Page 42

I have to go home, face my mom, and save my brother.
CHAPTER 15
Ophelia
While waitingfor Haze to come home, I balance the normalcy of schoolwork with the unbelievable fact that I’ve left my home and I’ll soon be married. Gian’s presence helps me stay calm and focused instead of worrying the day away, entirely overwhelmed.
Gian cut me off at my second cappuccino this afternoon. He says it will stunt my growth. He has no idea how many milligrams everyone at my school takes in daily. There’s a Starbucks in the lobby of our rich kid school. If Gian’s logic was valid, my classmates with daddies—the word makes me blush even thinking of it—those with their parents’ limitless credit cards would all be four inches tall if caffeine stunts your growth.
Sipping the final delicious drops from my cup—so good—I rub my bleary eyes and stare at the computer screen. Would it be rude or a compliment to Gian if I licked the insides of the cup?
I settle deeper into my barstool. I’ve only been here a day or so, but I talk about this place like it’s my home. How have I become so comfortable so fast?
I eye Gian. He’s cooking pasta sauce for dinner. Apparently, it must simmer all day, and he refuses to leave his pot, telling meit takes constant stirring and love. He’s babysitting his sauce from the breakfast table by the window, soaking up sunlight. He wears silver-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose while reading an old-fashioned newspaper, one of the massive paper ones with the black ink that smudges your fingertips. We had to use one to research a paper for Current Events class last semester, and I remember having to wash my hands afterward.
My paper was about a crime family outside New York that runs the city's largest bank. Seeing Gian’s newspaper makes me think of my father. I wanted to find out what had happened to him, but my family wouldn’t tell me the truth.
Knowing more about my roots will make me feel connected to my father in a way that will fill this void, or whatever you call that constant feeling in my stomach. The one that tells me I don’t belong. The one that keeps me from letting people in.
Living inside the walls of a branch of one of the world’s most powerful crime families is the best chance I have of finding information.
I can’t let this opportunity pass.
“Mr. Gian?” I say.
He looks up from his paper. “Yes, my dear?”
“I have a question for you.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “No more cappuccino, young one. I told you that too much caffeine is not good when you are still growing.”
“It’s not that,” I say with a smile. “I was wondering if you know anything about a—” I hesitate to use the word mafia. “Agroup based out of Scotland. In the same line of work as the Bachmans.”
He puts the paper down, folding it so perfectly that we may be spirit animals. He then lays it on the table. Taking off his glasses, he folds them and tucks them into his shirt pocket.
Cautious, he eyes me. “Do you know where they are based in Scotland?”
“Edinburgh or Glasgow.” I shake my head. “I’m not sure.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans back in his seat. “There are two warring groups I know of in Scotland. One is called the King’s Mafia. They originated on a small island far from the mainland. They make their money running weapons and ammunition on the water.”
Weapons, ammo, that’s not too bad. Right? Could my dad have been born on this island? Maybe he was one of the King’s.
“And the other,” I ask.
“The Hoax. Based out of Glasgow.” The way his face twists in disgust makes my heart sink into my barstool. He shakes his head. “They are not good men.”
“Oh.” I’m too scared to ask how the Hoax makes their money. What if my father was one of those bad men? Do I really want to know?
He eyes me. “Why do you ask?”
Do I tell him the truth? His face is sincere. His baked goods have loosened my tongue. “My father was in a gang in Scotland. I don’t know anything about him.”
He stands, moving over to stand across from me. He presses his palms to the countertop. “What do you know?”
I tell him the only story I have about my past. “We were living in Glasgow at the time. My mom—Leah—briefly dated an older man when she was nineteen. Boom. Here I am. When he had visitation one day, my mom says he took off, kidnapping me and running to Edinburgh. We were right outside the castle, in a group of tourists, when he realized he was being followed. A beautiful woman with a pearl necklace was crossing the road. He thrust me into her arms for safety.” I glance down at my hands, swallowing back the tightness in my throat. I’ve never shared this. With anyone. “He was shot moments later.”
Gian exhales a deep breath. “God. That’s… I don’t even know what to say.” He shakes his head.