Page 7 of Under Pressure
She chewed slowly, enjoying the sugary, peanut buttery taste of her cereal, and shrugged.
He placed a large, heavy hand on her shoulder. “We’re safe.”
Blue swallowed hard, a jagged piece of crunch scratching all the way down her throat, then turned to look at him.
“We’re safe,” he repeated. “They think we’re dead. Have thought that for four years now. And besides, the last placethey’ll come looking for us is in Tampa. If for whatever reason someone suspects we’re alive, and they don’t or the Marshalls would’ve relocated us again—” They’d been relocated twice, not because they were in any danger, but because the threat of potential danger was there, but they hadn’t moved in well over two years. “—the last place they’d look for us would be Florida.”
That was true enough. Dad had always thought of Florida as crass. A little kid’s playground for big kids who should be adults, only without casinos. If he was going to take a trip anywhere, it wouldn’t be to the state that boasted constant “Florida Man” memes. They’d always gone to Europe. Dad loved Italy and Greece. Not that they’d traveled often.
When they’d gotten out, the Outfit had been on a huge comeback—as big as it’d been since it’d been run by Paul Ricca in the 1960s. Most people heard names like The Waiter, Hoffa, Al Capone and thought of entertainment; of the books and the movies that had come out about them and the mafia. Blue heard them and thoughtfamiglia.
But because of the growth, they hadn’t had much time to take vacations. Not when there was an empire to run, and the constant appearance of new gangs all over the city to control.
She shuddered. “Dad, I’m fine.”
“But are you happy?” he cut in with his question so quickly, it caught her off guard.
“Yes?”
He smirked. “Are you asking me? Because if you are, I’d say you could be happier.”
“Dad,” she groaned into her cereal.
He stood, picked up his bowl, and headed for the sink. “I didn’t take you away so you could spend your life like you’re running away from an abusive spouse. I want you to have fun. To try new things. I want you to wear your creative outfit-things you make. Make friends. Go on dates.”
Her throat tightened up as he rinsed his bowl.
“I have friends.”
He faced her and crossed his arms over his burly chest. “Name one.”
Ooo! She glared at him and fisted a hand under the counter. “Sean. Sean Clayton,” she said decisively. She’d worry about why it was Sean’s name that she’d gone with later and not the one girl she’d sat next to in her economics class who asked to borrow a pencil.
Her dad’s brow shot up. “Sean. Sean Clayton. A boy?”
“Ugh. Dads.” She rolled her eyes and shoved another bite in her mouth. “He’s in my Business class.”
“You’ve never mentioned him before.” He waggled his brows comically.
She took her time chewing her last bite of cereal, then got up and placed her bowl in the sink next to his. He still hadn’t moved. “I don’t tell you everything,” she practically whispered.
Dad chuckled.
When you only really had one person in your life, you tended to share all the things with them. As corny as it sounded, she told her dad everything. Not that she had much to tell. What classes she was taking and what she was learning. What song the guy at Wawa gas station was singing when she stopped in for her afternoon raspberry Pepsi. About things she’d observed. Like about the scenes couples were making at her school.
Last week a couple had gotten into a huge fight in the quad, resulting in the girl chucking a full soda at the guy, and ten minutes after that, the two of them made out in a sticky heap under a tree. It’d been ridiculous. And while she never in a million years would want anything like that, she was not a drama girl, she’d still felt a small pang of jealousy.Thatshe hadn’t told her dad.
Feelings weren’t something she was ever comfortable sharing. Never had been. And it helped that she didn’t seem to have strong feelings about most anything these days.
She turned around and leaned against the sink next to him, folding her arms just as he had.
He bumped her with his shoulder. “Sean? Is Sean agoodguy?”
The best as far as she could tell. She nodded. “He’s really . . .” She tried to think how to describe Sean, and the same word she’d told him just kept popping into mind. “Reliable.”
His deep blue eyes, the same color as hers and her brothers, sparkled with excitement. “Worse things to be than that. So . . .”
A lump grew in her throat. She didn’t want her dad to feel bad for her. He’d already given up everything so she could have a normal life—a life she wanted and not one picked out for her, probably intended as a punishment for what she’d done that made them have to leave Chicago in the first place. “He invited me to a concert tomorrow.”
