Page 54 of Unlock My Heart

That nasty memory rattles its cage.

“It’s obvious you’re in love with her,” Al says.

“Is it?” I hide behind my can, taking another sip.

“Like, so obvious.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Ha. That’s what Angelo said about his situationship with his ‘not girlfriend’ Laurie.”

“How is our brother?”

“I dunno.” Al shrugs. “Grumpy as always.”

“And he doesn’t know about you visiting me?” I press.

Al shakes her head. “No way, but I really wish you two would stop beefing.”

“We’re not beefing.” Or, at least we won’t be, if Angelo does the right thing when I’m released. And that means admitting he was a little bitch, apologizing, and handing over the keys to my kingdom.

“Uh-huh.” Al eyes me skeptically. “Why do you two hate each other?”

“It’s—”

“Complicated?”

No, it’s actually quite simple. Everything’s been taken from me, and with nothing to lose, I’m prepared to go scorched earth. Angelo has no idea what he’s up against, should he try to challenge me.

“Any big plans for your big eighteenth birthday?” I change the subject.

“Haven’t decided yet,” she says in a guarded tone, and I’m afraid I’ve hit on a sore spot.

“Al, I’m sorry I can’t be there.” My stomach falls like a lead balloon. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for a lot of things.” A milestone thief, prison. “Mama’s death was hardest on you, I’m sure.”

Al shrugs, but that tiny flicker of pain in her eyes isn’t fooling me. “The Calvani curse strikes again.”

“Calvani curse?” I say, confused.

“That’s what was whispered at Mama’s funeral, since cancer got both her and Papà.”

Having missed my own mother’s funeral, I fall back in my chair on a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry, kiddo.” Not sorry that cancer got Vitto; I hope it ate him from the inside out.

“It’s alright.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Honestly, I’m just excited to be done with school. Except now Angelo is on my ass about going to college. He doesn’t get that I don’t want to go to college.” She groans dramatically.

“Then do what you want,” I tell her. “It’s your life, not his.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know what I want.” Al fake cries.

That gets a chuckle out of me. “You’re young. Who says you’ve gotta have it all figured out?”

Her brows furrow. “Um, Angelo?”

“Our old man didn’t make it past the ninth grade,” I tell her. “Remind Mr. Ivy League of that the next time he’s on your case.”

Something behind me catches Al’s attention, and her eyes narrow.

“What?”