Page 17 of Princess's Revenge

I pace the length of the room for what seems like hours. I wonder about my life. I wonder what might’ve been. I think about my mother, my father, Mikey and Daniel.

I wonderwhyChristopher told me what he did. His father couldn’t have wanted me knowing that information about theCassa—fuckin—duchis.

I think about how I hit that target seven times when I’ve never used a gun before.

I’ve spent a lifetime trying to convince myself that I was wrong about everything, that the itch inside my brain telling me I was someone else, wasn’t real…and now…now…

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come,” I yell.

The door opens and the Don sticks his head in, “You accept your guests like a queen.” He steps inside with a half-smile and closes the door.

He’s in a dark-green suit and looks much like he did yesterday, perhaps a bit more worried or tired.It’s the frown lines.

My anger bubbles to the surface. Before I know it, I’m pointing at him and saying, “You have a lot of explaining to do, Vincent!”

“Yes,” he nods solemnly, “I do. May we sit?”

I throw my hands in the air. I’m inhishouse—It’s not like he needs permission.

He goes to a low cupboard under the television that I hadn’t noticed before, takes out a tray with glasses and whiskey, then brings them to the table on the balcony.

We sit down in the glow of dusk and the waxing moon while the Don pours us each a double. I leave mine where it is—I don’t want a repeat of last night.

He leans back in his chair, “Andrea, Christopher told me what happened. He wasn’t meant to say those things to you.”

Andrea.I still can’t get used to that. “Well I’m gladsomeonedid. You lied to me. You told me it had been dealt with. You were supposed to be my father’s best friend and you just let this slide?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“FUCK COMPLICATED!”I slam my hand on the table and the glasses bounce. I don’t know where I’m getting the courage from, but rage is better than despair.

The Don looks at me like I’m acting like a spoiled child. “Let me explain.”

I gesture with my hand for him to continue.

“If I had known you were still alive, things may have been different.”

“Really? How? How would a five-year-old girl have made that much of a difference to you?” The way I’m talking down to him, you’d think he was the manager of a Burger King…not the head of a crime family.

“The Cassaduchi family is one of the three families in New York,” he gets a frown like he’s about to give me bad news, “at that time they wanted to engage in certain business practices that your father did not approve of.”

“Which were?”

“Drugs. Drugs are federal, but they yield a big profit. It can be a stable business if it’s done correctly. However, your father’sstance was that this family would never engage in activities that would draw federal attention.”

“Sounds like a smart guy.”

He nods. “He also said that drugs poisoned the community and was the quickest way to land in prison.”

“What does this have to do with the Cassaduchis?”

He takes a big sip of his scotch and waits for me to do the same.

I stare back at him, “Get on with it please. You’re beating around the bush.”

He pulls out a cigar from his pocket and takes his time opening it, clipping the tip, smelling it, before lighting it with a mini flamethrower. It probably takes two minutes.

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