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The soft fabric slips across my skin as I pull it on, a small comfort against the stiffness of a night spent curled like a question mark on a recliner that was never meant to serve as a bed. I glance at Mom, her chest rising and falling in the moonlit quiet of the library. She's where I left her, nestled among the throw pillows, the heating pad still draped across her belly.
I tiptoe past shelves lined with books that whisper secrets in the dark, then open the door quietly, then click it shut, taking care not to wake up Mom.
The hallway seems to stretch before me, a path paved with anxiety, my mind unable to fathom what Liam could be doing here. At the main door, my hand hesitates on the knob, afraid of what could be waiting for me on the other side. Nothing about Liam is ever easy.
Biting my lower lip so hard it bleeds, I swing the door open, and there he is—Liam—briefcase in hand, exhaustion etched into his features like fine lines on old parchment.
"Tony," he breathes out, and I fear something new in his voice . . . something I’ve never known about him. I look at him in shock, my heart kicking wildly against my ribs like a rabbit trapped in a snare.
"Liam, what are you doing here?"
"I need to speak with you."
"You already said that, but what are you doinghere?" My voice is steadier than I feel. "Why not just call if you need to speak with me?"
"Something has happened, Tony, something big, and I need your help. Someone tried to kill me," he says, his eyes searching mine, desperate.
"I need somewhere to hide. I need your help."
His words hang heavy in the chilled air, a fog of implications I'm not ready to navigate, yet here he is, asking for sanctuary, and all I can think about is the family inside—those who would rather see him six feet under than protect him from the fate he delved to my father . . . our father.
“What you ask . . . no. What I think you are asking for is impossible, Liam.”
How do I navigate this? Thisishis house. We have no rights here. I feel my pulse hammer at the base of my throat, the thudding so loud I'm almost convinced he can hear it.
This thing I feel at the pit of my stomach isn't just surprise; this is terror threading its icy fingers around my heart because the man on my doorstep is no mere visitor—he's our family's living nightmare, and they are all upstairs, sleeping.
"Liam, you know that's impossible. You—"
"Please, Tony. Someone is trying to kill me, and I don’t know who. They killed my bodyguard aiming for me. Until I know who, I am not safe anywhere. This is the only place I know where I feel safe. Anybody who knows our history would not believe I was here if you were all here. It is the perfect camouflage; the perfect spot to hide while I try to figure out who’s trying to kill me."
"And you thought that the only people who could protect you from a killer are the Ricardos? Did you really think this thing through?" I ask in wonder, disbelief clawing up my spine, hot and unwelcome.
"If I were you, Dick, Jenny, and Lola up there are not the people I would pick to protect me from a killer. We're not exactly your allies, Liam. In fact, I'd say we're the last people you should be running to for this particular type of help."
"I know, Tony. Don’t think, for one minute, that the absurdity of it all is lost to me," Liam says, his voice breaking, a crack in the facade of the usually composed businessman.
“ I was hoping —"
"Hope is a dangerous thing." I cut him off, my stomach churning at the very idea of giving him refuge, albeit in his own house. "It makes you believe in possibilities where there are none. My siblings—they'll never accept this. They despise you, and you know it. We all do. Your coming here only shows how hubris you are."
I feel like I am trapped between torment and hell. The man who killed my father is asking for refuge in his own house and protection from the very people he perpetrated this atrocity against; a jarring plea for protection from the very individuals he victimized
"Okay, Liam," I say, my voice low and fraught with tension, "but you know this is not a decision I can make unilaterally. I have to wake up Dick, Jenny, and Lola. They already think I'm too lenient when it comes to you."
This is going to be interesting. . . Liam’s presence here is like a live grenade, and I'm holding the pin. He shivers in the cold, his breath visible in the chill of dawn.
"I understand, but can we please hurry this up? I'm freezing out here."
"Fine," I relent, swallowing the lump of dread that has formed in my throat, and turn away from him to head upstairs.
The hallway leading up to the staircase now feels like a tunnel of doom, with each step heavier than the last. I hesitate outside Dick's door, bracing for the explosion of anger I know is coming. I knock sharply, pushing the door open.
Dick bolts upright in bed, his sleep-muddled eyes snapping to full alertness when he sees my expression. "What the hell,Tony?" He growls, infuriated from being woken up at first, then a chilled voice says, “Is it Mom?”
"Downstairs," I command, voice terse. "Now."
Next, I move on to Jenny. Her room is softer, a nest of comforting shadows. She stirs as I approach, sensing disturbance in her dreams. "Tony? What’s going on?" she whispers, frowning up at me.
