He raised one of his brows, then snagged my wrist as soon as I was within reach. Wrapping his solid arm around my neck, he put me in a headlock and tousled my hair to total disarray. “Such a gracious and humble adult, aren’t you?”
I wailed playfully, pinching his flat stomach through his fitted T-shirt. “Okay, you’re right. I give!”
With my cry for mercy, Michael released me, and I lifted my head to find his face lit with an infectious grin. “That’s better. Now, tell me how it went.”
“It went really well! Miles seems like he’ll be wonderful to work with, and the part-time schedule gives me plenty of time to paint.” I was offered the administrative position a week before but had needed to fill out employment paperwork and discuss job duties more thoroughly. My short visit with the gallery owner had confirmed my initial impression that the locally owned operation was going to be a perfect fit.
“I’ve known Miles for a few years now. I knew you’d like him.”
“Yeah, and working in a gallery—seeing new exhibits, meeting the artists, and planning events— doesn’t even sound like work. The only thing better is painting itself!”
He gave me a smirk and a flick of his head. “Let’s grab some coffee, and you can tell me all about it,” he said, motioning down the sidewalk.
“Actually, I have to run over to campus to get my last couple of boxes.” I smiled up at him and gave a soft punch to his shoulder. “I really do appreciate your help with the job. The gallery is amazing. I can’t wait to start next week.”
“You know I’m always happy to help. Speaking of, you need a hand with boxes?”
“Nah, I only have two boxes left. They didn’t fit in the car on the last trip. Once I grab those, I’m all moved out of the dorm.”
“Your dad and his ridiculous rules,” he scoffed. “There was no reason you had to stay all four years in the damn dorm.”
“I know, but that’s in the past. Good things are on the horizon … I can feel it.”
Michael huffed out a laugh before wrapping me in his arms. “Alright, you little ray of sunshine. Your optimism is hurting my eyes. Go get your boxes and let me know if you need help.”
“Will do. Thanks again!” I waved as he slid into his black Mercedes, then pulled away from the curb.
Michael was amazing. He was the big brother I should have had—protective, indulgent, and honest to a fault. He was there for me when I needed him, and that had meant the world to me. He was also gorgeous, but our relationship had never gone down that particular path. Right at six feet tall, he was a dichotomy of striking features and an intimidating countenance, making people unsure if they should stare or look away. His disheveled hair was almost black, and his deep-set eyes were equally as dark. With full lips and hardly any facial hair, he could have been an emo model or a bad-boy musician covered in angry tattoos.
To me, he was just Michael.
He was the boy who was so fascinated with fast cars that he snuck out to watch illegal street races when we were in high school. He was the person who copied off my homework and met me at an all-night diner when I’d had a bad day and needed a plate of pancakes with hot chocolate.
Michael was my best friend, but nothing more than friendship had ever developed between us.
He never made a single move to change the status of our relationship. It was hardly an option early on. When we met, I had been devastated after a brutal breakup with a boy who had owned my heart since I was five years old. Nico had broken my heart so thoroughly that I wasn’t sure it would ever work properly again. Michael helped me see that life would continue even if Nico wasn’t by my side. Once I was able to see the light at the end of the tunnel, a platonic dynamic had been established between us. I cherished our friendship and had no desire to risk losing it. Michael was the one good thing that came from that time period.
If it hadn’t been for Nico leaving, I probably never would have met Michael.
For the past seven years, he’d been my closest confidant and friend. He had given me so much, and now I could add my job to the list of ways he had made my life better. I glanced back at the vinyl lettering of the gallery name plastered across the window above the door. My lips pulled back involuntarily into a wide smile as warmth flooded my chest. Things were going to be different from now on. I could feel it in every cell of my body. I had seized the reins to my life and would steer myself in the direction I saw fit, rather than be subjected to the back seat and chauffeured to places I didn’t want to go.
My excitement made the spring sky that much brighter and the dirty city street almost inviting. I skipped over to the Buick I had borrowed from my mom and slipped behind the wheel. My father liked for me and my sisters to use drivers in the city, but while I’d been at college, it hadn’t been necessary. No doubt that was already on his to-do list, but I would deal with it later.
The traffic on my forty-five-minute drive up to the Columbia campus was far more tolerable than normal in my current mood. I found a decent parking spot and ran inside the old dorm to retrieve the first of my two remaining boxes. When I walked back to my car with the second box, a middle-aged man in aviator sunglasses and a thin leather jacket stood with his hip leaned against my car.
I’d lived in New York my entire life and was decently equipped to handle your average oddball, but my steps still faltered at the sight of him. I wasn’t a fan of confrontation, and the man gave off an aggressive vibe that instantly had me on alert.
“Excuse me,” I offered with a tight smile, hoping the man would step aside and allow me to get in my car without a scene.
He slowly came off the car but stayed in my path, dropping his chin in acknowledgement. “Ma’am, my name is Detective James Breechner. You mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”
I glanced around nervously, unsure what I was searching for—a parent, a witness, maybe a video camera to suggest this was a joke. Why did a cop want to question me? Had there been an issue at the dorm? I’d been so wrapped up in finals that World War III could have started, and I wouldn’t have known.
Then I was slammed with the recollection of what had happened just the day before. My mom had called in the evening to tell me after the fact that my sister Alessia had been abducted. The entire incident had only lasted a matter of hours, and by the time I was informed, she had been located and safely returned home. I hadn’t had a chance to visit or even talk to her yet, so the entire event felt surreal. Mom said Alessia was doing well and explained away the incident as a random kidnapping.
There wasn’t an ice cube’s chance in hell anything was random about the kidnapping.
I didn’t know what exactly had happened; however, I couldn’t help but wonder if Alessia would have been safe had my parents not kept so many secrets from us. They were trying to protect us but keeping us in the dark only made us vulnerable.
Whatever the actual cause was behind her kidnapping, I couldn’t imagine my father would have informed the police, but stranger things had been known to happen. It was within a distant realm of possibilities that the cop was investigating the incident, and I definitely wanted to do what I could to help if that was the case.
“Um, sure,” I offered warily, realizing I had yet to reply. I slung the box over to my hip, so it was no longer between us and waited anxiously for his first question.
“How well do you know Michael Garin?” he asked tonelessly, sending a tendril of unease ghosting down my spine. This wasn’t a random questioning about a dorm incident. The man had been looking for me but not because of my sister.
“Michael? Why do you want to know about Michael?” I tried to act calm, but inside, my heart was pounding a relentless rhythm against my ribs.
“Please, just answer the question.”
I couldn’t see his eyes through the reflective sunglasses, but the weight of his stare was unyielding, leaving no doubt that he was taking in my every movement.
“I’ve known him for years. We went to school together. Can y
ou tell me what this is about?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Can you tell me about the nature of your relationship with Mr. Garin?”
More and more alarm bells began to sound in my head. Did he have questions about Michael, or were his questions seeking information about me? How was my relationship with Michael relevant to whatever he was investigating? My parents might have tried to keep us girls blind to their mafia dealings, but they were always clear on one thing—never, ever talk to the police. Right or wrong, I was raised to believe that the cops would twist and contort anything you said and use it against you.
My jaw clamped shut at the mental reminder, and I sucked in a cleansing breath through my nose. “If you have questions for me, I think it might be best if you spoke with my lawyer. Would you like his number?”
Detective Breechner’s upper lip lifted slightly in a snarl. “Is that how we’re going to play this? All I’m trying to do is have a simple conversation,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I’m not playing at anything. I think it’s in my best interest to remain silent, and I believe that’s my option. Now please, step away from my car.” I was relieved to hear my voice grow fortified with each word I spoke. He had shaken me at first with his unexpected request, but I’d eventually found my backbone.
He watched me as I placed the box in the back seat. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“It is for now,” I replied, reaching for the driver’s seat door and forcing him to step back farther as I opened the door and retreated inside my car. Pressing the ignition, I thanked God I didn’t have to fiddle with a key—my shaking hands could never have handled the task.
Breechner crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me as I pulled away from the curb. I didn’t know what his deal was, but I certainly wasn’t sticking around to find out. I drove a few miles away until I was comfortable pulling over, then dived for my phone to text Michael.
A cop just tried to question me about you. Are you in trouble?
The conversation dots immediately jumped to life. Michael was excellent about responding to my messages, unlike some guys. No, I’m sure it was nothing. You ok?
Yeah, just shaken. No idea what he wanted, and I didn’t give him time to tell me.
I’ll bet that pissed him off.
I’d be surprised if he didn’t crack a tooth. The thought made me chuckle.
Serves him right for upsetting you. Try not to worry. I’m sure it’s fine.
K
You get your boxes?
Yeah.
Good. Have fun back home.
Don’t remind me.
His reassuring words had eased some of my tension, but I couldn’t entirely shake the bad feeling that sat heavy in my gut. Then again, maybe it was just a byproduct of his reminder about my upcoming stay with my parents. Either way, my sunshiny day now felt threatened with ominous clouds on the horizon.
***
After texting Michael, I made my way to my childhood home on Staten Island. The apartment I had leased in the city wouldn’t be ready for three more weeks, which left me in need of a place to stay. I had money and could have rented something short-term, but my dad had insisted I come home. He wasn’t the type of man you argued with. It was simply easier to stay with my parents than to fight him on it. Plus, I wouldn’t have to unpack and repack in a short amount of time. They had kept my bedroom just as it was the day I left for school, which was a little odd but handy in a pinch. Assuming I could put up with my family for three weeks, it was a no-brainer.
The problem was, my family made me crazy.
I’d intentionally stayed away as much as possible over the past four years, using school as an excuse to bow out of dinners and family gatherings. It wasn’t so much the people themselves that bothered me, it was the secrets. They were insidious, poisoning every aspects of our lives until even the most fundamental parts of ourselves were blurred and fuzzy, impossible to define.
Was I innately secretive? Who knew? But I’d definitely become secretive. That was the worst part of it all—I was no better than any of them. I had secrets of my own that would rock their carefully constructed world.
Hello, hypocrisy, my old friend.
I’d known my family’s darkest secrets since I was a child and kept that knowledge hidden most of my life. I never gave the smallest clue that I’d known my father was a mafia boss or how I’d discovered his involvement. As far as they were concerned, I was angelic Sofia—a sweet, artistic soul who needed to be shielded and protected from life’s darker side.
Every one of us wore masks in my family.
We acted a part, keeping strictly to the script and guarding our secrets ruthlessly, and it was exhausting.
I didn’t see any reason, if we’d all fallen from the same rotten tree, why we couldn’t be true to one another. If it had been us against the world, then at least we would have had each other. But that wasn’t the case. We were outsiders even amongst ourselves, which made for an extremely lonely existence.
When I was around them, my skin itched with the need to shed itself and show them who I truly was, and my throat burned to scream, demanding we leave the secrets behind. But I kept it all bottled up, tightly sealed in a glass jar in the depths of my being. Why didn’t I just let it all out? Be the change you want to see, and all that jazz. I’d only been five when I first started harboring secrets and hadn’t known any better at the time. As I got older and recognized the plethora of the lies around me, it was too late. Telling my truths at that point was no longer a simple unburdening—there would be consequences I wasn’t willing to face.
Instead of spewing my anger and frustration, I painted. It was my only outlet and had saved me on many occasions. Because of the secrets and isolation, my parents’ house never really felt like home. It was a stage where we performed, not a sanctuary where we could be ourselves. Just looking at the outer façade as I pulled into the driveway had me gnawing anxiously at my fingernails.
It was three weeks. I could survive three weeks.
I unloaded the two boxes into the garage with all my other things and locked the door. My father had begrudgingly agreed to let me store my things where Mom parked her car so I didn’t have to deal with the hassle of a storage unit. I knew the minute I’d locked my things away in some run-down metal building, I’d think of something I needed to retrieve. This way, I had everything nearby, and Mom’s car could surely survive the elements for three weeks.
I used the key to let myself in the side door of the house closest to the detached garage. “Hey Mom, it’s me,” I called out, dropping my keys on the hall tree bench.
“Oh, Sofia!” Mom said as she hurried over from the other room. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Yeah, it’ll be a nice little visit,” I said with a forced smile. “Is Alessia still here?”
“No,” she groused. “She left earlier today, even though I wasn’t happy about it. She insisted on going back to her apartment. She’ll be here for Sunday dinner, but I may have to drop in sooner to check on her.”
“Oh! That was quick. I had hoped I’d get to see her while she was home.”
“It would have been wonderful to have both of you under one roof. I think more than anything it’s boy trouble that’s bothering her. Maybe you could call her. It might help to talk to her sister.”
“Yeah, I’ll definitely give her a call in a bit.”
“Good. Now, while I have you here, I was just going over this seating chart for the graduation party and want you to have a look.” She took my hand and pulled me toward the kitchen.
“I can look at it, but you know I don’t care where people sit.” She knew very well that not only did I not care where people sat, I had no desire to have a party at all. This was her event, and I had little to do with it. However, I hadn’t refused her request to throw a party, so it was my own fault that I had to deal with her incessant planning. She lived for these things, and I hated to take that from her.
>
My mom wasn’t a bad woman; in fact, there were a lot of qualities about her that I respected. She was more apt than anyone in the family to call things as she saw them. I’d learned some colorful language from my mother over the years. One time, she cussed out a cop so thoroughly the man had blushed.
Mom was an only child in an Italian family, which is a rarity. I got the feeling she was lonely growing up, and family gatherings were her favorite social outlet. As soon as she was old enough to host, parties became her chosen pastime. She eventually spread her wings and began to use her talents for the better good by organizing charity events. It helped reduce the number of family affairs, so we were all supportive of her endeavors.
The woman came alive at the thought of hosting an event, so aside from a few grumblings under my breath, I hadn’t fought her over the party. One hundred and fifty of our closest friends and family would be joining us to celebrate my graduation.
I was dreading every minute of it.
“Look here. I got Vica moved with her guest over to the Watters’ table,” she explained as she handed me a chart of tables covered with tiny scribbled names. “They own that little bar down in SoHo—the Black Horse or the Purple Pig—something like that. I hear they’re swingers, so it should be fine to put Vica with them. You never know what that woman’s gonna say, and I’d rather not worry about her sitting with anybody important.”
I only half listened to her prattle on as my eyes flitted from one table to the next, hardly registering the names until one particular name grabbed my attention. “Ma, why is Nico’s name on here?” I glared at her incredulously, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”
“Ma,” I ground out, still waiting for an explanation.
“You were friends for a long time.” She shrugged, suddenly taking the paper from my hands. “This party is for you; I wanted to have your friends there.” Her tone was overly innocent as she tried to gift wrap what was clearly an overstep of her bounds.
Never Truth Amazon Page 2
