Page 59 of Alliance

I don’t think of my father often. I’ve shoved all of my memories of him into a box, securing the whole thing with a duct tape and pushing it as far back into my mind as I possibly can.

I don’t like to think of him.

But my conversation with Elly sliced through the layers of tape, letting the lid to the box pop open and all of the memories burst free.

I can’t stop now.

My mind runs through images of him. Hitting my mother. Stealing the little money we had. Once my grandma gave me a crisp five dollar bill for helping her in the garden. I hid it in my underwear drawer. It was like my father could sniff out the green cash, because the next day it was gone.

He was always high on something, always had some sort of drug coursing through his veins. He never noticed when the power was off or if there was no food in the pantry. He rarely ate, so I assume that bit didn’t bother him much. He was mostly gone, and when he wasn’t, he was either sleeping off whatever flowed through his system or screaming at us.

We never knew what to expect. We were constantly on edge, wondering if he’ll come home that day, and if he would, what sort of mood would he be in?

There were good memories too, just far and few between.

One time, he took me to a baseball game. I don’t remember how we got the tickets, but I remember sitting in the stands with him. We were far from the field, high up, way in the back, but it didn’t matter much to me. He explained everything that was happening on the field, all of the rules of the game.

It felt different. Like he loved me and wanted to spend time with me.

I was on cloud nine when we left the game, my small body buzzing with excitement.

And then we stopped in the parking lot, my father pulling a few bills from his pocket and handing them off to someone. In exchange, they place a small bag of white powder in his hand.

That was the thing with my father. Even the good memories are tainted with drugs.

The first time Marcus handed me drugs to sell, I wanted to vomit. I hated the idea of selling the substance that my father was hooked on. At that point I hadn’t seen the man for over five years, but his ghost still haunted me.

I couldn’t hand the drugs back though. Not after Marcus has sought me out to work for him. And the money he was promising me was too good. So I swallowed the sick feeling and sold the drugs.

Turned out, I wasn’t too bad at it.

And I knew how to interact with junkies. I spoke their language.

I could think about that first moment all night. That first time I met Marcus and let myself get sucked into this life. The promise of security and stability was everything I’d ever wanted.

That one moment changed everything. If I would have said no or walked away, who knows where I’d be now.

Surely not sitting in my Jeep, pining over Lana Romano.

John Vitale exits the club in the French Quarter, heading for my Jeep. Wordlessly, he slips into the passenger seat.

“Ignazio Vaccola,” he says, his face stone-cold.

“John.” I nod my head. “Sam told me to work with you.”

John’s head turns, looking me over as if he’s assessing me. “Yeah, he told me he initiated you.” He says it like a question rather than a statement. “And that you have Lana’s best interests in mind.”

My heart aches when he says her name. I rub my sweaty palms over the rough fabric of my jeans. “Something like that,” I say.

“She’s getting married tomorrow,” he says casually, but his eyes are focused on me.

“I know.”

He nods his head, leaning back into the passenger seat. “We had a plan,” John says. “I don’t know how much Sam told you though, it was a strictly need-to-know operation.”

I assume I was not in the know, because I don’t know what plan he’s referring to. I assumed that Sam had some sort of plan, some sort of scheme to help his cousin, but I wasn’t in on it.

“What was the plan?”

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