Page 58 of Alliance

“We’re moving,” she says. “I accepted the job and we’re moving in two weeks.”

“You can’t just move.” I don’t mean to yell or slam my fist down on the table until it’s already done. All three faces look back at me with shock.

“No.” Elly steels her spine. My sister has never been a pushover, she’s always walked to the beat of her own drum. But I’ve always been there for her, always been two steps ahead of her, clearing the debris from the path. I didn’t want her to struggle, not like we did when we were kids. “This is a done deal. I made my decision.”

I wanted my family to have safety, security. I wanted to see food on our tables, roofs over our heads. And damn did I work for it. Worked my ass off to pay for this life.

And she’s going to leave.

“Why?” I growl the question at her.

Her lips are pursed thin, and she crosses her arms when she looks at me. “Because I need a change of scenery, and honestly maybe you do too.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look at yourself!” she yells back at me.

“Anthony”—Ma stands—“let’s go get dessert ready.” Anthony looks down at his half-full plate, then between me and his mother before he finally stands and nods his agreement.

Elly sighs heavily but as soon as they leave her mouth opens back up, ready to resume her argument. “Who are you? You run all over this city doing God knows what for who? For the Costellos? For the mob? What do you think that’s going to do for you? I have a chance to start a new life, Naz. I want that and you can’t stop me.”

She talks about my job like she knows what I’m doing, but she doesn’t. She has no idea about the work I put into this. The sacrifices I made. “And you’re going to take Anthony?”

“Yes.”

My heart aches at that. I’ve helped her raise that kid since the day he was born. Hell, I held her hand in the hospital while trying to avoid seeing where the kid came from.

I never loved a child until he was born.

“Elle—”

“No”—she waves her hand dismissively—“I don’t tell you want to do, and you can’t tell me.” She inhales deeply, soothing the anger that seeps from her before she continues, “I know you think you’re doing the right thing. At least, I truly think you believe that. But you don’t need to. Don’t give up your life for us, don’t nail yourself to a cross because you think it’s what you need to do to save us. We don’t need saving, Naz. And don’t take that as I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me, for Anthony. We love you so much.” She pauses, dabbing at her eye to catch the tear that threatens to fall. “But I need to do this on my own. I need to be my own person and I can’t do that in this city, not with all the baggage lying around.” She gives me a meek smile.

I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to tell my baby sister that I can’t handle her leaving. I can’t comprehend the idea that she doesn’t need me. My identity has been crafted around being the provider. Taking care of them.

But they don’t want that anymore.

So who am I without my family?

“Do you remember it?” My voice cracks when I ask the question.

“Remember what?”

“Being poor,” I whisper. “Starving, being cold, just…do you remember it?”

Elly thinks for a moment, tears glistening in her eyes. “I remember building a fort in the living room, lighting the place up with all of Ma’s candles. I remember you giving me your sleeping bag so I’d be warm enough.” She smiles thoughtfully. “And I remember how everything was game. Somehow you made it fun. Like how many peas can we find in the tuna noodle casserole? Or who can chug water from the sink faster?” She chuckles. “I never felt poor. We were different, sure. Other kids had things we didn’t, but I never felt less than.”

I can see the sincerity in her eyes, and it cracks my already shattered heart.

She reaches forward, grabbing my hand into her own. “I never needed the money, Naz,” she whispers. “I never needed money, I just needed my big brother.”

And with those words, the facade I’ve built comes crumbling down. Bits and pieces crashing around me. Tears fall from my eyes. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve cried or the last time I’ve felt vulnerable.

My fingers itch to touch the worn gold St. Jude medal, but there’s nothing there. Nothing hanging from my neck. I gave my comfort item away to protect someone else, the only thing I had to give her. I don’t have the money to save her. The money that would make a worthwhile alliance for her family.

But I have me.

And maybe that’s enough.

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