Page 8 of Loss and Damages
I ride the creaky elevator to the tenth floor.
The second I knock, the door flies open, and my two-year-old niece rushes into my arms. I hug her close, the rain dripping down my trench coat soaking into her unicorn pajamas. She doesn’t care, snaking her arms around my neck and kissing me all over my face.
“Miss Maya, you should be in bed,” I say, sliding my feet out of my pumps.
“She was waiting for you,” Jeremy says, closing and locking the door. “I think she’ll end up in your bed tonight.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know.” He lifts his daughter out of my arms and I unbutton my coat and hang it on a hook by the door.
“Hey, Jemma,” my brother’s wife, Tara, says, walking into the living room from down the hallway where their bedrooms are located. “How was the wake?”
“Sad. I didn’t want to believe he was gone.” I press my lips together. I don’t want to cry in front of Maya. She reaches out for me again, and I cuddle her in my arms and settle on the couch where she tucks her head under my chin and pops a thumb into her mouth.
Jeremy drops down next to me, and Tara sits on the armrest, sliding her feet under his leg. “Did you talk to anybody?”
“Just the priest. Father Dan, he said his name was. He kept asking if I wanted to find a quiet place to pray or attend the funeral. It was weird.”
“I’m sorry. I know how much you liked spending time with him. Leo, I mean.” Tara leans over Jeremy and squeezes my shoulder.
Tears fill my eyes, and I press my lips against Maya’s head to keep them inside. I don’t want to cry again until I’m alone. No one understands what Leo and I had. Sometimes even I didn’t understand it, and whenever he’d leave my cottage, I’d convincemyself he’d meet someone in the city and never come back, but he always did. “It’s okay.”
“You were really brave to go there, and alone, too. What was it like? I’m sorry,” she rushes on, “that’s insensitive. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
Jeremy wraps his arm around me, and I lean into his side. “It was intimidating. All that money in one room. His family’s huge, and I can’t understand why he didn’t like spending time with any of them.”
“Not everyone gets along like we do, Jem,” Jeremy says, kissing the top of my head the way I’m kissing Maya’s who has fallen asleep in my arms.
“He didn’t talk about it much. I know he idolized Dominic, but at the same time he despised him. I can’t imagine feeling like that about anyone.”
“Did you see him?” Tara asks, her voice an awed whisper.
Dominic Milano is practically a celebrity, dark windows, bodyguards, and sunglasses. He needs the bodyguards. When it comes to business, he ticks so many people off. Leo came and went as he pleased. Not once on his way to my cottage did anyone follow him or bother us if we walked into town.
“Yeah, he was sitting in a corner by himself. Stared at me the whole time, too.”
“Was his father there?” Tara loves the celebrity life and is always looking up the rag mags online. She would’ve come with me if I would have asked her to keep me company. I’m surprised she didn’t ask me to go herself.
“I don’t know. I didn’t look around that much. I just wanted to say goodbye and leave as quickly as I could.”
“It’s probably a good thing,” Jeremy says. “I didn’t like you mixed up with Leo anyway.”
I pull back, surprised. “You never told me that.”
“I don’t like you messing around the mafia. It’s dangerous.”
For the first time since I found out Leo was dead, I laugh, but it sounds hollow. “The Milanos are not part of the mafia.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right? Of course they’re mafia. Dominic and Raphael do whatever the fuck they want. You can’t tell me they don’t have the mayor in their pocket.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re mafia. You’re stereotyping them because they’re Italian. Who cares if they are? That’s like me saying all they eat is gelato, which, I know, isn’t true. Leo’s favorite dessert was—”
“You?” Tara interrupts, wiggling her eyebrows.
“No! He liked angel food cake that had fresh strawberries and whipped cream on top. That doesn’t sound like mafia to me.”
Jeremy shakes his head. “What difference does that make? If he liked devil’s food cake, would you believe me then? Whatever you say, sis.”
