sure where she’ll be. But I have to know her response to this as soon as she can get back to me.”
Regarding me thoughtfully, Luca opened the envelope and read the letter I’d placed inside. Once finished, he gazed over at me. “You really do love her, don’t you?”
I nodded. But this was about more than expressing myself to the woman I loved. This was about putting my money where my mouth was. I was taking everything I had and sticking it out on the line.
“I’ll find her,” he promised me.
“Here’s the other thing I need…” And I described the small inconsequential-looking flash drive I’d taped to the back of my headboard in my bedroom at the mansion. “I have to have leverage, even if it’s not the leverage they’ll anticipate. But you can trust me, brother. Even though this may mean I won’t see any of you again, I’m still a Varasso.”
Luca’s eyes became suspiciously shiny, but his words belied this. “I can trust that I’ve always been able to kick your ass.”
“Bullshit,” I argued out of habit, and he shoved me hard before yanking me into a rough embrace.
“You realize this’ll leave us a man down,” he said, his voice gravelly. My own voice wasn’t exactly smooth when I answered back.
“You’re going to be a man down no matter what. At least this way, the family stays as intact as it can be.”
“I hope whatever the outcome, you find happiness, Marco. I really do,” Luca told me, clapping me on the back. I nodded, returning those claps. No matter how much I’d fought with him and my other brothers, I’d miss him. I’d miss them all. There was no guarantee that I’d ever see them again after this. If anything, chances were that I wouldn’t.
I knew the gamble I was taking might not pay off. I simply had to cling to the hope that one way or another it would.
Ricky accompanied me to the interrogation room yet again, this time in bright orange inmate garb rather than my usual suit. Once I’d been formally charged, they’d incarcerated me in a temporary holding cell, processing me with all the typical bells and whistles. Not an enjoyable experience, but then, it’s not supposed to be.
We sat down in hard metal chairs, waiting for the other members of our party to arrive.
“Last chance to back out, man,” Ricky intoned, shifting in his seat. He thought what I was doing was a mistake, I knew. But the time to renege had long passed.
“Sometimes the only way out is through.”
The lieutenant came in, followed closely by a man in a suit. It was the cheap kind, ill-fitting and plain, unlike the tailored variety my brothers and I wore. In his hand he carried a battered briefcase. “This is Special Agent Beale of the FBI. You said you have something you’d like to share with him.”
“I do,” I said, tipping my chin toward Ricky.
“My client has exclusive information he’d like to trade,” he said.
“And what information might that be?” Agent Beale asked, his voice a deep boom.
“Details of the activities of a certain mafia family. One that’s been entrenched in Philadelphia for generations and has ties to drug trafficking and other crimes that cross international borders.”
Brows up, the agent said, “And would he be willing to testify to such facts?”
“That shouldn’t be necessary,” Ricky stated. “All the information is in the form recordings, online files which could be made into hard copies, and other forms of footage.”
The agent grunted, “I see.” And I interrupted the proceedings.
“Should my presence in the courtroom be required, I will comply as long as I’m given what I’ve asked for.”
The agent turned his wide gray eyes to me. “And that would be?”
Ricky picked up the thread of conversation again. “The dropping of all charges against him and the inclusion of him and one other into the witness protection program.”
“I’d need to see such evidence before making a decision,” the agent stated flatly.
“Not a problem.” Ricky passed a flash drive to him. This time a bright green one. “This is a partial copy of the information my client could share. On this drive are snippets to give you a taste of what can be provided.”
Without hesitation, Agent Beale pulled out his briefcase and removed a laptop in surprisingly good condition based on the vessel it’d been kept in. He inserted the drive and he and Lieutenant Stroud watched the clips I’d been willing to part with ahead of time. These smaller pieces of the bigger jigsaw might not be enough on their own to convict, but they clarified the fact that what I had was legitimate.
“You have my attention,” the agent said, sitting up straighter now.
“My client has in his possession conclusive proof on three members of the local crime syndicate, enough to destabilize their power not just here but their reach throughout the nation,” Ricky explained, dangling the carrot a little closer.
The lieutenant smirked, her mouth a thin line. “I’m guessing there’s no love lost between you and your brothers, then. Is there, Mr. Varasso?”
She’d spoken directly to me, a barb in her tone, so I spoke directly back to her. “My brothers are not the ones on the footage you saw.”
“What?” she said, clearly confused. Agent Beale’s face had twisted quizzically, as well.
“What I have is proof of criminal activity involving the Bianchi family, not the Varassos.”
“But they’re your rivals. How’d you ever get a hold of such a thing?” she asked, showing her bewilderment.
But I’d become a closed book. They’d get nothing more from me without some guarantees in writing witnessed by my legal representative.
The men on that fl
ash drive were Donovan and Dario, but I was also giving up the whereabouts on Dante, fully comprehending the ramifications of double-crossing him. My plan was for him to be charged as well, which would put him out of commission and unable to retaliate. It might be risky to take such a chance, but I’d been serious about what I’d told Ricky.
I was all in.
Agent Beale glanced at the lieutenant and gave her a firm nod. “Well, then, Mr. Varasso, you have yourself a deal.”
25
Kelly
I stood there in the cottage suite’s bathroom clutching the small paper bag to my chest. Inside was a hot pink box that I hadn’t gotten brave enough to open yet. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, only then realizing I’d grown as pale as a sheet.
“This is just a fluke,” I said out loud, as if saying it would make it true. “A fluke.”
I said this probably twenty-five more times before I felt calm enough to proceed. Then I took the box out of the bag and read the instructions. It was fairly self-explanatory. Step one: urinate on the stick for five seconds. Step two: wait three minutes. Step three: two lines mean pregnant while one line means not pregnant. Easy squeezy lemon peasy.
Except I couldn’t quit shaking.
Okay, nothing to do but try it out.
I did what I was supposed to do and then went to the kitchenette because there was a timer built into the stove. The three minutes seemed to take a year to pass. It was as if time stopped altogether. Yet, when the timer went off, I didn’t feel ready to check the result. This was all so overwhelming. I didn’t want to be alone doing such a thing.
Didn’t most women going through this have their man standing by?
But I couldn’t think about that whole other can of worms. I had to focus.
Taking a deep breath, and then one more, I looked at the test. Two lines, though one was fainter than the other. What did that mean? It didn’t say anything about faint lines. There were two more tests in the box, so I took both of them simultaneously. Then, I sat in the kitchen floor to wait. The waiting wasn’t any easier that time, but the results appeared much clearer.