Disgraced (Amado Brothers)

by Natasha Knight

  But weren’t we?

  “I’m just tired of other people thinking they all know what’s best for me. As if I can’t figure it out for myself.”

  “Let me ask you a question. What would you have done tonight if I hadn’t shown up when I had?”

  “That’s never happened before.” The subway incident had shaken me up too, but it was an isolated incident. I’d be more vigilant next time.

  “What if they’d wanted more than your wallet?”

  “Jesus, Damon. Nothing happened. Let me go.” I pressed my hands against his chest to push him away, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.

  “Nothing happened?” he asked, shaking me once.

  “Let me go. Please.” My voice cracked. I hated that. I hated weakness.

  A moment later, he released me and stepped back. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head once as if he were shaking off a thought.

  “Look, it’s late. It’s been a long night. Can I see you tomorrow? I’ll take you out for dinner. We can start over.”

  He paused and gave me a little smile.

  “No eggs.”

  I knew he was trying to make light of it. “I don’t—” I started.

  “It’s dinner. Just dinner. Not an interrogation.”

  I hesitated. He raised his eyebrows and gave me a smile I remembered. It made me smile too.

  “I’d really like a do-over,” he added.

  I studied him for a moment. I wanted a do-over too. “Okay. Dinner’s okay.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “I can just meet you some—”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. Good night, Lina,” he said and walked out the door.

  I stared at the space where he’d just stood for a few moments before going to the window. I saw him appear on the front steps. When he glanced up and saw me, he gave me a little wave, then turned and disappeared into the night. I watched until he was out of sight, then locked the door and switched off the lights, equally excited and nervous about dinner. Wanting it, wanting to be with Damon, to see him again, and cautious, knowing this couldn’t lead anywhere. Knowing I shouldn’t get my hopes up. There was too much at stake for that.

  3

  Damon

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle, so I walked half an hour back to my borrowed apartment at St. Mark’s Roman Catholic Church, needing the cool air and the walk to work through what had happened tonight.

  Lina Guardia, who should have been studying in a school in Chicago, was living in a very nice apartment in Greenwich Village that her boss owned—free of charge—and working as a pianist in an eclectic club with an illicit reputation.

  She was also going by the name Kat, which she explained as being her own name, and although that was true, it fit about as well as her boss letting her live for free in his apartment.

  Not to mention the fact that she’d been lying to her sister about where she’d been for over a year.

  The moment I got to my apartment, I took off my coat and gloves and booted up my laptop. First thing I did was google Club Carmen. That was when things went downhill. I guess I expected them to, because I had a hunch she was lying about school too. She wouldn’t have failed. That was too outrageous.

  But first, Club Carmen.

  Owned by Alexi Markov, son of the infamous Sergei Markov, who currently sat behind bars in a federal prison awaiting trial on charges of racketeering, extortion, money laundering, and murder.

  Nice guy.

  His son, who from newspaper accounts was as close to his father as any mob family could be, apparently had his sights on taking over the family business once his father was locked up for good.

  The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

  Club Carmen wasn’t under investigation. At least when they’d initially looked into it. The feds had found nothing to link it to Sergei’s dealings, although it was fishy that it changed hands the day of Sergei’s arrest. And not finding something didn’t mean there wasn’t anything to find.

  Question was, how much did Lina know about her employer?

  I shut down my laptop and rubbed my face. It was three in the morning. Too late to get anything done. I considered calling Raphael. It would be nine o’clock in Italy. But I didn’t want to do that just yet. My reasons for that were purely selfish, though. I wanted Lina for myself for a little bit. As wrong as I knew it was, I wanted it, and I wouldn’t deny that truth. Wanting it was bad enough. I wouldn’t lie to myself about it.

  Stripping off my clothes, I took a shower then got into bed, setting the alarm for eight. I needed to figure out how to handle this with her. If I didn’t do this right, if she thought for one moment I was attacking her, she’d shut down. She’d shut me out. I couldn’t afford that. And I had a feeling she couldn’t either.

  I rang Lina’s doorbell at a little after seven the next evening. Instead of buzzing me up, she quickly appeared, her coat half on as she walked out of the building, giving me a glimpse of the ripped jeans and tight-fitting white shirt with gold block lettering across her chest. She stopped to button her coat then turned her face up to mine, smiling.

  “Where to?”

  She looked beautiful, her hair hanging in long waves, her face dewy, her glossy lips fuller than I remembered them. I cleared my throat. “I heard about this Middle Eastern place,” I said, leading her toward the waiting taxi. “It’s not too far and is supposed to be pretty good.”

  “I love Middle Eastern.”

  Her high heels clicked as she descended the steps and climbed into the taxi, her mood much lighter than it had been last night, even if she did seem in a hurry to get away from her apartment.

  I followed her into the taxi and gave the driver the address. Lina punched something into her phone then dropped it into her purse and turned to me.

  “What do you do when you’re not working?” I asked.

  “I have a couple of kids I teach piano to. Little kids, I mean. I think their parents just enjoy having me to babysit really, but I don’t mind. It’s fun, and the kids are nice. Other than that,” she shrugged a shoulder, “not much, I guess.” She hesitated. “Friends of mine have a band, and I sometimes play with them. You know, if it works out with their practices or gigs.”

  “A band?”

  She nodded, seeming almost embarrassed. “Just some friends I met at a bar.”

  I wondered how she got into bars at twenty but didn’t pursue it. We reached the restaurant. I paid the driver, got out, and helped Lina exit the cab. It was hard to not think of this as a date, especially when, as we walked into the noisy café and she took off her coat and hung it over her arm, every eye in the place turned to her. I wasn’t surprised. Lina was beautiful but dressed like she was in knee-length, high-heeled black boots, a pair of ripped jeans that hugged her ass and thighs, and a shirt with only one sleeve that left her tattooed shoulder and arm exposed, she was striking.

  After handing our coats to the girl behind the coat check, I set one hand at her lower back, fingers curling around her waist, knowing how possessive my action would feel, would appear, but not caring. I couldn’t stand the thought of others looking at her. And they were looking as we followed the hostess to a booth at the far back, close to the band sitting on cushions and playing Middle-Eastern music on a low stage.

  If Lina thought how I held her was strange, she didn’t say so. She only gave me a hooded glance but didn’t pull away. In fact, she seemed to stand closer. Maybe liking it. Because on some level, as wrong as it was, I liked it too.

  We sat down, and when the waitress came, ordered drinks—a Coke for her and a beer for me—as well as some appetizers. She turned to me.

  “This is great. I love the music.”

  I smiled, so many thoughts circling inside my head. “It’s really good to see you again, Lina.”

  “You too, Damon.”

  An awkward silence descended between us until the waitress returned with our drinks and appetizers. L
ina picked up a piece of pita bread, dipped it into the hummus, and bit off a chunk.

  “I’m starving.”

  I watched her choose a second triangle of bread and followed her lead.

  She read the menu as she absently picked up one of the meatball appetizers and popped it into her mouth. All I could do was look at her, study her every move, memorize her every feature as if her being absent for the last two years had meant more than it had. More than it could.

  I cleared my throat. “Do you know what you’d like for dinner?”

  “I think the kebabs. Or the falafel. I can’t decide. You?” she asked, turning to me.

  The waitress came by before I could answer, and I glanced at Lina. “She’ll have the kebabs and a side order of falafel, and I’ll have the lamb chops.”

  Once the waitress left, Lina picked up her Coke and turned to me. “I’m going to look like a pig when my plate comes.”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “You can stand to eat.”

  She picked up another meatball. “So you live here now? Where exactly?”

  “About half an hour’s walk from your place at one of the two apartments at St. Mark’s Church. One is used by the parish priest, Father Leonard, and the other has been empty for a few months, so I’m using it while I’m here.”

  “Do you…” her forehead wrinkled. “Say mass?”

  “I can’t say Mass, but I can give sermons and just help out a little.”

  “What happens when the six months are up? Are you a priest then? Ordained?”

  “It depends. I could be.” How did I explain what I was feeling? What I was thinking?

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it. I just haven’t, that’s all. I guess I’m doing a little bit of what I accused you of last night. Burying my head in the sand.” I knew I’d have to gain her trust to get her to talk to me, to tell me what was going on, and if that meant I went first, then I’d do that. “I guess the best way to say this is that this is my last opportunity to say no. To decide I don’t want this.”

  “Is that why you’re here? In New York City?”

  “Partially, I guess. I’m also working to secure funding for the seminary.”

  “Are you having doubts?”

  I couldn’t answer that. I didn’t want to, because I didn’t want to say it out loud. “Things changed after Raphael came home. In a way, back when I first entered seminary, it was a safe place. But I realized soon enough it was a way for me to run away from everything, from all the shit that happened to my family.” Her shoulders slumped, and she glanced away for a moment, but I went on. “I don’t know how much you know about Raphael or our father or what he did to us. To him.”

  “Just tell me everything.”

  “From a very young age, I remember feeling like our father had a special hatred for him. Not for me. Not for Zach. Just Raphael. I didn’t understand it, because we were twins. Identical, at least physically. Although Raphael grew faster than me. Throughout our teenage years, he was a little bigger. But maybe that was because he was always fighting too. At school or with cousins or friends. It was almost like his anger made him harder. I always wonder if that anger was what made our father hate him, turn on him like he did, or if his hatred of Raphael made Raphael so angry. So hard.”

  “The chicken and the egg.”

  “Which came first?”

  “Please go on.”

  It took me a minute. I’d never said this out loud. “Our father beat Raphael. He didn’t touch Zach or me, but he’d whip Raphael—often until he bled. Sometimes longer than that. I watched it happen a few times. When our father threatened me, Raphael would step in. I always wondered if father did that on purpose. If he knew that, no matter what, Raphael would take the beating.”

  “I knew he was abusive, but I didn’t know that. He was sick.”

  “Despicable, actually. My mother was a devout Catholic. Forgiveness is divine—or it was to her. Maybe I wanted it to be for me too. I try to think that everyone has dark and light inside them, good and evil, but my father?” I shook my head. “His soul was as black as Satan’s.”

  After clearing our appetizers, the waitress returned with our meals, giving me a few minutes to think. I had never talked about this. Most people didn’t ask.

  “After the fire, when Raphael went to prison, I became guardian of our younger brother, Zach, who was sixteen at the time. The house went to Raphael, since he was firstborn—”

  “You’re twins.”

  I smiled. “He has a few minutes on me.” I watched her smile. “Zach and I lived in it with Maria, who’d been our cook and nanny ever since I could remember. The memories in that place, Lina, they haunted me. My parents were dead. My brother was in prison. And the past clung to the very walls in that house. After a while, I couldn’t breathe. The one thing that gave me solace was the chapel. I’d go there often, just sit in a pew and listen to the silence, try to make sense of everything. I guess that’s when I decided I should become a priest. It was a selfish decision made purely with myself in mind. I didn’t care about helping anyone else. I just wanted to… No, I needed to get out of my head. The church made me feel closer to my mother, and in a way, that was sanity. It gave me direction and routine and gave me something to think about that wasn’t me or my past or what happened to the Amado family.”

  “So you were running away.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the dean sent you away to figure out if the priesthood is what you really want?”

  “I guess he did, in a way.”

  “I think it’s normal to question such a big decision. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

  “I’m not beating myself up. It’s just that the moment I feel like I’ve made up my mind, something comes along to make me question.”

  Or someone.

  She bit on a piece of falafel, studying me. “I thought it was a waste anyway,” she said, then turned her attention to her plate.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Damon, look at you. Every woman in this place—and some of the men too—turned to look when we walked to our table.”

  “Lina.” I shook my head at her naivety. “It was you they were looking it. Not me.” I gave her a wink.

  She blushed and glanced away for a moment.

  “Besides, that doesn’t matter.”

  When she returned her gaze to mine, her eyes had grown serious.

  “So you have six months to figure out your life?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “What do you want?”

  “My six months aren’t up yet,” I said, taking my last sip of beer, glad I’d already put my glass down when she next spoke, abruptly changing the subject.

  “I was the one who turned over the evidence that put my grandfather away.”

  I studied her as she focused on her plate, pushing her food around. I guess we were being honest. “I know.”

  “There’s one thing I didn’t tell Sofia, though. One thing I didn’t tell anyone.” She finally looked up at me. “They thought I told them everything.”

  She paused, then gave a nervous giggle. Her face darkened almost in the same instant.

  “I probably could go to jail for it.”

  “What’s the one thing?” I asked, everything growing much more serious.

  Her eyes and the tip of her nose reddened, and she shook her head. “I’m going to explode if I eat one more bite, Damon.”

  I looked at her plate, which was nearly empty. “You made an impressive dent. Would you like dessert?”

  She shook her head. “Let’s get out of here. I want to take you somewhere. If you want to, I mean. That band I told you about is playing tonight. Would you like to see them? They’re really great, and the location is…special.”

  “I’d love to, actually.”

  I signaled for the waitress to bring the check, and once I’d paid, we got our coats. I helped Lin
a into hers, studying the details of her exposed tattoos without being observed by her, wanting hours to do so. Once outside, I went to hail a taxi, but she stopped me with a hand on my arm.

  “Let’s walk. It’s only about twenty minutes, and it’s not raining or snowing for a change.”

  “Okay. Lead the way.”

  She tucked her arm into mine, and I covered her hand with my own as we walked, the night air cold against our faces. We didn’t speak and, about twenty minutes later, we came upon an old church tucked between two large buildings.

  She slipped her arm from mine. I looked at the building, then at her.

  “It’s called Redemption,” she said. “Obviously, it was a church once. Is that going to be weird for you?”

  I smiled. “No. Not weird. I’m intrigued.”

  Taking my hand, she led me to the large double doors where a bouncer sat outside. I wondered how she was going to get in since she was underage, but she smiled at the man, who called her by name and looked me over from head to toe as she hugged him.

  “Kat, it’s good to see you,” he said, turning his attention to her.

  “It’s good to see you, R.J. This is my…brother-in-law, Damon.”

  “Brother-in-law, huh?”

  “My sister is married to his brother.”

  R.J. took a minute, then extended his hand. “Good to meet you, man.”

  “Good to meet you.”

  “Go on in. It’s busy tonight.”

  “Thanks,” she said, taking my hand again to lead me inside. We checked our coats with a girl in the foyer and headed inside.

  The church was small, fitting maybe a hundred and fifty or two-hundred people, and each of the four corners were arched. The stained-glass windows were still in place, and incense scented the air. That took me back, always. Two long bars stood at opposite ends, and a stage had been erected against the far wall. Music played, and people danced or stood around in groups talking and drinking. Wooden stools were the only seats in the place, which was as opposite to Club Carmen in feel, sound, and sight, as you could possibly get.

  “Want a drink?” she asked as we reached the bar. She was still tentative, perhaps knowing the ice she walked on was thin. She’d need to come clean with me at some point.