Fractured Breaths

by Zoey Derrick

  “Some stuff. I usually use it to play around, check the sound on some songs, things like that. I do a lot of practicing in here because it’s quiet and soundproof.”

  “Wow.” That’s all I’ve got. I step into the room, looking over all the equipment he has inside. I haven’t a clue what any of it is or what it means, but it is no less impressive. The door between the mixing room and the studio is open. I step inside.

  There are several guitars on stands, a grand piano, a few stools and no less than six microphones on various stands and one hanging from the ceiling. I approach the piano and my fingers play along the keys.

  “You play?”

  I’m glad he can’t see my face. “I used to.”

  “Play something?”

  I shake my head. “Bryan, I haven’t played since I was a teenager. I wouldn’t even…”

  “You might be surprised.” He comes up behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist, and I feel something gentle brush along my hair. Either a kiss or just reassurance that I’m standing here.

  “Maybe another time.” Embarrassment colors my tone.

  “Alright,” he says softly. I can tell he’s disappointed but the truth is I don’t even know if I could play anything anymore. Seeing the piano brings back many memories I’ve worked hard to suppress over the years.

  “Livi-belle, come on,” my dad says from the living room.

  “I don’t want to,” I whine back.

  “Yes, you do, come here, let me hear what you learned today.”

  My dad’s sudden interest in my piano playing piques my curiosity. It’s not something he’s taken an interest in over the last five or so years that I’ve been taking lessons. Sometimes I think he made me take lessons just so he could keep me out of the house during the day while he slept. One way or another, I grew to love playing piano. Per Mrs. Larson, I’m good at it.

  I leave my room and walk into the living room. My dad is sitting in his recliner rocking aimlessly back and forth. Something’s off about him tonight and I don’t understand it.

  “Alright, dad. One song. Okay?”

  “Sure, whatever you want, baby girl.”

  I sit down at the upright piano we’ve had since I was a little girl and I test the keys. I don’t play at home very often because the walls are thin and I usually manage to piss off my neighbors. But it’s late afternoon, most people aren’t home from work yet.

  Satisfied that the keys are the way I want them, I start playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. As a fifteen year old who’s only been playing for four years, this song is pretty complicated, but my fingers fly over the keys with ease.

  I slip back to the present and I find myself sitting at Bryan’s piano. My fingers glide over the keys with an unforgotten ease and my mind is lost to that night. A tear streaks down my cheek as my fingers continue to move along the keys. Bryan sits next to me.

  “Why are you crying?”

  My fingers slow against the ivory as I find my voice. “The last time I played this was for my father, the night before I was taken off the street and away from the only life I knew,” I breathe.

  Bryan takes my hands in his. “You ready to talk?” he asks.

  “No, but I don’t have a choice.”

  “Let’s find Liam.” His voice is soft, sober and understanding.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I didn’t see that coming.

  BRYAN

  We find Liam in the kitchen setting out food. “Just in time,” he smiles at both of us. I return the smile but I can see Livia has tensed up dramatically since leaving the studio. “Why the long face?” Liam asks her, beating me to the punch.

  “I don’t want to do this.” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she speaks.

  “You don’t have to,” I tell her. Her eyes meet mine and they are pleading, but whether it is for an out or because she knows she has no choice, I don’t know.

  “I’d like Liam to start.” Her voice is soft, a bit unsure and unsteady, something I’ve not seen from her before and I don’t I like it.

  “What would you like me to start with, lass?”

  “Everything you know, leading up to when you found me.”

  Liam nods. “Alright, but we might want to take a seat for this.” He gestures for both of us to take a seat at the breakfast bar. Livia sits first and I follow while Liam hands us each a glass of wine.

  Liam takes a deep breath to settle himself before he begins a tale that will blow me out of the water.

  “Vittorio Ricci, an Italian immigrant, came to the United States in the early nineteen hundreds…”

  “Do we really have to go back this far?” I interrupt.

  “Aye, we do. It’s relevant, I assure you.”

  “It is. I’ve heard this story before, and in order for you to understand how I got to where I did, you need to hear the whole story,” Livia adds.

  “Continue, my friend.”

  Liam nods and continues, “He was young, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. His parents had sent him with other male members of his family, but no one over the age of twenty and no one younger than fourteen. The idea had been to send them here to find good work that would bring the rest of the family over. When the boys, and I say boys because that’s exactly what they were, arrived in New York, there were nine of them left. Having lost one, the youngest at barely fourteen, during the journey over. By the time they’d found a permanent place of residence, Vittorio was one of three remaining Ricci males in the U.S., well, that were still in New York.” Liam takes a drink from his glass, though he’s not drinking wine. He chose something stronger, whiskey. He stares blankly into space as he continues his story.

  “The boys settled into a life of work, sleep, shit and work some more. But Vittorio started to hate the mundane tasks of everyday boring life. The males barely had enough to scrape by, let alone bring their family to America. He wanted more and he missed his parents. So he started picking up odd jobs here and there for different businesses within the city. Doing so not only granted him more money, but the ability to meet people he would have never normally come across. He started working as a courier for what he’d originally thought was a printing house. The longer he worked there, the more he figured out what the business was doing. And it was illegal. He discovered the company was a front for something else. Being young and naïve, it took him a long time to realize he was moving money, weapons, drugs – though not like the ones we know of today. The long part of this story summed up is that Vittorio Ricci was a smart kid. Too smart. He started tapping into the company’s suppliers, offering them deals and obtaining his own product. Once he’d managed to obtain enough of it, he went around to his normal delivery distributors and offered them the same product, only cheaper.

  “It was smart business because each one of the ‘clients’ he targeted took his offers. In short, he swiped the business right out from under his employers and the clients just assumed they were getting a better deal from the same company. At this point Vittorio brought his family on board and they were helping him maintain the new family business.

  “By the time the gang found out about it, there was little they could do to set it right. Vittorio had managed to corner the supply lines and triple the amount of business in less than two years. The suppliers were dry because of Vittorio’s business.

  “Nineteen-Nineteen hit and Vittorio was the only one left of his family. His brothers and cousins had all been killed by the violence in New York or by various diseases and his business had pulled away from the drug market, and into alcohol supply lines. It was amazing business for about a year. Then prohibition hit and it hit Vittorio hard.

  “The Ricci family had expanded. He’d brought his father, mother, three brothers – who were younger than he was – and two eldest sisters to America. His father didn’t handle the journey well and died shortly after coming to America. His mother followed shortly thereafter from a broken heart. At least that’s how the story goes. This put Vitto
rio in charge of his brothers and sisters. His brothers were all too eager to join the new family business, while the sisters disappeared.” His voice trails off as he stares out the window behind us.

  “When prohibition ended, Vittorio Ricci came out the other side completely unscathed. He came out of prohibition with his family and his businesses intact and until the early nineties, no one could figure out how. Their name was no longer associated with the drug scene, and although the weapon trafficking had never stopped, it was hardly enough to keep the family afloat.

  “Over the course of the eighties and nineties, illegal gambling rings, drugs, and eventually prostitution were all tied back to the Ricci family, but cops never had enough information to take down the entire family. Individuals went to jail, did their time, got out and moved on. Spending time in jail was a badge of honor for most of those men and it always proved to Ricci who his most loyal members were. The ones who never squealed got their lives back in the circle as if nothing ever happened to them. Those who squealed usually never made it out of jail.

  “The NYPD,” Liam looks very pointedly at Livia, who nods before he continues, “realized quickly there were moles within the police force. For years, they fought the uphill battle of trying to figure out who Ricci’s men were. Sometimes they were planted men and other times they were well-paid men. Ricci was always one step ahead of law enforcement, which is where I came into play.

  “The FBI had to step in because there was very little the NYPD could do. There were moles inside the FBI, there were far fewer than the NYPD. A small group of men were brought in from various other branches of the FBI and a few CIA because the Ricci family was making bigger waves than we could keep up with.

  “It was around this time we figured out how after all these years the Ricci family maintained their business.” He stops, looking at Livia.

  “Human smuggling, human trafficking and sex trafficking,” Livia breathes.

  “So where do you fit into all of this?” I ask Livia.

  “My father was a mole.”

  Terror grips me at what that could mean and I look from Livia to Liam, who nods somberly, and then back to Livia. She stands up, slams back her entire glass of wine and starts to pace the kitchen.

  “I don’t know the exact history of how my father got involved with the Ricci family.” Her voice is still soft, and there’s an edge of fear to her tone.

  “I can answer that, lass.”

  “Please do, I’ve been dying to know.”

  “You might want to sit back down,” Liam encourages her.

  She shakes her head and remains standing. “Believe me, nothing you tell me now will change the past. He’s dead, been dead, for years.”

  “Aye, he has, but it doesn’t mean it won’t fuck with your head.” Liam’s accent grows thicker the longer he talks.

  “I don’t care,” Livia says as she continues to pace the length of the kitchen.

  “What do you know about your mother?”

  Livia freezes in her tracks and slowly turns toward Liam, glaring at him. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

  “Everything,” Liam answers.

  “How so?”

  “Your mother was born Elisabetta Maria Ricci. Great-granddaughter of Vittorio Ricci and sister to none other than Vittorio Ricci the fourth.”

  Livia’s eyes go blank, her body ridged, her skin pale. “No!” she wails before collapsing onto the tile floor of my kitchen. I rush to her and pull her close against my chest while she sobs in my arms.

  “Sorry, lad.”

  I look to Liam for help, silently begging him to help me pull her from the emotional storm, but it’s no use. She’s completely broken.

  LIVIA

  As I sob in Bryan’s arms, a memory begins to play in my mind.

  “She’s gone. What do you expect me to do now?” It’s my father’s voice, but I don’t recall this memory of him. He looks much younger than I remember and the apartment has a lot of stuff in it I don’t remember. It looks like a woman has lived here. Is he talking about my mother?

  “The same thing you’ve always done.”

  “That’s not easy for me to do, Liam. They’ve got me by the fucking balls. He’s always been there to bail me out when I’ve needed it.”

  “Well, you have two choices. You can either bite the bullet or you can do as they ask of you. You knew when you married her that you’d have no choice. The only reason Vito allowed you to marry her is so he would have another inside mole. He’ll expect nothing less of you now. You don’t just walk away from a man like Ricci. The only way you get out is by death and that little girl in there deserves so much better than that. If you die, what’s to stop him from turning her into one of them? You being alive is the only thing that will save her. You die…”

  I gasp for air and sit straight up, my heart pounding in my chest.

  Warmth, something warm.

  I try and calm myself by breathing through my nose.

  It’s him. It’s Bryan.

  His kitchen.

  His house.

  Liam.

  My mother.

  My mother is Vito Ricci’s sister…

  I pull away from my warm, protective barrier and look blankly around the room for something familiar to grab on to, something to bring me back to the present. Anything.

  My eyes land on Liam.

  My breathing gradually slows back to normal, but my mind races a million miles a minute. “I’m his niece?” I breathe.

  “Aye, lass.”

  “How? How could he do that to his own flesh and blood?” I ask.

  “Remember his sisters?” I nod absently. “They were the first of the Ricci family prostitutes.”

  I gasp and put my hand to my throat. I’m fighting to keep my breathing even when long, strong arms wrap around me from behind. My back presses to Bryan’s front and his warmth consumes me, grounds me.

  “I’ll never be free of him, will I?” I ask in a whisper.

  “You’re free of him now, Livia. You have nothing to fear from Vito Ricci or anyone in his establishment. They’re gone, done for, dead or locked away.”

  “But they always get out,” I breathe.

  “Not this time they won’t. Vito is locked away in a federal prison, as far as he or anyone else knows, you’re dead,” Liam says in a reassuring tone.

  “I have to go.” I try to free myself from Bryan’s arms. He holds on tighter.

  “I’m not going to let you run away again.” His voice is in my ear, a soft whisper and yet it holds all the power.

  “I can’t be with you,” I mumble.

  “Says who?” I’m surprised when it’s Liam’s voice I hear asking and not Bryan’s.

  “Says the fact that I can never be seen in public with him. Says the fact that our relationship is built on the knowledge I could be killed or captured at any moment…”

  “You’re not listening to him, Livia. Hear him out. Please,” Bryan pleads. Spinning me around to face him as he continues, “If what Liam says is true, that Ricci is gone for good, then you have nothing to worry about.”

  “But I’m his niece.”

  “And the only people who know that are in this room,” Liam says.

  “No, they’re not. Vito knows.”

  “But Vito thinks you’re dead. You need to understand something, Livia.” Liam’s voice is stern. It’s breaking through the fog of disbelief and fear that clouds my thoughts and feelings right now; I’m scared out of my mind. If Liam can find me, without even looking for me, who else can find me if they’re trying? “Vito is in a federal prison. His phone calls and mail are scanned and scrutinized because the FBI is still trying to uncover more dirt on him. He’s in isolation and there are no known associates of the Ricci family in the prison he’s in. Believe me, the FBI knew what they were doing when they went after him.”

  My heart rate finally starts to slow to a normal rhythm and my breathing returns to normal. Bryan’s eyes are on me, w
atching me for any signs I’m going to freak out again.

  “I meant what I said earlier. Nothing and no one will ever hurt you again,” Liam reminds me as Bryan gently strokes my back.

  “You say this like you have control over that. You can’t be around me twenty-four-seven.”

  “Says who?” Bryan counters.

  I stare at him a moment before responding. “That implies that either he leaves you or I never leave…”

  He gives me a very pointed look and I pull away from him, but I don’t break our eye contact. His face is passive, not revealing anything about what he’s thinking. “You don’t even know me,” I breathe.

  “I know no matter how hard I try, I can’t wash you from my mind. I know if I don’t at least give this a chance, I will spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been. I’ve done enough of that in my life, I’m not prepared to do it again,” he says warmly with a confidence I wish I could feel about this whole situation.

  “I haven’t even told you everything,” I breathe, trying my hardest to back out of this. It falls on deaf ears.

  “Tell me if I have this correct because I’ve been listening this whole time.” He nods, asking for permission to continue and I nod back, giving him his chance to analyze my situation. “Somehow you ended up in the hands of Vito Ricci and he did what he does best, buried you inside one of his many whorehouses. From there you were forced into prostitution, and god only knows what else. Am I close?”

  Staring blankly at him, I nod. “They ripped me off the streets, hauled me to some warehouse where they beat me, tortured me and raped me, repeatedly.” The horror of my circumstances washes over his features. “From there, they made my father watch me being raped before I had to watch them kill my father because he was playing both sides of the fence. He was doing Ricci’s bidding in the police department at the same time reporting it to whoever would listen.”