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I stop yelling at my father long enough to face my niece and nephew. “I’m sorry, Courtney, Roman. I didn’t mean to wake you. I got angry.”
“It’s okay to have big feelings, Zia,” Roman says.
Courtney wags her thumb between her and her brother. “Yeah, and we know all about how to handle them thanks to you.”
I give her a smile and a nod for the reminder.
Roman huffs. “As long as we don’t have to clean it up.”
“Good night, you two.” Ma shoos them up the stairs and they retreat.
My ire refocuses on my father. “You have no idea what he went through. You’re lucky that a butcher is all he’s become when he could have devolved into your worst fucking nightmare. I’ve seen the scars. Instead of lying to him about some phantom fucking crush I had when I was some dumb kid, you could have told him the truth. I have to get out of here. I need to warn him and can’t stand looking at you.”
“Evelyn.” He approaches me with his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, honey. I just wanted you safe. If I would have told him the truth, he would have locked you away in that house on the island or wherever he fucking lives in the vineyard. You needed to be home.”
“So what if he would have locked me away? I would have been safe WITH HIM. He keeps me safe! He sees me. Evelyn. Only me. Not a shadow of my martyr sister, not the daughter of the entitled, insensitive Don Rossi, but me. He listens to me. He respects me.”
He was upset with me before, but that was personal, between us. This shit my father pulled? A fierce blow of frustration accompanies the short breaths I take to calm down.
“Come to my room, Evelyn,” Ma says. “Your father can sleep in the car.”
“I just wanted you safe at home where I can protect you, Evelyn,” Dad reiterates, and it breaks my heart.
“My home isn’t here with you. It’s with Alessandro. You should be happy, Don Rossi. You’re getting exactly what you wanted, a treaty between the De Luca and Rossi families. You’d better hope that I can make things right, or so help me…”
I can’t even think of a threat that will be honest enough for me to keep. He’s still my father, and while I’ll never agree with his tactics, I understand. Ma doesn’t hassle me for any information or gossip about Alessandro. Instead, she gets me one of my old T-shirts from my bedroom. The twins are snoring, and I climb into bed beside my mother where I get to cry into her arms until I fall asleep.
Zena Rossi pats me lovingly on the head as I sob, her last words this dreadfully long day coming with a hint of laughter. “It’s going to be alright, Evelyn. I hated that table anyway.”
25
ALESSANDRO
The ring box digs into the side of my leg from the inside of my pocket as I drive through Brooklyn. Somehow, I don’t have it in me to take it back to Pop tonight. My mind races and I don’t want to box it out. I need sleep.
I hate the pit forming in my stomach, the way I already miss Evelyn and only a few hours have passed. The brightness of the sun peeking through a sliver of my blackout curtains forces me to open my eyes. Every muscle in my body aches, pushing me to get out of bed and head downstairs to make some sort of recovery drink.
Dark roast coffee brewing makes me hope that Evelyn’s in the kitchen, but I know she’s not. She doesn’t want to be here and I don’t want her in danger. Instead, I’m looking at the back of Lorenzo’s head as he moves around the kitchen. He doesn’t appear to notice me as I get closer, but when I turn around, he has two mugs in his hands.
“About time you got up,” he says, sliding the mug across the island countertop.
“What time is it?”
“Ten. Dimitri called too, said you weren’t answering your phone. I was worried for a second there, but when I got here, you were passed out. At least you got some sleep.”
“Fuck sleep. We need to figure out who keeps taking shots at me. Did Dimitri say anything?”
Lorenzo furrows his brow, scrunching his face together with confusion. “I know you just woke up, Less, but get it together. Of course not. He looked into what you asked him to look into. All he said was swing by Kings when you get a chance and he’ll talk to you there.”
“Fine, what about you? Find out anything?” I ask him.
“Yeah, actually. I’ve been looking into those businesses that were torched according to Oz.” He pulls out his phone and shakes his head. “Busy Bee Beeper Services in Canarsie. The first shop on our list didn’t burn down. I spoke to the guy who ran it, Jean-Paul. He was washing money for us. The IRS audited him, and his books weren’t up to date.”
“Shit. Who’s doing our accounting?”
“Looked into that.” He grins. “Some uptight accountant working out of Brooklyn, George Bullard. He was told to stop working on some of our businesses.”
“Some of them?”
