by Lisa Cardiff
Gavin died nearly two weeks ago. His brother blamed me. Sal found me. And after years of freedom, I was right back where I started. Like a hamster on the wheel, I’d come full circle. I turned to Sal, and a shiver of disgust rolled through me. I couldn’t believe I let him manipulate me for nearly a year. A year I’d never get back. A year of lies that destroyed my faith in people. How pathetic. How sad.
“Your dad’s waiting on the tarmac.”
“Right. Of course he is.” I didn’t attempt to disguise the snark in my voice.
Not trusting me to get on a commercial flight without a fight, my father had sent Sal and his private plane to retrieve me. He was right not to trust me. I slapped, kicked, and clawed at Sal when he carried me aboard. Then I proceeded to consume enough alcohol to force myself into a drunken slumber.
Sal pushed his fingers through the short layers of my pixie cut. I’d cut it right after Gavin and I married because I didn’t have time to blow dry it on most days. “I still can’t believe you cut your hair.” He grinned at me for a moment. “It suits you.”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, and for future reference, I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself,” I growled, snatching up my purse tucked next to my feet and unbuckling my seatbelt.
Sal’s eyes glinted hard, and he shook his head. I used to wax poetic about his eyes, calling them cinnamon, honey, and sage. Now they reminded me of moldy dog shit, which was fitting considering Sal was a deceitful piece of crap.
“When are you going to let me explain?”
“Just drop it, okay? I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I’ve had enough of your lies to last me a lifetime.”
“I can imagine what you heard that night, but you need to know I never touched Lettie after the first time I kissed you. No, for months before that. I never liked her, but she wouldn’t leave me alone. She used me, and I guess I used her. It meant nothing. We were passing time, that’s all.”
“Do you want an award or something? Maybe a pat on the back? Or should I get down on my knees and kiss your shoes for sacrificing your extracurricular activities that year to pretend you liked me?”
“Madone.” He speared his hand into his wavy hair, frustrations bubbling out of him like a toxic gas. “You’re right. I didn’t like you, I loved you. I still do. I missed you every fucking day. I can’t count the number of times I wanted to call you and share a funny story or tell you about my day. Even though I knew you were gone, that didn’t stop me from searching for you in a crowd or going through the photos of you on my phone.”
“What happened between us belongs in the past. We’re both different people now. At least I know I am, and I don’t want to reminisce about our so-called relationship.”
He searched my face, his eyes landing on every feature for a few extended beats. “I know you feel something for me.”
Struggling to get my emotions under control, I didn’t say anything for a second, then I started clapping. The sound echoed loudly in this metal tube now that the pilots had shut off the engines.
“That was a great performance. You should be proud, but I’m happy to say your pretty words are way too fucking late.” I dug my fingernails into the headrest of the leather seat adjacent to me. “The only thing I feel when I think of you is disgust for both of us. I wasted a year of my life on a man who was nothing more than a mirage.”
“That’s not true.”
A sob inched up my throat, and I scoffed to mask it. “Oh, please, don’t lie, not now.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You toyed with my emotions. And why’d you do that? Who the hell knows? Perhaps you thought it was a shortcut to keeping me in line, or maybe you’re a perverse asshole who enjoys playing with people.”
“That’s not true and you know it. I loved you.” He frowned. “Are you saying you regret us? Me?”
“No.” He leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth, and I jerked my head to the side, hating he made me feel anything even though I was pretty sure my feelings were limited to revulsion. I preferred complete indifference. “You want to know why?”
“Yeah.”
“Because when I found my husband, I realized what we had was meaningless. It didn’t compare. Not even close. What I felt for you was a…” I tapped a finger against my lips, “…let’s see. How did you explain it to Lettie? A little crush. Yep, that’s it. And you were exactly right.”
I lied. Well, only partially. After six months of trying to make our marriage work, everything except for our preexisting friendship fizzled out. Gavin and I slept in separate bedrooms the year before he died. We were best friends who shared meals, laughter, and the business of running his family’s cattle ranch. The only impediment to getting a divorce was that his mom left the ranch to both of us equally. He didn’t have the money to buy me out, and while I offered to gift my half to him, he wouldn’t hear of it. Essentially, we lived in limbo, never fully committing, yet never ready to sever the ties binding us entirely.
Sadness rolled through me, and a deep ache burrowed into my chest. I should have set him free despite his initial objections. Admittedly, in the months before he died, he no longer fought the idea of divorce. Instead, he put off the conversation, and that should have been my cue to force the issue and get over my fears of having to reinvent myself again.
“I don’t believe you,” Sal said, pulling me out of my memories.
“I don’t care what you believe.” I started walking down the aisle, anxious to end the awkwardness of being around him.
“Wait.” He tugged at my shirt again, and I sighed. “I don’t want you to be blindsided when we walk off this plane.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Masciantonios and Bonaccorsos will be waiting for you on the tarmac too.”
My vision tilted, and I closed my eyes, wishing away the turmoil swirling inside of me. I was far from ready to see Marcello. I had convinced myself that he’d forgotten me over the last four years, and deservedly so. There was no justification for what I did to him. I should have given myself a day or two to cool off and confronted him rather than flee like a child afraid of the truth.
“Marcello,” I rasped out, my throat dry from too much alcohol and a hefty dose of apprehension.
“Maybe, or a representative.”
“The Bonaccorsos? You mean my mom’s family?”
I knew my mother by her stage name, Ava Accorso. At some point, she had changed it to distance herself from the mafia in Italy, at least professionally. I didn’t know any of this until the night I left, and that was probably part of the reason I ran without thinking it through. Sal’s conversation with Lettie turned my world upside down in more ways than one. Everything I believed was a lie; at least that was how it seemed at the time.
“Yeah.” He glanced to the side like he had a million more lies on the tip of his tongue.
“What else aren’t you telling me?”
He held up his hands. “I already said enough. You need to talk to your dad.”
“There’s the Sal I know. Always toeing the line, doing whatever it takes to please the great Dominick Trassato. Good to know some things never change.”
CHAPTER THREE
I exited the plane, the lapels of my coat flapping in the wind and the ends of my short hair standing on end. I didn’t turn around to see if Sal followed me. I didn’t care. He wasn’t any better than my father. Both of them spewed lies and half-truths and coveted secrets, keeping me perpetually in the dark. I thought I knew everything, or nearly everything, the night I left. Apparently, I was wrong.
As I took the first step down the stairs, I vowed that things would be different this time. I was no longer a scared nineteen-year-old girl. I had survived without family or support for years by sheer force of will. I learned the ins and outs of running a cattle ranch. I was married and widowed in a span of two years. I had made my own way in the world, and I refused to be cowed into submission by my father. I
would fight tooth and nail for everything I wanted. No more compromising and no more running.
With that thought, I lifted my chin in defiance and zeroed in on the scene in front of me. Six black sedans forming a semi-circle greeted me. Headlights created a hazy rainbow of white light above them, obscuring the faces of the men standing outside.
I pulled a mouthful of the heavy, moisture-laden New York air into my lungs, so unlike the whisper-thin oxygen of the mountains of Colorado. Not ready for the pending confrontation, I studied the sky. Heavy clouds and smog obscured my view. I mourned the loss of too-blue-to-be-real skies and brilliant starlit nights on the ranch. The rumblings of engines, the honks of cars, and the buzz of city life replaced the cries of mountain lions and howls of coyotes. It felt like an entirely different world.
“Emilia.” My father strode forward, separating himself from the faceless men, and placed his hands on my tense shoulders. Every inch of his face looked hard, cold, and far from welcoming. His icy lips brushed each of my cheeks, sending a chill down my back.
“Dad.” Frustrated with the crack in my voice, I lifted my chin, feigning confidence.
My father had perfected the art of communicating without talking, and right now he broadcasted his disappointment in me as efficiently as if he used a bullhorn.
I took in the scene behind him, and my gaze immediately landed on Marcello. He stood apart from the rest, his face void of any emotion other than what I could only describe as complete and total boredom. He could have been surveying the contents of his refrigerator or a blank wall and he would have looked more engaged.
The lump inside of my throat tightened, making it difficult to get air into my lungs. His reception compounded the emotionally desolate feeling snowballing inside of me since I found Gavin’s lifeless body on his office floor. I shouldn’t have expected anything from him after walking away from the promises we made and the night we shared, leaving nothing except a pathetic apology note.
And yet I craved a reaction from him, because regardless of how many miles or years I put between us, the what-ifs with Marcello still hung around me like a noose waiting to tighten. I would be fooling myself if I claimed I made peace with my choices concerning him. The more time and space I put between us, the more my habit of second-guessing us tormented me. There wasn’t a day I hadn’t thought about him. Where he was. If he had moved on, found someone to give him what he wanted. If he was safe, happy, and healthy. So many questions.
“Hello, Marcello.” I inched forward and held out my hand to shake his in greeting, which in reflection probably wasn’t the best opening. His blue eyes, vibrant even in the low light, shook me to my core. I thought my dreams had enhanced their intensity. They hadn’t.
“Dominick,” Marcello barked out, ignoring my hand, ignoring me. “We’ll be in touch.”
My breath hitched at the rejection, and another layer of despair wove around me. God, I was worthless. Even when he pretended I didn’t exist, his voice did unexplainable things to me.
Without another word, he pivoted on his heel, the tails of his long black overcoat swirling around his legs. He climbed into the back of one of the sedans, and it drove off.
My father hooked his arm around my shoulders. “Emilia, you’re probably tired. We’ll take you home and discuss everything tomorrow.”
“Cut the bullshit, Dominick.” A man with silver hair moved forward, looking at me expectantly. “You’ve kept her from us from years, and as long as she was safe, we were content to let that happen, but you fucked up everything. I want her to come back to Italy with me.”
“We’re not talking about this now. It’s three in the morning, and Emilia’s husband died not too long ago. Give her time to get her bearings.”
Anger burning inside of me, I summoned my flagging courage. “Who are you?”
“We’re not doing this here,” my dad interjected.
“I’m your uncle. My name’s Lucca Bonaccorso. Your mother was my younger sister.” His words were slightly accented, his tongue fuller in his mouth, his voice higher pitched, and he rolled his r’s a little bit.
I studied the angles of his face, and to my shock, I could see the similarities between this man and my mother, and me for that matter. So many questions rattled through my brain I didn’t know where to start. My knees wobbled, and my dad tightened his arm around me.
My mother never said much about her family other than that they disapproved of her marriage and her decisions in life. As far as I knew, they weren’t on speaking terms when she died. Maybe I was wrong, though. The only thing I knew with any certainty was that I didn’t know a damn thing and that I would do just about anything to avoid dealing with this right now, including cozying up to my father.
“I don’t feel well.” I pressed the heels of my hands into my dry eyes. The alcohol I consumed on the plane rumbled in my gut, threatening to reverse course and make a fool of me. “I want to go home.”
Home. Such a weird word for my former residence. Even when I lived there, it wasn’t my home. I’d always felt like a guest there.
My dad shuttled me forward for a few steps before Lucca called after me. “Emilia, I don’t know what your parents have told you about me or our family, but I assure you I only want what’s best for you.”
I whirled around, my hands balled. “It’s strange how many men in my life claim to want what’s best for me, only to find out what they actually mean is they want what’s best for them.”
He chuckled. “So true, bella. You’re too young to be so cynical about men, though. We’ll have to try harder to conceal our true nature when you’re around.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“Not funny?” He cocked his head to the side. “I’ll have to rethink my attempts at humor before our next meeting.”
This man was crazy. I had no clue what he was up to. “Sure. You do that.”
I turned around again, needing time alone and a bed before I fell flat on my face. My father opened the back passenger side door of one of the sedans, and I got in, scooting all the way across the seat until my thigh hit the opposite door.
“Dominick,” Lucca said, “no more lies this time and no more games. You fucked up everything last time, and I don’t have any more patience for you.”
“She’s my daughter,” my dad volleyed back, “and I won’t be pushed around. As far as I’m concerned, any obligations ended the second she disappeared. Your father’s will is clear.”
“We’ll see,” Lucca hedged.
“Dad, what the hell is going on?” I asked the second the door closed behind him.
“Not now, Emilia.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course not. Why would you bother telling me the truth now?”
CHAPTER FOUR
The past month had been a total disaster. I tried to help my cousin Carmela meet up with her boyfriend Kon, and she ended up being abducted. Everyone blamed me, except Carmela. Sal and I were at each other’s throats, yet my father still thought it was a good idea to have him follow me everywhere. My relationship with my dad was strained, and I was on edge every second I spent in his house. But none of that freaked me out as much as being summed to my dad’s bar, The Smokin’ Gun.
We were supposed to have a family meeting to discuss my future. Quite honestly, I had zero interest in my father’s plans to pawn me off on someone new. I needed to concentrate on finding justice for Gavin, even if that meant pointing the finger at my family. My gut rolled with contradictory emotions. I prayed my ingrained allegiance to my family didn’t interfere with me aiding the police. My loyalties hadn’t been tested, though, because the police refused to return my phone calls.
I’d left the ranch under Brandon’s care until I could settle things here, and he too had decided he didn’t need to talk to me. Knowing him, the place would be swimming in debt by the end of the month, and Gavin and I just had managed to get it back in the black six months ago. I couldn’t let him run Gavin’s legacy into the ground and
ruin years of hard work. He and his mom trusted me with the ranch, not Brandon.
All of this pointed to one thing: I needed to get back to Colorado, which was the sole reason I agreed to meet my dad today. I wouldn’t let him boss me around this time. I was an adult, not a dumb teenager who didn’t know her own mind.
When I stepped into the bar, memories of the night I fled this life came tumbling back. I tamped down the disappointment clawing up my throat like a living, breathing thing.
It’s in the past. None of it matters anymore. I’m a different a person now.
With my head held high and a mask of indifference firmly in place, I walked over the familiar, worn hardwood planks. The stench of stale beer mixed with the pine-scented cleaning products wafted into my nose, and I scrunched up my face. Devoid of scantily clad waitresses, deafening music, and drunken men, the bar looked gloomy and depressing.
All too soon, I found myself outside my dad’s office. I pulled a heavy breath into my lungs to fortify my waning courage. My father wouldn’t give in easily, and even though I’d been living outside of his sphere of influence for years, I had a feeling he planned to change that. Sadly, a tiny part of me wanted to bend to his control for a while and let him do what he did best—solve problems.
Every single time I thought of going back to Colorado alone and taking care of all of the loose ends, panic settled deep into my bones and I felt paralyzed. I had to resist the urge to let him help me, though, because Dominick Trassato didn’t do anything out of kindness. He always had an agenda.
I banged against the gray-painted metal door.
“Come in.” My father’s deep voice carried into the hallway, and a shiver of dread rippled through me.
The instant I stepped inside the room, I came to an immediate halt. He wasn’t alone. Lucca Bonaccorso and Sal sat on chairs across from the desk, and Marcello was partially hidden in shadows on stool near the back wall as if he were an observer rather than a participant.
My belly flipped over at his nearness, and I tried to make eye contact with him. Like the night on the tarmac, he acted as if he wanted to be anywhere but near me. While I wished I could find a way to get him alone for a few minutes to apologize, I was beginning to think he’d do anything to avoid me.