The song comes to a close, and Mariano rests his forehead against mine. “I sure know how to woo a girl, don’t I?”
Around us, people applaud the quartet, and I mindlessly join them. “You’re the only one who’ll still talk to me about this instead of just telling me I need to move on. The only one who seems to care about the issue that matters more to me than anything else. That’s . . .”
Love, Lydia whispers into my ear. That’s love.
I swallow. “I’ll take that over wooing any day.”
Mariano grasps my hand in his. Smiles.
“Pippy.” Nick’s voice blasts into the moment. Alana trails behind him. “They’re about to cut the cake. They want to photograph the wedding party in front of it first.”
Of course they do. We wouldn’t want a moment to go by that we don’t photograph.
“Fine, I’m coming.” I squeeze Mariano’s hand before releasing it. “I’ll be right back.”
As I walk away with Nick and Alana, Nick emits a blustery sigh. “So you’re really going to do this, huh? You’re really going to date a Cassano.”
My fingers curl into a fist, and if we weren’t dressed in formal wear inside a ballroom, he would feel the full force of my right hook. “Why do you hate him so much? Is it just him, or are you prejudiced against all Italians?”
Nick shoots me a scathing look, but falls quiet as the photographer arranges us.
But the anger is too consuming for me to keep my mouth shut. “I like him, okay? And I don’t see why that’s such a big problem.”
“Now isn’t the time, you two,” Tim says as the photographer steps back to survey his work.
“Smile, everyone!” he chirps.
“What did you expect, Piper?” Nick asks through his smile. “That we would all be okay with you dating someone from a mafia family?”
What? My head snaps toward my brother. “What?”
The pop of the flashbulb sounds.
Nick looks at me, his brow pinched. “What do you mean, ‘What’? You know, right?”
“Brother, sister,” calls the photographer. “Eyes up here, please! Let’s try again!”
The memory that I couldn’t quite grasp earlier rolls me flat. Dinner with Father and Nick the night Lydia went missing. Father had offered the wine to Nick, saying, “Nick, you help with the Cassanos’ cases. You should enjoy some of the spoils.”
Air rushes from my lungs as I breathe out the family name. “The Cassanos.”
Clients of Father’s. A name that I had probably caught snatches of when walking by his office, or if I came upon my brothers and him discussing a case. How could I not have put it together?
“Sister?” calls the photographer. “Up here, please! Smile!”
Tim puts on his big brother voice. “Nick, Piper. Do this later.”
I turn to the photographer. Beyond him, Mariano appears to be making polite conversation with Alana. Why didn’t he tell me?
“They’re our biggest client. We thought you knew,” Nick mutters.
The flashbulb pops, and the metallic scent of magnesium fills my nostrils. “I didn’t.” I hate how stupid I sound. I had been so annoyed when Lydia fell in love with Matthew and became so illogical, and it turns out I’m no better. All the clues were there the whole time, and I just couldn’t see.
“I’m sorry.” Nick’s countenance has softened. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you Mariano isn’t the white knight you thought he was.”
I don’t want to ask, don’t want to hear the answer—but I can’t bury my head any longer. “What is he, then?”
Nick’s eyes hold sympathy as he deals a second blow. “Just another crooked cop.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Piper?” Mariano’s voice rises above the cacophony of the busy city street.
I stiffen, but don’t turn. I don’t want to see him coming down the Congress Hotel steps with that confident gait I’ve admired. I don’t want to see him, period.
“What are you doing out here?” He sits beside me on the cool concrete steps, close enough that his leg brushes against mine.
I yank away. “Don’t touch me. Just leave me alone.”
“Piper, what happened in there? What’s wrong?”
A laugh bubbles out of me . . . or was that a dry sob? “Have you and your buddies been laughing about it behind my back? Or what’s the official word for men like you? Soldato?”
Mariano goes rigid beside me.
I cut him a glare. “You and your fellow soldatos probably thought it was good and funny, didn’t you?”
“Piper, what are you talking about?” His tone is one I’ve never heard from him—a low and dangerous sound that scrapes against me. “I’m a police detective, not some mob soldier.”
I grind my teeth together to lock in the tears. The only thing that would make this worse is Mariano seeing me cry.
“Where did you even get that idea? Have you seen a single shred of evidence that I’m faking my way through this job?”
“No, but when would I? You’d be great at pretending. You’d have to be for the police force to actually buy it.”
“Listen to me.” Mariano’s hand grips my bicep, tightens.
I look from his hand on my arm to his eyes. “Let me go, Mariano Cassano, or I’ll be forced to throw a fit right here.”
He lets go. “Yes, this kind of thing happens. Police officers get bought, Prohibition agents take bribes, but this is me, Piper. I thought . . .” Mariano’s gaze soaks in my unflinching face. “I thought you knew me better than that.”
“I thought I did too.”
Mariano swallows hard and looks away.
“If you weren’t hiding it, why weren’t you honest with me, Mariano? Why didn’t you tell me about your family?”
His words are frosty. “When, exactly, was I dishonest? I thought you knew. I thought, ‘How could she not know her old man is an associate?’”
I cringe at his choice of words. My father, whose job should be upholding the law, protects criminals from suffering consequences for the laws they break. My house, my education, and my clothes—all paid for with money that costs too much.
I brush away the offense and take a deep breath. “You knew I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” I look him in the eyes. “Because I told you so when we were on Clark Street.”
Mariano’s larynx bobs, and I can see he remembers just as clearly as I do. Your father doesn’t talk to you about his clients, then?
I let the memory settle between us. “You should’ve told me at that moment.”
“Maybe I should have.” Mariano pulls off his hat. Puts it back on. “But when I realized you hadn’t figured out our family connection . . . I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want you to think less of me.”
“Is this why you won’t go after the Finnegans? Bad blood between your families?”
His eyes snap. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”
“Piper.” Walter’s voice booms from behind us, making me jump. “Your father’s looking for you.”
I turn and find Walter towering over us, a flat expression on his face. “Tell him I don’t want to see him.”
Walter doesn’t budge.
“I said, I don’t want to see him.”
Walter looks to Mariano and then back at me. “Piper, he’s about to leave for a month. You can stop whatever you’re doing here for a minute and come say good-bye.”
“No.”
Walter’s knees pop as he crouches behind me. “I’m not above begging, you know. Please don’t make me tell your father bad news on his wedding day.”
I lean back so my shoulders rest against Walter’s knees. “My father is a lawyer for the mafia. Did you know this?”
Walter glances at Mariano, and then back at me. “Piper, you knew that.”
“I knew some of his cases involved mobsters, but I didn’t realize the extent of it.”
“You said it yourself,” Mariano says. “That they do horrific things, but they have a right to a fair trial too.”
“Is that what my father provides?” I know I sound hysterical, but I can’t seem to calm my voice down. “A fair trial?”
Walter’s big hands clasp my shoulders. “Listen, Pippy. Just put on a smile for another hour. Say good-bye, throw some rice, and then we can sort all this out.”
“So Father gets to spend a month carelessly gallivanting around Europe while I stew over this? I don’t think so.”
“What’s there to stew over? He’s a defense attorney. This is part of his job.”
“Fine.” I stand abruptly. If I go inside, at least I can get away from Mariano. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“Cool off, or you’ll wind up yelling,” Walter cautions.
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe he deserves to be yelled at.” I yank one shoe strap off my ankle. Then the other. “But not in these stupid shoes. I’m done with these.”
“Piper—”
“Just let her be.” Mariano’s words are gruff. “She’s smart enough to decide for herself.”
“Don’t flatter me.” I brush imagined concrete dust from my dress, toss my wretched shoes into a wastebasket, and charge into the lobby in my stocking feet.
Father is engaged in conversation with the photographer when I tug at his sleeve. “I need a word with you.”
“Ah, there you are!” He puts an arm around me and draws me to his side. “Smile pretty.”
The flashbulb goes off.
I blink away the bright circle that clouds my vision.
“Perfect!” declares the photographer. “The wedding just wouldn’t have been complete, Mr. Sail, without a photograph of you and your lovely daughter.”
I demure in such a way that would win Emily Post’s approval and then take my father’s offered elbow. My head is so flooded with the words I want to lob at him, I can’t seem to grab hold of a single one.
“I’m glad Walter found you. I wanted to have a moment with you before I left town,” Father says as he leads me to the hall outside the ballroom. “Where have your shoes gone?”
I look down at my stockings. “They were hurting.”
“You women and your impractical shoes.” Father pauses along a row of windows and smiles indulgently at me. “How are you, my dear? I know it hasn’t been the easiest day for you.”
I look into Father’s happy face. “Tired,” is the answer that comes out. “I’m very tired.”
Father nods with sympathy. “It’s been an exhausting month, hasn’t it?”
There’s a war going on within me. I want to stomp my feet and yell and demand answers. Exactly how much of our life is bought by the mafia? How could he let me date Mariano?
And yet, I also find myself wanting to wrap my arms around him and sob against his chest while he reassures me. While he explains all the reasons why his professional choices have been about upholding the safety of our society rather than helping organized crime prosper.
“You’ll be the lady of the house while I’m away, but I expect you to take some time off. Go to the beach. Go to the movies.” Father winks. “Let Mariano spoil you a bit.”
The suggestion stirs the anger brewing in my gut. Is my father in this so deep that he doesn’t mind who Mariano is? “Do you really think he’s the best guy for me to be seeing?”
Father blinks several times. “I thought you liked him.”
“I do. I did. But . . . that was before I realized who his family is.”
Father tucks his hands in his pockets and watches me without speaking. Lawyer trickery.
Lawyer trickery that I can’t help succumbing to. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Father inhales slowly, and then exhales even slower. “Mariano is a good kid. He’s not . . . in the family business.”
I press my eyes closed as a strange mix of relief and confusion rumbles through me. “But don’t you think that detail would’ve been pertinent?”
“These last few weeks have been the worst of your life, Piper. I guess I didn’t want to do anything that might take away the one person who seemed to be making you happy.” Father pitches his voice even lower. “I’ve known his father and uncle a long time. And Mariano is on the right side of the law. I knew you weren’t in any danger.”
“No danger.” I huff a humorless laugh. “It’s just the Sicilian mafia. That’s all.”
“Unless you have some bootleg operation I don’t know about, you’re perfectly safe.” His smile is thin.
“Are you making a joke? Right now?”
Father sighs and looks out the window, at the snarl of shopping traffic on Michigan Avenue. “What should I have done? Banned you from seeing Mariano because of his father and uncle’s business?”
“At the very least, how about some honesty? About Mariano, about you.”
“About me? How have I been dishonest about me?”
“Your line of work.”
Father seems exasperated. “Piper, you’ve known for a long time what kind of work I do. That was no secret.”
“But I didn’t know . . .” I didn’t know what? “I didn’t know you were defending . . . criminals.”
Yep. That sounds exactly as stupid out of my mouth as it did in my head.
“That sounds dumb, I know. But I guess I always imagined that you spent your days defending people who were wrongly accused or didn’t do anything that bad.”
Father again averts his face to the traffic below, and pulls in his lower lip. I expect him to call me on this inconsistency—even to Mariano, I had said that I thought some of Father’s clients were mobsters. The truth is that I had chosen to not think too deeply on it. I had chosen to stay ignorant.
“I’m sorry to be a disappointment. With the boys, their interest in law made it a natural subject to eventually talk about. With you, though . . .” Father turns his gaze to meet mine. “I suppose I wanted you to keep viewing me that way. I never lied, but I certainly omitted.”
That’s much more of an apology than I thought I would get. “Did Mother know?”
He hesitates for a beat. “My involvement wasn’t as extensive when she was alive.”
I blow a loose raspberry. “You’re being evasive. Did she know, or didn’t she?”
“She knew.”
“And what did she think?”
Father holds my gaze. “She worried for the safety of our family.”
I see him in my memory—his chair angled toward the front door the night Lydia was taken. The gun within reach. “You do too.”
“Of course I do. But I would no matter what my job was. It’s part of being a parent.”
“When Lydia went missing . . . what did you think had happened?”
Father blinks at me a few times. “I don’t understand your line of thought.”
“I told you that I came downstairs that night to get a drink. You were asleep in your chair. With your gun.”
Father pulls his lip in again. I wonder if he knows he does that when he’s crafting an answer.
“Did you think I was at risk?” I press him.
“Of course I did. Because I’m a father, though. Not because of my job.”
I think back to what Mariano had told me about Father’s case, and Colin Finnegan winding up in jail. “It had nothing to do with a big case you’d won?”
“I won’t pretend that it never occurred to me that you or one of your brothers might be in danger because I had angered people—”
“The Finnegan brothers.”
Father tries to shove away his surprise, but I see it before he can tuck it away. “Yes. They had certainly crossed my mind. But, obviously, I was being paranoid.”
All roads in Lydia’s disappearance seem to lead to the Finnegans. Is it merely proof of how far-reaching they’ve grown to be in this city? Or is it something more?
Father glances at his wristwatch. “I don’t have long before our scheduled departure.”
He settles his hands on my shoulders, and waits to speak until I’m looking him in the eyes. “When I get home, I give you my word that we will sit and talk about this to your heart’s content. I will be as open as I can without violating my clients’ privileges. But for now, I just want you to know that I’m sorry you were caught off guard today, and I’m sorry for my part in that.”
I want to keep my anger. Want to cuddle it close, where I can protect it and nurse its growth.
Yet I remember Lydia leaving my house on the day that turned out to be her last. How we almost parted in anger, and how I only escaped being saddled with that lifelong regret because she stayed long enough for us to work through our disagreement.
“I hope you have a good time on your honeymoon.” The words are stiff, starched by my resentment.
“I love you.” Father holds me in a long hug. When he lets me go, he adds, “And I hope you’ll consider what I said about Mariano. I really do think he’s good for you.”
“No.” He intentionally misled me about who his family was. How can I trust that he really is on the straight and narrow? “Being involved with him . . . It’s just too risky.”
Father takes hold of the locket around my neck, bought for me by my mother and bearing Lydia’s image. “Piper, my girl. To love anyone is to risk.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
It’s after eight when Joyce, Walter, and I return to the house. The air inside feels strange, as if even the house can sense the change this afternoon brought. After making sure Joyce knows she’s off duty this evening, I turn on the radio and perform an unladylike flop onto the couch. Nellie Melba’s Mattinata pierces the haze that’s surrounded me since my good-bye with my father. The higher her pitch-perfect soprano climbs, the harder I have to work to hold in the tears.
Walter returns from the kitchen with an odd assortment of appetizers left over from the wedding, along with two thick slices of wedding cake. Sidekick bounds along beside him, looking up at the tray with hope.
“So, earlier we ate a dinner that required about six different utensils. Now, we’re doing this.” Walter’s smile seems wary as he settles onto the couch. “Is it just me, or do you feel like at any moment, Mother will come in here with a broom and chase us out?”
The Lost Girl of Astor Street Page 23