“Marisa, he’s—”
Something’s wrong. I look inside the room, and the doctors seem strangely still. It’s like they’ve given up.
“Time of death—”
“NO!” I elbow my way inside, heart hammering when I look at the tubes shoved down Dad’s throat. How dare they give up on him so easily? Don’t they understand? Don’t they realize how important this man is? “Try again!”
“Ma’am, you need to leave the room.”
A doctor wearing a surgical mask addresses me sternly. I scan the group of indifferent nurses and doctors and feel a surge of loathing. “Don’t you dare give up on him! He’s donated tens of thousands of dollars to this hospital. You owe him.” Tears silently fill my eyes. “Please!”
I can’t look at my dad. I can’t see the way his cheeks have already sunken in and feel how cold his hand has gotten. It’s like dry ice.
“Ma’am, please. We tried everything we could—”
“No, you didn’t!” I scream so loudly that the walls seem to tremble. “He just needs a little bit more time, for God’s sake. Can’t you just—Nathan, help me!”
My brother squeezes through, his eyes narrowing at me. He grips my shoulders and pulls me away from the bed, away from Dad. “Marisa, it’s over.”
I fight him, shoving his chest away from me. “Shut up. No, it’s not. You’re just—”
“Marisa!” he bellows in my face. “He’s gone. He’s gone.”
Blue eyes cut into mine, the razor sharp clarity slicing inside me. My heart beats heavily, as though it throbs with a knife stuck inside.
He’s gone.
Dad’s bare feet have a bluish tinge and his face is sunken in like parchment paper draped over a skull.
Oh, Jesus. My Dad—my rock. He’s gone. Gone.
How could this happen? People recover from strokes all the time, and Dad had the best doctors looking after him. I made sure of that. I called in every favor I had and pulled strings to get the best. Even the best wasn’t enough.
“Time of death, 6:32 am.”
Nathan holds me tightly. He’s the only man left in the world—the closest thing to my father. Dad! I want to scream. Don’t go! Don’t leave me!
I can’t do this without him.
* * *
How the hell did I get here?
I’m in a large, empty room that smells dusty. Faded purple carpet covers the floor and bland walls don’t really make me think of death so much as a nursing home stuck in the 80’s. Men in suits mingle in the room, clutching their styrofoam cups of coffee as my brother and I stand sentry near Dad’s casket.
Funeral homes never really made sense to me. Why am I paying for a giant, empty room with shabby decor reminiscent of a few decades ago? What’s with that, anyway? Why do they always look so dated? There’s nothing to do except talk, and if you get hungry, too bad. There’s only complimentary coffee, and the crappy kind that stays in those metal tubes for hours. And that’s not even in the room, probably because there’s some kind of ridiculous law forbidding the distribution of food in the same area as a dead person.
Dead person.
I can’t even bear to look at the solid form resting inside the white pillows. His face looks nothing like him, but at least there are photographs everywhere. Giant wreaths of flowers above his casket make my nose itch. Somehow, that makes me want to laugh.
What’s wrong with me?
Days ago, we were all working at the same job together. Dad was talking about making some renovations at the casino, which Nathan and I opposed because we were in the slow season. Jessica was doing whatever the hell she does all day at her apartment. I argued with my dad about something small, something stupid—how exactly to cook a perfect medium rare steak. Dad cooked them on the pan, when I liked to finish them in the oven. We had a big argument about it. Both of us are so goddamn stubborn. I know I got it from him. I’ve no idea what I got from Mom; she’s basically a stranger to me.
All of this runs through my mind, and I search frantically through it to grasp something that will make me say, “A-ha! This can’t be real!”
I’m not sad.
I’m in denial.
A man I have never seen before extends his arm to me as I stand beside my father’s open casket.
“So sorry for your loss,” he says.
I’ve heard at least a dozen different versions of this in the past few hours. The corners of my lips pull upwards painfully.
“Thank you for coming.”
Beside me, I hear Nathan uttering the same words as we greet business associate after business associate. Heat rises to my chest like tiny, hot needles pricking my sensitive skin.
I didn’t fucking want them here. Nathan and I argued about it.
“Some of them are shareholders in the company—members of the board! Are you fucking crazy? Do you know how insulting it would be if you told them they couldn’t come to the funeral?”
“I don’t care!” I screamed back. “I don’t want to turn Dad’s funeral into a schmooze fest. For fuck’s sake, it’s a private affair. They don’t need to come.”
We screamed at each other until we were hoarse. Finally, we came to a compromise. The burial would be private, with only family members and a select few others. Everyone else would be allowed to attend the wake and ceremony.
So it’s two days of this.
Two days of standing up for hours in uncomfortable clothing and heels and pretending to care that the people who worked with Dad are at his wake, while they pretend to care about his death. They’re people whose names I forget almost the instant I shake their hands.
Dad wouldn’t want me to be like this. The casino was everything to him.
I swallow hard as a venerable man in slacks approaches. I recognize him as one of the board members of Worlds Casino. Mr. Blackwell’s lined face glances inside the coffin briefly and he pats the coffin.
“Poor Dominic,” he shakes his head sadly. “None of us saw this coming. I’m so sorry.”
I heave a long sigh. “It was very fast.”
His coarse hand doesn’t quite let go of mine. “This may have happened fast, but a few of us know who he wanted in control of the company. I just wanted to let you know that you’ll have full support of the board. Take your time and grieve, and it’ll be waiting for you.”
A slight shock runs through me as I look into his knowing eyes. What the hell does that mean? Nathan’s getting the company, isn’t he? I can only regard him in stunned silence as he smiles and nods, and then his hands slip from my fingers as he approaches Nathan.
I turn slightly, listening hard as he wrings Nathan’s hand, but he makes no other mention of my father’s business.
A stab of unease wrestles with the numbness inside me as I stare out into the crowd of murmuring people. I never actually seriously considered the possibility that I might inherit the majority of my father’s shares, and not Nathan. I always assumed it would be him. He was the oldest and the most capable of all three of us. Mr. Blackwell made it sound like I would be—
No.
I won’t think about that. Not now. My stomach turns as I glance towards my left, to the body resting beside me.
He’s not even buried yet. Shame on you.
It presses down on my chest and head, and I look around anxiously for a disapproving face as if someone nearby heard my thoughts.
A dark-haired man interrupts my train of thought. He wears a perfectly fitted inky-black suit, which compliments the olive tone of his skin. Suddenly I feel warm all over. I’m not sure why, but maybe it’s his high cheekbones and dark, melancholic eyes. He’s like a stereotype for tall, dark, and handsome. He hasn’t noticed me staring at him yet; he looks inside the coffin with both hands grasping the edge, his fingers white. The man finally turns towards me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looks at me with little emotion. No, there’s a lot buried underneath that cool slate he tries to hide under. He keeps his limbs unnaturally still to keep them from
shaking and his face stays blank, but anyone can see the deep sadness lurking in his eyes. The dark eyes swirl with it.
Jesus. He’s intense.
I hold out my hand first, genuinely curious about him already.
“Thank you for coming.”
His hand is pleasantly cool, but mine feels hot. It slips in his hand.
Crap. That’s embarrassing.
He blows a sigh through his nose. “I didn’t know your dad very well, but from what I heard, he was a real decent guy. I’m really sorry that you have to go through this.”
The intensity of his gaze makes me feel vulnerable. I can tell that he means it, that he knows what loss feels like. I’m slowly starting to feel it: the stomach dropping, red-eyed, gulping for breath sadness that eats you from the inside out. I feel smacked awake. The small amount of warmth he gives me eclipses everyone else’s shitty condolences and apologies, and my hand trembles inside his.
Keep it together. Don’t fall apart in his arms.
“I—thank you.”
“I’m Joe DiFiore.”
It echoes inside my head. It has a nice ring to it.
He squeezes my hand and then lets it fall gracefully to his side. I’m holding in my breath, still taken aback by everything about him. I’ve been around lots of men and it takes a lot to intimidate me, but I definitely feel like a girl standing next to him. He stands with a shameless confidence, like a man who knows exactly what he wants, and what he wants is to get the hell away from the coffin.
That much is clear.
“You worked with my dad?”
“Yeah. Not directly, but I’m with Black Diamond Entertainment.” Noticing my blank face, he goes on. “We supply the casino with mechanics to fix the machines—”
There must be hundreds of companies on our payroll. I don’t recognize all of them yet. “Oh, I see.”
“My boss, Jack Vittorio, couldn’t be here. He wanted me to come in his place.”
I’m a little deflated.
He talks in a smooth, slow cadence but I notice that his eyes look hard. Anxiety flutters in my stomach as I watch his eyes narrow. I’m supposed to recognize his boss’ name, and I don’t. Shit.
“Right.” Behind him, there are at least twenty more people waiting to shake my hand and offer condolences and all of the energy I’ve managed to muster up from all the coffee I could handle seeps out of my bones. My eyes droop and I wish I could just be spirited away from this place.
Fuck.
I can’t do this. I can’t smile and shake hands when all I want to do is fall apart.
Nathan’s smooth voice punctures my thoughts as the handsome man watches me without a smile or glimmer behind his eyes. Someone leans in the coffin and touches his hand, and my eyes suddenly fill with tears when I think about how they’re going to put him in a hole in the earth and shovel a mound of dirt over him.
I’ll never be able to touch him again. I’ll never hear his voice again.
Turning away from Joe, I try to stifle my tears behind my hands. “I—I’m sorry.” I want to laugh at the ludicrousness of that statement. Why am I apologizing for crying at my own father’s wake?
This man that I hardly know steps in closer and takes my hand between his two cool ones and squeezes hard. At once, I’m consumed with a mixture of grief, surprise and almost—indignation. Who the hell is this guy? Why is he touching me? I’m so used to shaking hands that it feels incredibly confusing to have my personal space violated like this, but at the same time I want more. I want to be comforted with his arms around my waist and I even want his lips on my cheek. My skin burns just thinking about it. His cologne wraps around me in a pleasant cloud. It smells musky and I pick up notes of sandalwood. His face turns to my head.
“It’ll get easier.”
Then he lets me go and that incredible warmth pops like the burst of soap bubbles, and I wrap my arms around myself to try and get it back.
* * *
The door closes behind me, shutting me into my apartment.
Finally. This day is over. Finally.
Mom and Nathan wanted me to stay over Dad’s house for longer, but I had to tear myself away as soon as I could.
I’m just exhausted.
In the middle of my dark apartment, my shoulders slump. I kick off the aching black pumps and walk barefooted into my bathroom, stripping off my clothes as if they’re bandages wrapped around wounds. My whole body feels sore.
It was a horrible day, but at least it’s over.
I kick my pile of black clothes to the side as I open the giant glass door to my shower and yank on the handle. All six showerheads blast water in multiple directions, taking only seconds to heat. My feet curl on the rough surface of the shower floor. I designed the whole apartment when I turned twenty and when Dad’s trusts came through.
Ever since then, I felt like my nose was ground against the cement floor every day. I have all this money, but I don’t feel like I’ve earned it. Every moment was spent preparing to work in Dad's business. I never traveled. I don’t have friends. Boyfriends? Forget about it. Between learning Dad’s business and Nathan’s overbearing nature, I never had time. Oh sure, I had a few in college, but they fizzled out like duds of fireworks.
Frankly, I’ve never been happy.
It feels so stupid to say it out loud. So incredibly selfish. According to the rest of the world, I don’t deserve to be unhappy. I’m an ungrateful, whiny, rich girl.
But when I try to think about what I want, my mind draws a blank.
Well, there was that hot guy at the funeral. I wouldn’t mind spending more time with him, that’s for sure. He was just so handsome. My skin heats up just thinking about how hot he looked in that suit, and how I felt warm all over when his hands gripped mine.
Jesus, listen to me. Lusting after a guy I met at Dad’s funeral.
After a half-hour waste of water, I shut off the streams and grab the fluffy, white towels hanging around the rack. I sigh as I wrap them around my waist and hair, looking in the mirror at my petite reflection. There’s something about being clean that makes everything feel better.
I’m settled into my pajamas, but there’s a hollow feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with food. There are photos of him all over my apartment. Every time I see one, it’s like a punch to my stomach. I pick up a photo of all of us: Mom, Dad, Nathan, Jess, and me. They weren’t together for very long. The few memories I have of them together were filled with fights so loud that they shook the walls. When we divorced, Dad got custody of us. I’m not sure whether she really wanted kids. She just wanted the lifestyle.
Anger runs through the photo and up my arm. She just left us—left Jessica and I to fend for ourselves. I played Mom and tried to keep the peace in the house between all the siblings. I’m still doing that.
I slump into my couch in a sort of exhausted, dead haze. The phone sitting on my end table flashes with Nathan’s name. What the hell could he want now?
Picking up the phone, I place it against my ear. “Hi. What is it?”
Translation: What the hell do you want?
“Hey, Marisa. Listen, Jess and I were wondering when you wanted to visit Dad’s attorney to read his will.”
Not even a day has gone by.
“God, Nathan. Couldn’t this wait a week? His funeral was today.”
“Marisa, I know that,” he says in a carefully controlled voice. “But we can’t wait a week. Dad’s company needs our attention now. If you want to take a couple weeks off, fine, but at least come with us to the attorney’s office so we can get this out of the way.”
I stand up from the couch and pace back and forth in front of the television, shaking my head. The heat in my chest makes me want to hurl the phone into the brick fireplace.
“There’s something seriously wrong with both of you.”
Nathan sucks in breath and even I’m a little surprised at my tone. I never, ever snap at my brother. I never show him that I’m angry. It’s just
easier to shove my feelings aside and try to get along.
You need to get along with your brother, Marisa. He’s your brother.
I shake my head.
“What is your problem? I am trying to make this transition as smooth as possible.”
“Our dad just died, and all everyone seems to care about is what’ll happen to the goddamn company.”
Once again, I have to swallow my surprise. I’m never this open with people, even my own brother. The more I snap at him, the angrier I get. I’m ready to seize a mug and throw it at the wall. Fuck him. Fuck Jessica.
“Yeah, I do care about the company. I’ve only spent half my life invested in it. Dad’s dead, and it sucks, but I’m not going to let his company go to shit because you’re a weakling. Grow up, Marisa. We’re meeting there at four on Friday, with or without you.”
There’s the Nathan I remember.
He ends the phone call before I can scream back at him. My arm swings and I throw the phone into the couch’s cushions. Christ, I don’t know why I’m so angry.
My eye catches another framed photo of my dad and my throat thickens with tears.
Yes, you do.
* * *
The bars from the Brooklyn Bridge cast long, narrow black shadows on my younger sister’s face. They scan her face and whip off. I adjust my sunglasses as the sun’s glare beams right into the windshield, blinding us both. I think about all the times my dad and I used to walk Brooklyn Bridge. He was such an active man. All day, he was constantly moving.
“As soon as my money comes through, I’m going to get a bigger apartment.” Jessica offers me a gum-popping, wide smile. “Don’t you think I should?”
I jerk my head to the side as I grip the steering wheel. “I think you’re twenty-three and you should save your money for more important things.”
Despite there being only a few years of difference in age between us, I’ve always felt so much older than her.
Jessica rolls her thickly outlined eyes at me and kicks out her leopard-printed legs. “Ugh, I forgot how boring you are.”
I ignore the sizzle of heat inside my chest. “Jess, you shouldn’t talk to me like that. I’m your sister. Dad would’ve wanted us to get along.”
End Game (A Dark Romance) Page 2