Page 51 of Blood & Loyalties
“Nah, you go sit.” She shooed me along, making a back and forth motion with her hands, and I did as I was told.
Entering the room, all voices stopped, just like every other time I had ever entered. I sighed. Scanning the room, my eyes fell on my father’s, who quickly got up from his seat and rushed toward me. My body instantly tensed. I had been working on that, but it was an involuntary thing I hadn’t quite mastered yet. Regardless, I forced myself to relax before he wrapped his arms around me.
“Rina, I’m so happy to see you.” He kissed me on both cheeks and then cupped my face with both hands. “You’re not sleeping well?” His eyes dove into mine, so I closed them swiftly, afraid of what he would see.
“I’m fine, Daddy. Work’s been busy.” I gave him the best smirk I could muster, trying to hide my whirling thoughts.
“You need to rest. You are too young for this and too smart. No working tonight; you rest.” He lifted his brows, telling me I had better listen.
I nodded absently. He had no idea my nights were spent researching anything and everything I could find to keep my family safe, only coming up empty at every turn.
My brothers greeted me and extended the same pleasantries. Dinner went by hastily, and I tuned most of everything out. I should be sucking in everything and anything my father and brothers said, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think they would actually give me anything I could use.
With a cake in hand, they all sang “Happy Birthday,” and I was happy that part was all over.
When I arrived at home,a box was on the kitchen counter, addressed to me from Jag, another present. One of many that I’d gotten over the last three months. I sent them back because just the sight of them broke my heart a little more. This one though… He had remembered my birthday.No. I pushed the feelings that rose away and turned away from the gift. I couldn’t open it. I couldn’t see what it was. It would hurt too much. I wanted to though. I wanted to know what was inside the package.
I went up to my office, locking the door behind me. I turned all the cameras so they were facing opposite directions of my desk, which I did every time I came in here before turning them back after I left. I had started doing that months ago when I didn’t want anyone to see. I dug in my pocket, pulling out my key that I slowly slipped into the middle drawer lock of my desk, turning it with a click. The drawer creaked open as I pulled it. Inside sat a lone manila folder. I stared at it and sighed, hating the sight of it.
Pulling it out, I laid it on top of the desk and shut the drawer. My vision blurred. I should have burned it when I first got it. I should have made sure that it was gone, but I kept it, knowing it was a threat to my family, one that I would need to take care of. Sure, I could go to my dad and Uncle Vino, but it would dredge up too many old feelings, and I would like to keep that part of their lives closed. I could do this for them. Be strong, for them.
I opened the folder and pulled out three photos, laying them all in a line. My heart rate picked up as fear and anger spiked through my body. The pictures were eight by ten shots of my father, a knife steady in his hand, anger and fear embedded in his eyes. Each picture showed my father slicing the neck of Geovini Maratelli.
Chapter Twelve
THE PICTURES SHOWEDa different side of my father, one I had been completely unaware of. Seeing it firsthand was something I could have gone my whole life without viewing. But why? Why would he kill him? More importantly at the moment, why had someone wanted me to see this now? The trial had been over for years. He had been found not guilty.
All those months ago, I had been sitting in the plush chair at my desk after just getting off the phone with Jag. A smile so big it made my cheeks hurt had been plastered on my face. My stupid heart had done that sputter thing you only hear about in the movies, and I had felt foolish for it.
Our phone conversations had become intriguing, and I had learned more about him each time. From the mundane like his favorite color—black—to the time he went fishing with his father. It had been so strange not having sex involved and simply talking, getting to know one another. Seeing the personinside. It had been like cutting that part out had forced us to get to know each other. Honestly, I had thoroughly enjoyed it.
His promises of coming back soon had still been ever present. I hadn’t been sure if he was trying to reassure me or himself at that point, but they had started to lose their luster, chipping away at my heart. I had still hoped, though. Lord knew, I’d had enough work to keep me busy and keep my brain off him, at least for short periods of time.
Looking at my desk, I sighed at the mountains of paperwork cluttering the top. Files, papers, charts, and graphs were all mixed together, not making any sense. Normally, I kept a very organized desk, but lately, it seemed to get away from me, and everything had gotten tossed around.
I picked up paper after paper and file after file, placing everything in its appropriate spot, seeing a slight improvement.
A nine by eleven manila envelope sat buried under some matching colored folders, and I picked it up then turned it around in my hand. No writing or description was on the outside. Wondering what file to place it in, I opened it, quickly flipping up the flap and reaching in. The papers inside were thicker than normal paper, though slick to the touch. I gripped them tightly and pulled them out of the envelope with one strong tug.
The images before me stole my breath. In my hands, I held decades old black and white photos of my father slitting the throat of Geovini Maratelli. I gasped, jumping up from my chair. I threw the pictures down on the desk as if they were poison, about to suck the life out of me. In a way, they were. As much as I didn’t want to look at them, I couldn’t help taking in the features of both men.
I knew it was Geovini instantly. I had seen plenty of pictures of him growing up, and his dark hair and dark eyes were unmistakable. In the pictures, his eyes were pained, as if he was feeling betrayed. My father’s face was filled with anger and menace, but behind that was sadness and grief. Why would he have done this?
Dad had been on trial for Geo’s murder and was set free. Why would someone want me to see these after all that time?
I quickly picked up the envelope and reached in, feeling around for some type of note or something, panic enveloping me. I needed something, anything to tell me who had sent these and what they wanted.
I peeked in the envelope, hoping I really felt something. I pulled out a small piece of paper, my eyes drifting repeatedly over the words.
Your father murdered Geovini. Stay away from Jag, or this all comes out, and your family dies. Tell anyone of this, and the death will be painful. What would Jag think?
My heart clenched, and I couldn’t breathe. It was like a python had crawled up my body, wrapped itself around me, and squeezed the ever-loving shit out of me.
That night, I hadn’t slept, couldn’t think. Every thought had revolved around the effects those pictures would have if they got out. The words written on the paper gutted me in a way I didn’t know anything could, as did the thought of how they would affect my dad, mom, brothers, Uncle Vino, Kiera … Most of all, Jag.
I felt considerable guilt over Jag. What would he think? My father had killed his. How could I ever get past that and talk to Jag without guilt? If he ever came back, how could I look him in the eyes? How could I smile up at him and know the pain my father had caused him? And, if he found out, how would he ever get past it?
Why threaten my family through me and tell me not to say a word? It didn’t make sense.
