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"Yeah?" I pick up when I see Oz's number flash across my screen.
"You need to get back out here, Alessandro. It's your father?—"
"What's wrong? What happened to Pop?" I ask him frantically. Lorenzo's already heading out the door, and I'm right behind him with no explanation to Dimitri. He's going to have to wait.
"He collapsed a few minutes ago and we're taking him to the hospital. Alessandro, he's unconscious and I don't know if he's gonna wake up."
2
EVELYN
Asprawling lawn of perfectly green grass lines a path of nearly a hundred feet. Sweeping views of the Hudson River opening into the Atlantic Ocean wait on the other side of the massive building in front of me. The most jarring thing about this place is how pristine it looks. There are sounds of laughter and chatter coming from an outdoor area where a few dozen women in orange jumpsuits entertain themselves.
One way in and one way out. Barbed wire lines three separate fences that converge on the main entrance to the Toppan Gottfried Women's Correctional Facility. In the Everglades of New York City known as Staten Island, it's at the most southern point where you could swim to Jersey.
Several guards watch me move through the intake of the facility. It's not my first time going to visit someone behind bars, but it's the first time I'm going to see my sister since her sentencing. I'm even happier those trashy reporters aren't waiting around like that asshole who shoved his phone in my face a few weeks ago.
It doesn't take long to run me through the checks and searches. Especially since I'm wearing a simple ivory blouse and pencil skirt. My stilettos slip on and off my feet easily. After they make sure I'm not sneaking anything inside, a guard shows me into a room with a bunch of tables. There are only two people inside, my sister and a guard at the door who leaves once I sit down.
Shana Rossi-Martin has our father's dark brown eyes and our mother's full head of curly black hair. I can't help but notice she's wearing makeup, her nails are freshly manicured, and she looks like she's put on a few healthy pounds, too.
"You look good, Shay," I tell her, pulling her in for a hug.
"You look like you can use some sun, Evil." She grins and lets me go as the guard clears their throat to warn us we're not supposed to be touching.
The nicknames we've been using since grade school make me smile along with her. She said that I was an evil little goblin who always got her way. I won't pretend like I didn't have my moments as the baby in the family. But as adults, our love surpasses the bullshit we put each other through as kids. Shana's six years older than me and makes thirty-one look phenomenal in a prison jumpsuit, tangerine orange and all.
"How's the food?" I ask her.
"Not better than yours," she says. "How's Ma and Dad?"
"Ma is doin what Ma does, taking care of him, and Dad is doing what Dad does."
She nods. "Taking care of everybody else. Roman and Court?"
"Restless," I tell her about her eight-year-old twins. "Roman's gone quiet and Courtney's got our, uh, sass."
"School or Ma?" she asks.
"Both. She needs you, Shana. Shit, they both do." Heat flares across the bridge of my nose as my eyes water, and she reaches across the table to pat the top of my hand quickly before pulling her hand back. This is no place for tears.
"Evelyn, you have to stick with the Family on this. Help Ma out, and everything's going to be fine. When you talk to Dad, let him know that dinner is the best option for our family right now. That's what I know from our dinner guests in here."
My heart steels as I know the coded talk when I hear it.
Dinner is the best option = A treaty between us and another La Familia member.
"Are the invitations in the mail? Who's coming? Are you okay with the guests here? Does Dad need to send you leftovers?"
Invitations & Who's Coming = Which family of La Familia?
Guests here = Rossi associates from prison guards to fellow inmates whom she can temporarily trust
Leftovers = Protection
"I got a full guest list here already, and we're eating good." Her smile assures me that she's safe, and the weight she's wearing very well solidifies that. However, I can't help but notice something seems off about her. Probably a symptom of being in this place. She can't be herself, can't let her guard down.
"I just don't know how you got the invitation before I did," I sigh to myself. It's like it's always been. Shana's the shining beacon of perfection, and even inside prison, she gets more intel on our Family organization than I do. What is it going to take for me to be taken seriously?
