by Lisa Cardiff
“What you mean? Didn’t she kill herself?” I flinched, and Sal gathered me onto his lap, his hands cupping my face, forcing me to look him in the eye. “Shit, Em, I’m sorry for saying that. It was stupid.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” I rested my forehead against his chest. “That’s the story, only I’m not sure it was that clear cut. They were fighting for months. She left for a week and when she came back, the friction between them was worse than ever. I could hear her yelling at him from upstairs. After an hour, everything was eerily silent. I assumed they finally worked everything out. I was wrong. An ambulance showed up an hour later, and my dad forbade me from leaving my room. I never saw her again. I never even got the chance to say goodbye except to the urn in my dad’s study. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count.”
“I know it sounds stupid, but I don’t know what to believe. That’s part of the reason I want out of here. I can’t look at my dad without wondering if he pushed her t-to…” I closed eyes and rolled my lips into my mouth, pain spreading under my breastbone like wildfire. I wasn’t surprised. I couldn’t think about that night without wanting to crawl into a ball and cry for everything I lost in a matter of hours. My mom, my dad, my family. My life changed in the blink of an eye and everything I loved disappeared, even my dad. He was a different person after she died.
“I know, Em. You don’t need to say it. I get that saying things out loud makes them real.”
I changed the subject, attempting to reverse the melancholy direction of my reflections. “Anyway, the thing with Marcello, well, that was one of the reasons I asked you to kiss me on my birthday. I’d never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t want my first kiss to be with some stranger who could care less about me beyond my last name and what that gets him. You know, kind of like a rebellion against my dad and the curiosity of kissing someone all rolled into one.”
He studied me, desire carved into every line of his face, and I couldn’t look away. My heart fluttered like a million ants marching against my chest, and an unsolicited flare of heat licked at my nerve endings. I felt like a leaf caught in the wind, blowing from one emotion to the next.
“Oh, yeah?” he murmured, his voice gruff. His eyes scrunched up at the corners, softening like molten lava. He brushed his fingers over my lower lip. “And did it meet your expectations?”
“Yeah.” My response was so hushed, I wasn’t confident he heard me.
His warm breath puffed across my face, lingering. Teasing. My obsession with him came roaring back to life. A whimper composed of relief and despair sprang from my mouth.
“Are you going to kiss me again?” I whispered, hiking up my chin, shyly offering myself to him.
“I shouldn’t.”
“But do you want to?”
He licked his lower lip. “More than anything.”
I lowered my eyelids, and he went for it. His lips swept against mine. Once. Then twice. At first, it was more of a way to comfort me than anything else. That quickly changed. With every touch of his lips, my pulse surged until I was certain it was audible to the outside world.
Exhaling, I leaned back, deliberating how to end this before he hurt me again. The second my eyes connected with Sal’s, I knew I had overestimated my capacity to resist his lure. His hooded eyes and parted lips only made want to leap right back into whatever insanity held me captive for months.
He didn’t give me time to dissect my next move or burgeon my resolve. In a matter of seconds, his fingers tangled in my hair, his full lips on mine again. Demanding, inviting, and frantic, like he feared I’d dematerialize if he stopped. Like he was apologizing for keeping me at arm’s length for months.
Part of me wondered if my recently traumatized mind created this fantasy and I’d wake up from a deep slumber only to be alone and craving Sal more than ever. Yet, when his hands started exploring my body freely, I couldn’t bring myself to care. Whatever this was—illusion or reality—I’d take it and bask in the feeling of being wanted by this man until it ended.
His hand teased the sliver of skin between my shirt and jeans, and goose bumps dotted my arms. I parted my lips and let him inside. He devoured me like tomorrow would never come and we were the only two people who mattered. He tasted like freedom, fate, and home all wrap up in one wicked package. I dumped every emotion into the kiss—fear, want, longing and lust.
Seconds, minutes, or hours later, I didn’t have a clue, he was on top of me, his muscular frame flattening me into the bedding. His hips moved against me and I wrapped my legs around his waist, doggedly ignoring the warning bells ringing nonstop in my brain.
His lips journeyed down my jaw to my neck, and I brushed aside of all of the horrific things that happened today and focused on him, his soft lips, his calloused hands, his heady scent.
“God, Em, do you know how bad I’ve wanted to kiss you again? It’s been torture staying away from you. The minute I saw you in that cabinet in your dad’s office with that half-scared, half-defiant look on your face, I wanted you. Every time I pushed you away, it killed me.”
My heart swelled at a maddening rate, irrationally hungry for every kiss and every whispered confession. I was an addict gobbling up his words like they were my next fix.
“I didn’t ask you to stay away.” I hooked my arms around his neck. “You did that all on your own.”
His head dropped, resting against the center of my chest. “I know. I didn’t have a choice. You know what your dad would do if he found out…” His voice faltered, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence. We both knew what he was getting at, and the awareness of this hard reality was as potent as a bucket of ice. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he crawled off the bed. “I need to go before we do something we can’t take back. This isn’t supposed to happen like this. Your dad wanted…never mind.”
I opened my mouth, only I didn’t get the chance to argue with him. My dad’s voice rang out, and his heavy footfalls echoed on the stairs. “Emilia? Emilia! Where are you?”
“See even fate agrees.” Sal heaved out a weighted breath and opened my door. “She’s in here. She just finished eating, and now that you’re home, I’m gonna take off.”
He walked out of the room without a backward glance, and somehow, in a twisted turn of events, Sal had me thinking about him rather than what happened today. Then it hit me with the force of a bulldozer. I liked Sal. I liked him a lot. My infatuation with him hadn’t gone anywhere, and I had no business feeling anything about anyone connected to the Trassato Crime Family. I need to cut the tentacles linking me to them, not grow new ones.
Merda!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Do you want to talk about what happened the other day?” My dad’s coffee mug clunked against the long wooden table.
Avoiding eye contact with him, I dug my spoon through my cereal, the little O’s spinning in circles, kind of like my thoughts. “No, not really.”
He grunted and reared back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest and his lips pursed. “Emilia, we need to talk about it. I didn’t push you that night or the last two days because I could see you weren’t ready, but it’s time.”
“Look, Dad, I understand what I’m supposed to do. Sal already talked to me about it. He said I should move on, forget it ever happened, and that’s what I’m doing. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. I want to pretend it didn’t happen, and I’m sure that’s what you want too, so we’re all good. No need for a conversation.”
I dropped my spoon onto the table, my appetite vanishing like a mirage in the desert. I couldn’t summon the will to do anything other than stare absently as my mind replayed the events of that day on a continuous reel.
While I understood Sal’s point about those guys being bad people, it didn’t diminish the queasiness swirling inside my gut for days. I watched two men bleed out and die. I’d scoured the internet looking for any signs their death wasn’t a figment of my imagination, and I couldn’t find a
single thing. It was like the whole incident never occurred. Tony must be one helluva a cleaner, because two men lost their lives and the world kept going like they were never a part of it in the first place, kind of like my mom. With that realization, the little bites of cereal threatened to reverse course and come back up like a bunch of ugly secrets refusing to kick the bucket.
“Emilia, I know our relationship has been…” he paused, his dark eyes distant, “…strained over the last few years. I want things to change.”
I barely curbed the urge to roll my eyes. “And how do you want to go about changing things between us?”
“We can start by communicating openly. For example, you tell me what happened with Sal, and I’ll explain what I can.”
“You know what? I’ll humor you even though you’re well aware of everything that went down. Sal stopped at some warehouse on the way home. I made the mistake of getting out of the car when I heard a gunshot, and I’m pretty sure you know everything after that.”
He steepled his fingers in front of his face, his eyes boring into me with the force of a laser. “Yeah, yeah, I got that part. Did either of the men say anything unusual?”
Unusual? Was he serious? How was I supposed to know what was out of the ordinary for someone to say while threatening to kill a person? “Um, no.”
“There has to be something. Sal’s been unusually tight-lipped about the whole thing.”
I rubbed my temples, my brain feeling like it would explode any minute. “I don’t know. Oh wait, one of the men mentioned you honoring some bargain. Then he brought up Sal’s dad, and that seemed to set him off. He claimed to have information about Sal’s dad, and I guess Sal didn’t believe him because he shot him instead of trying to get it out of him. I don’t know if that means anything to you, but that’s all I’ve got.”
“Okay, sweetheart. That’s fine. I don’t want to push you too hard. I love you. I know I don’t tell you often enough, but it’s true.” He stood and kissed my cheek. I couldn’t remember the last time my dad showed me any affection.
I nodded, stubbornly willing away the urge to cry. “I love you too.” It wasn’t a lie. I did love him despite the fact that he made my mom so miserable she felt like she didn’t have any choice except to end her life. Part of me wished I hated him. It would make my life much easier because loving him as much as I loathed him tore me apart.
He smiled without it reaching his eyes. While I liked to believe I wasn’t that transparent, maybe I was.
“You look so much like your mom these days. So much so that I think I’m seeing her ghost roaming around these halls.” He pressed a balled up fist to his chest. “Sometimes I wonder if you got any of my genes. I miss her.”
“Yeah, I do too.” My voice was much rougher than I liked. I didn’t want to show any weakness around my dad. He always had an agenda, and I’d be dumb to think he didn’t have one right now.
“I know you blame me for what happened. We were fighting all day. I’m sure you overheard some of our conversation.”
I nodded, unable to speak. Almost by unspoken agreement, we never discussed that night. About a month after she died, I brought it up he shut me down immediately and refused to talk to me for an entire month. I never made that mistake again. It marked the beginning of the end of our relationship. After that, we orbited around each other, never actually connecting on any level, and neither of us had made any effort to change that until today.
“It’s no secret that your mom wanted her old life back. She missed performing in front of crowds and traveling all over the world. She said she felt meaningless and small when she couldn’t share her gift with the world. She wanted a different life for both of you, and when she realized it was impossible, she gave up.”
An all too familiar ache burrowed under my breastbone, and my shoulders drooped from the weight of his words. They weren’t new. I heard them straight from her mouth on more than one occasion, and I’d spent more than a couple of nights turning them over in my head. Even half a decade later, I couldn’t come to terms with them or what happened later. I never accepted that my mom willingly chose death over a life of being my mom. That was one of the extensive list of the reasons I suspected my dad pushed her in that direction or bullied her into it.
“I know. I heard what she said.”
He tugged on the hem of his suit jacket and dropped his gaze to the dark stained hardwood floors. “Know that she’s proud of you. So proud. When you play the piano,” he cleared his throat, “it takes my breath away. Just like her.”
“Thanks.” At a loss for words, I avoided his weighty surveillance.
He patted me on the shoulder. “Anyway, I talked to your piano teacher and she said you have a performance this weekend. I’ve cleared my schedule so I can be there for you.”
I looked up. “You’re coming?”
My heart beat double time. My dad hadn’t come to a single performance since my mom died. Apparently, he had my teacher tape them, and he listened to them at his leisure.
“I will.” He shifted his weight. “By the way, what do you think of Sal?”
I blinked not understanding his question. “Salvatore D’Amico? What about him?”
“Are you comfortable around him?”
I tilted my jaw to the side, trying to read between the lines. “Yes.”
“More so than Tony?”
“He’s closer to my age, so I feel like I’m hanging out with a friend and not being chaperoned.”
“And that’s all it is, friendship?”
My stomach squeezed. He’d kill Sal if he knew he kissed me. “Yes. Sal treats me like a sister. That’s it. He doesn’t see me as anything more. I’m not sure he even likes me much.”
My dad’s steely gaze pinned me in place, and my heart rate kicked up a few notches. “Okay. Good. You’d tell me if there was anything going on, right?”
I willed away the heat inching up my neck. “Yeah, of course. Why?”
“Tony’s busy with some other project so Sal will be filling in for him from now on. I think you two will be good for each other. He lost his dad a while ago so you have some stuff in common.”
“Oh, all right.” I ducked my chin to hide my smile. “Whatever you think. I trust you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I smoothed the wispy layers of my pale pink dress, wishing I picked something less conspicuous. I couldn’t recall the last time I dressed in any color other than black. Rather than being confident and feeling pretty in my new dress, I felt like a warped version of Tinkerbell.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the announcer giving a brief history of my training and mentioning my mom. I wished they wouldn’t link the two of us together before a performance. It only increased the already overwhelming pressure to live up to her legacy.
Polite clapping reached my ears, signaling it was time for my entrance. With unsteady legs, I crossed the hardwood floor, my low heels tapping with each step. Next to the bench, I dipped in a semblance of a curtsy and settled onto the bench in front of the gleaming black lacquered piano.
My eyes scanned the front row, seeking the seat where I expected to find my dad, only I didn’t. Instead, my gaze met Sal’s. His lips pulled up at the corners, and he nodded. The gesture of encouragement was wasted on me. The smile slipped from my face almost immediately. My dad had broken his promise. He didn’t come. My lips wobbled, and I flattened a hand against my stomach, willing away the sensation of being kicked in the gut. I knew better than to count on him.
Shake it off. You’ll be gone soon anyway.
I took a deep breath, my bodice stretching tight over my ribcage, lowered my hands to the keys, and closed my eyes. My feet found the pedals, and I tapped them three times for good luck then began. The ivory keys gave way under the light pressure of my fingertips. Soft music filled my ears, and with it the ball in my stomach unknotted, succumbing to the meditative tone of the beginning of “Moonlight” by Beethoven.
I moved through
each part of the piano sonata, the music building, and the contemplative nature gradually exploding into something promising, then stormy. Passionate. Alive. The strongly accented notes at the end bordered on lyrical, drawing a notable contrast to the first part. My fingers moved faster and faster until I struck the last notes, bowing in reverence for the piece. Sweat beaded near my hairline, my hands vibrated with adrenaline, and the applause rippled like a drug through my body.
I loved performing. It helped me forget all the outrageous crap going on in my life. Most importantly it made me feel close to my mom. Part of me imagined her there watching over me, shaking her head where I missed a note and smiling in encouragement when I pulled off a particularly difficult piece.
When the clapping faded away, I rose from the bench and headed for the side of the stage. With each step, the endorphins dried up, yielding to my frustration. Fortunately it didn’t last long. Sal gathered me into his arms a few minutes after I snuck around the black curtain.
“I don’t know much about piano, but I have no words, Emilia. You’re amazing. Absolutely amazing.”
I chuckled. “I’ll ignore the qualifier at the beginning of your compliment and run with the second part.”
He pulled a bouquet of white roses with a blue ribbon from a canvas bag sitting next to his feet. From the looks of it, he had stuffed a couple of peacock feathers into the arrangement. At some point, I needed to confess that birds freaked me out. “These are from your dad. He’s…uh…he couldn’t make it. I guess something came up at the club that required his input. He promised he’d make it to the next one.”
Determinedly ignoring the feathers, I gathered the flowers in my hand, inhaled their sweet scent, making sure they didn’t touch my face, then let them dangle limply from my fingers. “You don’t have to lie for him. He hasn’t made it to any of my performances since my mom died. I got his message loud and clear. I don’t understand why he insists I continue playing when he doesn’t want anything to do with it.”
