Page 94 of What's Left of Us

My stomach sinks.The mafia?

Lincoln and Matt are talking about my father like his life is the plot of a movie. And I…I don’t think I like that.

“What kind of services could Del Rossi provide? He only works in one area, so it can’t be transporting black market items,” Lincoln asks.

Matt pauses before saying, “Maybe it’s literally an underground partnership. He works in concrete, right?”

Lincoln cusses. “You think there’s a chance he’s burying bodies?”

My eyes widen.What?

There’s a sigh. “I don’t know, man. I think it’s possible. Whatever is happening, I’m positive of one thing. Nikolas Del Rossi is in over his head. It’s not good. He’s clearly working with someone to get money for his company. Word on the streetis he’s not getting a lot of regular business these days. If that’s the case, how is he getting millions transferred to him? And for what? Whoever is sending him that money can’t be doing it out of the kindness of their hearts.”

There’s silence.

Then, “Hard to think Georgia could be related to somebody like that.”

Somebody like that.

I step back, cringing when a floorboard creaks. The voices stop, so I make a hasty exit back outside and take my seat next to Marissa. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I try to calm my racing heart.

“You forgot your water, silly,” she says, patting my leg. She stands up. “I’ll go get us both one. Want anything else?”

Silently, I shake my head.

“I’ll be right back.”

I murmur, “Okay,” absentmindedly.

Lincoln comes out with a new beer in his hand, laughing at something Matt says. When he sees me looking in his direction, he flashes a smile.

It goes to his eyes.

I smile back, but I’m sure it doesn’t go past the tightness lifting my lips.

He’s pretending like he wasn’t just talking about my family.

Lying.

How long has he been checking into them?

I’m lost in those thoughts when he starts opening presents. I barely register when he opens mine and pulls out the Wolverine steel-toe work boots to replace the old pair that are falling apart at the seams. He presses a kiss to my cheek, but I barely feel it. “I love them, Georgia. Thank you. It’s a great gift.”

Liar.

I say, “You’re welcome.” But it doesn’t feel like I’m saying those words at all.

Because I’m thinking about Nikolas Del Rossi and the shared blood that courses through my veins. If he’s inherently bad, like Lincoln and Matt think, what does that make me?

*

The next night,I stare at myself in the vanity mirror, frowning at the chocolate-brown hair against my sun-kissed skin. If Nikolas were here, he’d tell me I looked like my mother. They both had dark hair, but it’s her eyes I got. My nose is hers. My lips. My face a mixture of the two.

But maybe I don’t want to look like her anymore.

I don’t want to be a Del Rossi.

I simply want to be Georgia.

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