by Nicole Fox
Adriano’s green eyes are solemn. “I remember.”
“Really? Because sometimes, I think you’ve forgotten the bad years.”
Adriano purses his lips for a moment and sighs. “Okay, guilty as charged. It’s just easier to forget.”
“And more dangerous,” I add. “That’s why I will never forget them.”
“Lest we’re doomed to repeat them?”
“Something like that.”
We lapse into a pensive silence for a moment. Years of unsaid things rippling below the surface. Pieces of our past we’d both like to remain dormant.
“Charlotte has been pushing for her friend to visit the compound,” I tell Adriano after a minute has passed. “On proper terms this time.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Can I be here when she comes by?”
“I’m thinking of allowing it. Her, not you.”
He tilts his head and eyes me suspiciously. “I’m assuming you have an ulterior motive for being so accommodating?”
“My gut tells me that the girl can be useful.”
“Which one?” Adriano asks.
I pause. “Both.”
“Is that the only reason you’re allowing this?”
I can hear the underlying question: Or is there something else you’re not telling me?
I ignore it.
“She’s doing a good job with Evie,” I say. Partly because it’s true and partly because it’s a subtle misdirection. “Giving in to this concession is no skin off my back.”
“I’m sure she’ll be very grateful.”
I ignore the innuendo in Adriano’s tone as my thoughts fall on Evie.
I’ve made some progress with her, but I can sense her trepidation around me. More resoundingly, I sense her confusion.
She’s asked about her mother a few more times now, and I’m running out of ways to evade the question.
Not the least of which is because I don’t have many answers myself. Sonya’s tenure in my life ended in the worst way possible—her disappearing without a fucking trace.
I don’t like delving back into those memories.
Adriano interrupts my thoughts. “Something wrong, brother?”
I focus on his hooded eyes. “Evie’s been asking about her mother,” I tell him.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
“‘Fuck’ is right,” I acknowledge. “She’s asked a few times. And I know she’s asking Charlotte, too.”
“How much does she know?”
“Charlotte’s smart,” I say. “She knows Evie’s mine. But she assumes I have something to do with Sonya’s absence.”
“Gee, why ever would she think something like that?” he jokes.
I narrow my eyes at him and he gives me an apologetic smile. “You know what I mean.”
“I need to tell her.”
“Charlotte?”
“Evie,” I clarify. “She needs to know that Sonya’s not coming back.”
“You’re gonna tell a six-year-old her mother’s dead? That’s cold, even for you, man.”
“What other choice do I have?” I ask. “She has a right to know.”
“You don’t know how to tell her, do you?”
“Not the faintest fucking clue,” I admit, pressing my forehead onto the cool surface of my desk in exhaustion. “Shit.”
I think back over my own childhood, hunting for a solution.
Do I remember sitting down with either one of my parents for a real conversation?
No.
Because it never fucking happened.
They weren’t interested in being parents. They didn’t care if I understood shit or not. They didn’t discuss feelings or opinions.
My mother couldn’t be bothered to be a mother to me.
And my father only ever showed up when he wanted someone to take his anger out on.
I’d survived that—the hot and cold treatment.
And for the most part, I’d been fine.
Except for those instances when I’d needed a parent to lean on. And they’d simply walked the other way.
Well, fuck that. It made me stronger.
But it also left me bitter, resentful. Angry.
So fucking angry.
I was always prepared to make my own way as an adult. But no child should have to feel so fucking alone. That’s not what I want for Evie.
I can do better. I will do better.
“Just be there with her, man,” Adriano tells me. “Hold her. Hug her. Be there. Isn’t that what parenting is all about anyway?”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’ll be damned.”
“What?”
I smile. “Sometimes I forget that you can actually be wise sometimes.”
“That’s me,” Adriano grins. “I’m a font of parental wisdom.”
I groan. “And just like that, we’re back to our regularly scheduled programming.”
He laughs, green eyes sparkling. “You’re just jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Of how… wisdomous I am.”
I chuckle. “Not a word.” Before he can make the joke, I hastily add, “In English or in French.”
“Damn. You sure? It really sounds like one.”
We fall silent again. I try and imagine sitting across from Evie, preparing to tell her the truth about her mother.
One thing seems clear to me: it’ll destroy her.
Losing a parent that young does shit to your brain.
Maybe I need to call in some back up for this one.
I think about Charlotte. Her startling blue eyes. Her dark hair. Her fire. Her kindness.
I don’t trust her.
But I trust in her affection for Evie.
Maybe she should be in the room with me when I tell Evie about Sonya. It’ll definitely make Evie feel more comfortable.
The decision sits well with me.
But it brings new doubt, too.
I’m starting to rely more and more on Charlotte. And I do not fucking like that.
Once I’ve told Evie what happens, I’m getting rid of that particular crutch.
My time with Charlotte needs to end.
Now.
18
Charlotte
Later That Night—The Mazzeo Mansion
“Hands up,” I instruct. Evie flings her arms in the air and helps me pull the pajama top over her head. She wriggles the rest of the way into the long-sleeved cotton night shirt and grins up at me.
“Will you read me a bedtime story?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say—just as I hear the lock turn in the door.
A second later, Lucio walks in.
He’s wearing a black t-shirt that hugs his chest and arms. It’s a detail I’m not happy about noticing, but I can’t seem to look away either.
“Hi, Evie,” he rumbles.
“Look!” she says, running up to him. “We painted today.”
“Can you show me?”
Excited, Evie leads him over to her little white desk that’s reserved for arts and crafts projects. She carefully picks up the paper she worked on all afternoon and holds it up for his approval.
“Wow,” Lucio murmurs, bending down so that he’s at eye level with her. “You’re a regular Picasso.”
“That’s what Charlotte said, too.”
“She’s absolutely right. Good work, tesoro.”
She’s beaming shyly as Lucio straightens up and glances towards me. I’m still busy shivering at how the Italian sounds whenever he calls Evie his tesoro—his little treasure.
It does things to me.
Things I refuse to put a name to.
“Evie, why don’t you go choose the story you want to hear tonight for bed?” I tell her with a gulp.
With a happy nod, she scampers off towards the bookshelves in the corner of the room. I turn to face our stone-faced disturber of the peace.
“What brings you up here?” I ask Lucio curiously.
“You have a guest,” he says. His features harde
n as soon as his daughter is gone.
“Vanessa?”
Lucio nods. “You have an hour with her,” he tells me. “And then she’s out.”
I look over towards the doorway Evie just disappeared through. “I still need to put her to bed.”
“I’ll do that tonight,” he says.
I stare at him. “Hold on, my hearing must’ve fritzed out on me real quick. Did you say you’ll put her to bed tonight?”
He scowls. “You can pick your jaw up off the floor. I’m capable of putting a six-year-old girl to bed.”
“Oh, of course. What can’t you do, Superman? I just, y’know—didn’t think that was your kind of thing.”
“Do you want to see your friend or not?” he demands.
“I do, I do,” I say quickly. “I’m just… I think it’s great that you’re making an effort with Evie. That’s all.”
His eyes darken. “I don’t need your approval.”
Once upon a time, I would’ve flinched back at his whiplash temper.
Now, I just get mad myself.
“I’m trying to give you a little encouragement, asshole.”
“And I’m telling you that I don’t need your encouragement.”
“Jeez, what’s your problem?” I spit. “Somebody piss in your cornflakes this morning? Did you have a long work day of torturing people in your little basement cell?”
His eyes land on my face.
Then, to my surprise, they flit over my body for the briefest of seconds before he turns from me altogether.
He doesn’t rise to any of my jibes.
“One hour,” he says instead with a sense of thudding finality. “She’s waiting for you by the pool.”
Evie picks that moment to scurry back in, a huge picture book tucked under her arm. She starts to hand it to me, but I smile and stroke her hair out of her face.
“Evie, your papa is going to put you to bed tonight, okay?”
Her gray eyes dart between us in alarm. I’m about to comfort her—when Lucio beats me to the punch.
“I’m a pretty good storyteller,” he tells Evie. “Once you’ve heard my stories, you’ll never settle for anything lesser.”
He doesn’t look at me, but I feel the subtle burn of the putdown anyway.
She smiles. “Really?”
“The best. World famous.”
“You gonna be okay, Evie?” I ask again. Just to make sure.
She nods, and I give her a little wink.
But when I stand and make eye contact once more with Lucio, that smile slides away instantly.
“If she needs me—”
“She won’t.”
Fine. Fuck you, too, buddy.
Gritting my teeth, I head out of the room and down to the ground floor.
I notice that Vanessa isn’t waiting for me by herself. Enzo is standing a few feet away from her, trying his best to ignore her questions.
“How much does he pay you?” I hear her ask. “It must be quite a bit, huh? Those shoes don’t come cheap.”
“Van!” I say. “Leave poor Enzo alone.”
Enzo glances at me with obvious relief.
“Took you long enough to get here,” he complains.
“She grows on you.”
“I’m not sticking around long enough for that,” he tells me flatly. “Life’s too fucking short.”
He walks away, leaving us under the floodlights illuminating the lawn and the floral alcoves of the garden off in the distance.
“This place is off the freaking chain,” Vanessa mutters, coming forward and hugging me tight.
I return her hug gratefully. I need it more than she could ever know.
She’s still fixated on the mansion, though. Understandably.
“Have you used the pool at night?” she asks. “A little midnight skinny dip?”
“Definitely not. My days wrap up pretty early.”
She frowns.
I meant it as an innocuous comment, but she clearly saw something in my tone worth investigating.
“Why’s that?”
I hesitate out of some weird sense of something—loyalty? Respect for Lucio’s privacy? I’m not sure.
In the end, I decide to tell her the truth.
“I get locked into my room at eight-thirty.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Vanessa balks, her eyes bugging out.
I sigh. “He doesn’t trust me.”
“That’s rich,” Vanessa snaps. “Isn’t he the one who’s holding you here against your will?”
“It’s… complicated.”
“You keep saying that,” she replies impatiently. “But you haven’t explained what that fucking means yet.”
“Van, I got kicked out of my apartment. I have no money and no job anymore,” I say exhaustedly. “This situation is not ideal, and I’m not saying that. But at least I have a roof over my head.”
“Okay, so you saw an opportunity and you took it,” she agrees. “Which is why I think you’re gonna love what I’m about to suggest.”
Oof. Something tells me I’m not gonna love it at all.
I had suspected that Vanessa had an ulterior motive in wanting to come visit me here again.
The girl is resourceful as hell. That’s a good thing.
And she knows a juicy opportunity when she sees it. Also good.
But she likes to live dangerously.
And that’s where all her problems come from.
“Which is what?” I ask, weary beyond belief.
“There’s tons of nice, expensive shit in this place,” she murmurs, glancing over my shoulder towards the house. “Even if we only nab a few things, we’ll still make a killing. Enough to spring you from this death trap and start a new life on the road, Thelma and Louise-style.”
I turn back towards the house. I can see Enzo keeping an eye on us from inside the kitchen.
“First of all,” I begin with a shudder, “no. Secondly, hell no. And thirdly, even if I wanted to, I’m constantly being watched. I wouldn’t even be able to steal a fork out of here, much less anything worth selling.”
“Let them watch!” Vanessa chirps confidently. “Between the two of us, we can pull this off.”
“Van—"
“Before you say no, hear me out,” she says, cutting me off. “This man is rich and powerful. Trust me, he’s not going to miss a few little trinkets. He won’t even fucking notice. What do I always say about street kids like us?”
“We survive on opportunity,” I repeat hollowly.
This isn’t the first time we’ve done this routine—her convincing me to do something I know is a bad idea.
But if Lucio catches us, it might be the last.
“Exactly,” she says. “We survive on fucking opportunity. And we’ve got a golden one right here. We’d be complete idiots not to make use of it.”
“Okay, okay, okay. Stop. You’ve made your point.”
Vanessa raises her eyebrows. “Does that mean you’re in?”
I sigh deeply, realizing that she is right.
And in my case, she’s more right than even she realizes.
Xander hasn’t tried to make contact with me yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time before he shows his ugly face.
And if I don’t have information to give him… then I’m basically fucked.
I need to go hunting in Lucio’s mansion.
Before the Polish mob comes hunting for me.
“Yes,” I say, “I’m in.”
“Yes!”
“But hold up.”
Her face falls. “What?”
“I don’t think we should be stealing shit from around the house,” I tell her.
“Why the hell not?”
I pause for effect before finishing, “Because I think we should be aiming higher.”
Vanessa stares at me with shock. It takes her a second to recover from the shock, but when she does, a huge smiles spreads across her face. Those dimples of hers are on full display.
/>
“Oh, you bad bitch!” she says, shoving me playfully in the shoulder. “What did you have in mind?”
“The Mazzeo cookbook.”
Vanessa’s excitement drops down a notch. “Oh. Okay. I, uh, know you like cooking, but I think you’re overestimating the worth of—”
I burst out laughing. “Jesus, you’re clueless. It’s not a literal book of recipes, dummy!”
“It’s not?”
“No. All the Families keep a record of their illegal transactions,” I tell her. “How much money and supply gets sent to who, and when, and how—incriminating shit like that. I’m willing to bet that that book is worth more than anything in the house.”
Her eyes grow wider and wider as she starts to understand.
“Not only would it be valuable, but we can use it as leverage,” I continue. “We could gain immunity, protection, money. Whatever the hell we want.”
When I’m done, she whistles low.
“Wow, babe,” she says, mock-bowing down to me. “Respect. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
I feel a stab of guilt, but I still don’t want to risk telling her about Xander or the Polish. It’s better she remains in the dark about that shit.
“So… are you in?” I ask.
“Hell yeah!” she says enthusiastically. “I am so fucking in.”
I take a deep breath. I’m a little shaky, I realize.
“Okay, so I guess we’re doing this then.”
Vanessa’s smile sobers as she realizes just what we’re risking. “This isn’t gonna be easy, is it?”
“Nope.”
“And if we get caught…”
“We’re both dead,” I tell her bluntly. “And I’m not being dramatic when I say that, either. I mean literal dead. No pulse. They’ll never find our bodies.”
“Right,” Vanessa breathes. “Shit.”
“You don’t need to be a part of it, Van,” I point out.
“Are you gonna go through with it without me?”
I don’t have to think about it. “Yes.”
Not that I have much of a choice.
“Then I’m not backing out,” she swears solemnly. “You’ll need me.”
I smile. “Don’t worry,” I say. “The moment we get those files, we’ll get as far away from here as we possibly can.”