by Zoey Derrick
I can’t help returning her smile with a small one of my own. “That’s all you have to say on that subject?”
She sits forward with her elbows on her knees. “I’m guessing that whatever you’re trying to tell me has to do with why you no longer use that name, so until I have the full story, I refuse to pass judgement.”
“Jesus, Ireland, you’re like a damn saint, you know that?”
She smiles and shrugs. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I want to hear the rest of your story.”
I nod and go back to finding my place in the story. “When I was fifteen, my father was killed. But rather than being killed in the line of duty, he was killed because he was a dirty cop.” She gasps, but I ignore her and continue, “I don’t know the whole story because I wasn’t there when it happened. All I knew at the time was he’d disappeared, but then…then they came after me. They tried to use me as leverage to get my father to talk.”
“The cops?”
I shake my head. “No, worse.”
“Go on,” she says as she leans back again.
“I was pulled off the streets in broad daylight as I walked home from school. From there I was taken somewhere and…the details of that are unimportant, but let’s just say it wasn’t a vacation. When they realized I wasn’t the leverage they needed over my father, they tortured him and ruined me before they killed him in front of me.”
She gasps, but I can’t look at her. I don’t want to see the pain and pity in her eyes. “After that, I became the property of Vito Ricci and the Ricci family. They were a living, breathing Italian Mafia in New York and because my father couldn’t pay his debts, I was forced to do that for him.”
“With what, exactly?” Her voice is soft, hesitant, as if she doesn’t want to know the answer.
I look straight at her, hoping she’ll read the unspoken words in my eyes before I go on with my history. “When I first met Liam, Bryan’s bodyguard, I met him as Leo. He dyed his hair black so he would fit in. Italian mobsters are not big fans of the Scottish. He infiltrated the highest rings of the Ricci family by working his way up the ranks on an undercover mission that had been going on for years. Anyway, Vito, or one of his upper hands, had ordered Liam to oversee the inner workings of one of the Ricci family’s primary sources of income.” I turn and look at her again, silently pleading with her to understand so I don’t have to go into details.
“Which was?” she prompts.
“Sex trafficking.”
Ireland’s eyes well with tears and she covers her mouth. Her silent sobs shake her chest. I close my eyes, fighting my own tears. “I’ve never told anyone any of this. So please…” The emotion is thick in my voice. “Please don’t.” I brush tears away from my eyes. “Liam found me in a house in Brooklyn where some of the girls, me included, were held. I learned later that Liam’s role at the house was because Fat Tony was skimming money from Ricci. Ricci sent Liam to find out what was going on. Liam and I became close, he became a handler of sorts for me and he used the information I gave him to take back to Ricci, or so I’d thought. Then, one day, the house was raided. Fat Tony and his goons were taken into custody and all the girls were processed and released, except for me.” I go back to pacing. “Someone had tipped them off that I was the head girl, been around the longest and they quickly figured out I have a photographic memory. So, for four days they questioned me, grilled me even, for all the information I had on Fat Tony, his accomplices and then finally what I knew about the chain of command within the organization. I spilled my guts on the promise I would be protected.”
“So that’s where Becca came from?” she asks.
I shrug. “More or less. I was handed a new passport and identification and sent to California. Only once I got there, I was basically on my own. So, I did what I had to do in order to survive. I did the only thing I knew how to do.”
“You became a prostitute?”
“No, I was already one of those. At least in the eyes of the Feds who were more intent on taking down the biggest Italian crime family in New York than they were about taking care of one of their whores. I did the only thing I knew how to do. The only difference is I knew the business, I knew how it worked and I was able to handle myself.”
“As the years in California progressed, I heard less and less from anyone in New York, but the name I was given was racking up an arrest record that would destroy any chance of moving on with my life. I used the only card I had left to gain a whole new identity.”
“What was the card?”
“My father’s murder. He was, after all, an NYPD Detective who had turned up dead in an alley somewhere in New York. By that point, the case was cold and they had stopped investigating his murder. I handed them the murderer.”
“Who was it?”
“Vito Ricci.”
Saying his name out loud sends my mind racing back to the day I played all the cards I had left in my arsenal.
My hands shake as I dial the number.
“McMurray,” a familiar male voice answers the call.
“I have information on a homicide.”
“Then you need to call nine-one-one.”
“It’s a cold case,” I say into the phone.
“Then you need….”
I cut him off, “It’s about the murder of NYPD Detective Mercutio Fazio.”
The line goes silent for a few moments before he responds. “Don’t bother trying to trace it, I’m going to tell you who I am, where I am and how I know this information.”
“What’s your name?” McMurray inquires.
“Livia Fazio.”
He sucks in a deep breath. “His daughter? His daughter is dead.”
“On paper, but you, Agent McMurray, are the one who made me look that way before sending me packing to California.”
“Why are you just now coming to me with this?” He sounds irritated.
“Because, I need something from you and then I will hand you your killer on a silver platter,” I answer into the phone.
“What do you need from me, Alison?” He uses my new given name. I look like an Alison, apparently.
“A new identity.”
“Your identity hasn’t been compromised.”
“How would you know?”
“Because the case is still under investigation. We would know if they knew about you. Though, like I told you then, they don’t care about you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, and given that I’m the only witness to my father’s murder who is going to talk to you, I assure you, you’ll need my testimony.”
“We have more than enough…”
“That will put them in jail for what? Twenty years? Thirty, maybe? Wouldn’t you rather put them on death row for killing a New York City Detective?”
He sighs.
“That’s what I thought. Now, will you deal?”
He covers the mouthpiece and speaks to someone before returning to me. “We’ll deal. But I need details, full and complete details.”
“I’ll even lead you to the missing money.”
“What money?”
“I’ll call back soon. Make sure you have the case file, Agent McMurray; you’re going to need it. Pictures and all.” I hang up the phone. My heart pounds in my chest at the gravity of the information I’m going to unleash on them. Hopefully it will finally set me free.
“Becca,” Ireland brings me out of my daydream, “You alright?”
She looks concerned so I give her hand a squeeze and muster up a small smile. “Yeah, I just…I’ve tried so hard to put that out of my mind, but lately it’s all coming back to me.”
I continue pacing the room, unsure of where to go next with the story. “I think the name Becca was the FBI Agent’s way of getting back at me for making him work so hard,” I snort.
Ireland doesn’t laugh but adds, “Becca is a pretty name. It just…well, when you were a blonde, it fit, but now, with your dark hair, not so much.” She runs her hand through her ha
ir before she stands up. “Why? Why after all this time are you telling me this?”
“Because, I’m tired of the lies, I’m tired of the games. I want this all to be over and I can’t do that if I’m not honest with you.”
She stares at me, her mouth agape. “How much more have you lied to me about?” she manages to ask.
“Nothing, just my name, where I came from, though California isn’t exactly a lie, just not where I grew up. When you went to New York back in February, a part of me freaked out that you’d learned the truth. With Dyson’s resources, I…”
“Oh god, no, Becca…sorry, it’s going to take some getting used to.”
I give her a small, pathetic smile. “You actually want to get used to it?”
She cocks her head at me, “It’s not easy knowing you’ve been lying to me all these years, but under the circumstances, I think it may have been warranted. You are who you are, Livia, a name isn’t going to change that.”
“There’s more,” I breathe.
“More, what? Lies?”
I give her a non-committal nod. “Up until February, when I told you I was working at the restaurant?”
“Yeah,” she says slowly.
“It wasn’t a restaurant. I purposefully told you a place that would be nearly impossible for you to get to without a car and one that was far enough away that you wouldn’t take a cab ride to come see me because I didn’t work there. I was working at CatTails, as a dancer.”
“Str-stripping?” she stutters.
“I was doing what I needed to do…”
“By stripping?”
Jesus, she’s going to be okay with the fact that I’m not the person I said I was, but she’s going to blow her lid at my job? Seriously? “How do you think I paid for college?”
“Loans, grants, things like that.”
“Yes, but those were never anywhere near enough money to cover the full cost of my tuition. Working at Dunkin’ Donuts isn’t exactly a million dollar a year job.”
“No, but your degree would get you somewhere that would be better money than stripping and yet you’re not doing anything with that.”
“Honestly, Ireland, the only reason I stayed in school was because of you. Because you let me see things differently than I ever had before, and I knew if I dropped out, we’d grow apart. For the first time in my life, I’d found someone I could depend on, someone who was there for me when I needed them and who didn’t judge me. You never asked too many questions and we just clicked. After having been alone for pretty much my entire life, I savored what we had as friends. I didn’t want to ruin what we had because I needed to make money, a lot of it, and make it in as little amount of time as possible. Stripping and whoring are the only two ways I know how to do that.”
“Prostitution too?”
Her surprise is blatantly clear. “When I had to,” I breathe.
“Still?” she asks.
The memory of Bryan handing me a wad of cash slides through my mind. Then I remember throwing it at his door before walking about. “No.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?” So much for the supportive best friend.
“What difference does it make now, Ireland? You’re pregnant, practically married and living in a house bigger than the entire apartment complex I grew up in. You weren’t in any position to help me out, so I did what I had to do.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because, I believed you were truly my friend and if you were truly that person, what I’ve done in my past shouldn’t matter to you, but I can clearly see it does.”
“Breathe, Jesus,” Ireland snaps. She takes a deep breath. “You have to see this from where I’m coming from on all this before you go off half-cocked.” She looks me square in the eye. “Your past? I understand that. I understand why you’ve changed your name, why you feel the need to run, but I can’t for the life of me wrap my mind around why you felt you needed to…”
“Become a whore?” I spit.
She nods. “But I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly.”
“But it’s the truth. And honestly, I don’t know and I have no clue how to explain it to you. I just, fuck, Ireland, it’s all I know.”
“But you’re not anymore?”
“I haven’t since February. I have no plans to go back to it either,” I tell her. It’s the truth. It’s about time I grew up, got a real job, did real things. In order to do that, I’ve had to come clean with my best friend. Her acceptance or denial of who I am determines what happens next.
“I don’t know what to say,” she finally says.
“There’s nothing to say. I needed you to know, now you know. What you decide to do with this information is a decision only you can make,” I tell her.
“I need some time,” she whispers.
I nod and grab my keys from the counter. “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I quip before I go down the stairs and out the front door. I climb into my car and slam the door shut before screaming at the top of my lungs.
Chapter Ten
Moving on? Yeah, right.
BRYAN
Ireland: I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but she doesn’t deserve your silence.
Bryan: It was one night.
Ireland: Keep telling yourself that. Call her, text her, something.
Bryan: Why is this so important to you?
Ireland: She’s broken.
Bryan: That’s obvious but I can’t fix that. She made it very clear where she stands.
Ireland: Did it ever occur to you that maybe she was wrong? (623)555-0159 – Call her.
Broken? Duh.
Apologetic? Highly unlikely.
“You ready?” Liam asks from my office doorway.
I nod. Despite my desperate attempts at putting her out of my mind over the last couple of months, I’ve failed miserably. Today, I will tell the world. “It’s now or never,” I respond.
I grab my bag off the hook near the door and follow Liam out of the house and into my SUV.
That night in Phoenix replays in my head on a constant loop. It’s like a broken record and I can’t, no matter what I do, wash her from my mind.
The last couple of months have been busy with my new album and some last-minute studio work. Tonight is the launch of my newest single. I’ve given full access to one of the satellite stations because one night, back in June, while in the car with the girl that would inspire me in ways I never imagined possible, I noticed she had the station programmed in her car. Now the catch is, getting her in the car.
Once Liam has us on our way to the studio on Lower Broadway in Nashville, I pull up my phone and for the first time ever I anonymously text a number I swore I would never use.
LIVIA
“Less than an hour to go before country music’s biggest superstar will be sitting in our studio and we couldn’t be more thrilled to have him in studio with us. Are you ready for the nationwide release of his newest single? I know we are.” The DJ’s voice fades to nothing when the next song starts playing on the radio.
It’s been two months and still nothing from him. No phone calls, no text, no nothing. No matter how hard I’ve tried to move on and ignore it, the feelings I managed to develop for him have only grown deeper. Taking root in my heart in a way I never imagined I could feel. I’ve been on my own for so long, forced into a lifestyle I never would have chosen for myself. Not having a choice in the matter has altered everything I know about relationships.
I used to tell myself that had my father died without me having to be involved in the whole shit-show, I may have ended up there anyway. I was, after all, only fifteen at the time.
Then the fantasy side of my brain kicks in with ideas of grandeur and the possibility of being adopted or taken in by a family that would have nurtured me in ways a teenage girl should have been. That fantasy always fades when the reality would have been a group home or some other living situation barely above poverty and being on the streets. Had I ended up
on the streets and alone, I often wonder if I would have turned to drugs, alcohol and prostitution on my own just to survive.
Had my father not died because of his own idiocy things would have gone on much the same as they always had. A man married to his job and a slave to it. When he was alive, I barely saw him. I heard him coming in at all hours of the night and leaving at all hours of the morning. From the time I was nine years old, I’ve been responsible for myself and it would have continued that way, I have no doubt.
I recognize that had the things that happened to me not actually happened, I would have never ended up in California and more than likely never ended up in Phoenix where I met Ireland.
It took a few days, but Ireland gradually came around and we spent the following Saturday curled up on the couch watching movies and hanging out like we used to do. It was a little awkward at first, but eventually we settled in and had a good time. So much has changed in her life since her mother passed away and it made me feel guilty for being such a bitch to her.
We also talked about her relationship with Dyson and to say I was envious is an understatement. Pea-green with envy might be a better phrase for it, but I am happy she’s found happiness. I’m just sorry it took ten years for them to find each other again. Her life is heading in the right direction and now if I could get mine going that way, I think I would be much happier.
Since that day, I’ve seen Dyson and Ireland more and more and it’s obvious he adores her and she him. It’s the stuff of romance novels. Seeing them together and seeing the love they have for each other and the graceful way they are handling the unexpected gives new meaning to my desperation and desire for something I’m not sure I can have. But I’m damn sure going to try.
“It’s almost time, ladies and gents. We are happy to report that the one and only Bryan Hayes has entered the building.”
I chuckle at the radio. That kind of announcement needs to be made in front of a live audience. It would have a much better effect on the masses. I look up the spire sitting in front of me and I can only imagine what’s going on inside, up toward the top, as the radio station I’m listening to prepares for the biggest, best kept secret to be revealed while I sit in my car, fifty feet below them biding my time. Usually, new singles can be found all over the internet before they’re actually released, but not this one, not this time. As of twenty minutes ago, it wasn’t even available to download, despite the reveal in less than an hour.
