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“Turn the page,” Anthony says ominously.
I slide the police report to the side to reveal a photograph taken at the scene. My lip curls and stomach lurches at the sight of the two girls. One with dark hair that looks wet, but a look at the blonde tells me it’s blood. Light strands are caked with red.
There are a few more pictures, and I flip through them, feeling more nauseous by the second. I reach an autopsy report that confirms the officer’s suspicions. The girls were strangled.
I know what Anthony is showing me, but my mind numbs before I can fully process it. The thing that hits me the most is my lack of surprise. Disgust, for both my father and for my last name, but not surprise.
“How did you get this?” I ask, no emotion in my voice. I can’t open that pandora’s box right now.
“A detective friend of mine loaned it to me.”
‘Friend’.
“His DNA was found at the crime scene,” Anthony says warily. “My father had to pay a hell of a lot of money for that particular piece of evidence to be lost, but it confirmed his suspicions… That wasn’t the first time Antonio had done something like that.”
Anthony slowly takes the folder from me and closes it. He puts it back in the glovebox. “I’m sorry, Colter. I know that’s a lot to process. You didn’t know what your father was capable of, and I almost wish I hadn’t told you now.”
“Whydid you tell me now?” I turn to look at him.
“Because I love you. Because I’m sick of you hating me.” Anthony shakes his head. “And frankly, I’m sick of hating you too.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“You were my best friend, and you started pulling away long before your father died. I get that you didn’t want any part of the family business. I get that. You were always better than the rest of us. And I know you didn’t want any part of Antonio, but you started looking at me like I was just as bad as him. I was some criminal you didn’t want to be associated with.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I say. I go to explain myself, but my mouth hangs open and nothing comes out. He’s right. I never thought of it as betraying him, but he’s right. I didn’t want to associate with a criminal.
“I know,” Anthony says with a nod like he understands what I’m thinking. “I needed to find my own place, and so did you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say after nothing else comes to mind. Guilt sweeps through me, and all I can think about is Anthony when we were kids. He wasn’t the delinquent I see him as now. He was my best friend. At the time, you couldn’t have convinced me that would ever change. My own anger-fueled ambition is what drove the wedge between us.
Anthony shrugs. “Me too. I’m the reason you’ve had to work with Settimo. He asked me to do it, and I refused.”
I laugh. “Figures.”
We talk for a few more minutes before heading back into the restaurant to have lunch. It occurs to me that I don’t feel anxious about being seen with one of my family members.
I begin to wonder if I ever needed to feel that way.