Page 47

At this, she perked up. “Peppermint tea?”

I nodded and went to the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible.

I pulled their tea kettle out of a cupboard and set about boiling water.

Our conversation about her behavior could wait.

Clearly, she wasn’t in any state to have it.

Instead, I’d leave it at asking if she’d heard anything new about our allegedly missing father.

And then I’d offer to help clean up a little and play with the boys when they woke from their naps so she could have more time to herself.

“Thank you,” she said, sitting up to take her tea when I reentered the living room.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

She nodded, bringing it close to her face and breathing deeply. “I know, but the smell alone can help with the nausea.”

“Do you have that thing Kate Middleton did?”

She shook her head. “It’s called hyperemesis gravidarum, and no. Some women just randomly puke for all nine months.”

“That sounds...”

“Horrible?” she asked, looking up. “Unfair? Like complete fucking bullshit since we’re already dealing with stretch marks and incontinence and nonstop farting and insomnia and mental fog and about nine million other discomforts?”

“Yes. That.”

Every time I got around pregnant women and they started talking about what they were going through, it made me question whether or not I wanted to have kids, or at least whether or not I wanted to bear them myself. Surrogacy or adoption were looking real tempting right now.

“You’ve had help with the boys, right?” I asked.

She set her tea on the side table. “Yeah. Thank god for Hugo’s family. I’d be losing my mind without them. Between his sisters swinging by and his parents offering to have the boys over for sleepovers so I can actually rest, we’ve had a decent amount of help.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more,” I said, feeling guilty.

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I know you have a whole life downtown, and kids don’t belong in it.”

Ouch.

That was the trouble with Kristen, just when I started to feel like maybe we’d finally go an entire conversation without her bringing up what I did, she’d slip in a subtle insult or cutting remark.

I’d learned to bite my tongue because fighting had never made it better, but it sucked to always have to be the bigger person.

“I’m just so mad at Mom and Dad, you know?

” she continued. “Between Mom taking off when we were little and Dad being absent all our lives, I feel like we were robbed of the kind of childhood Hugo had, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive them for that.

I would kill to have two loving, supportive parents who are still around to help out with their grandkids. ”

“Yeah, but we had Nonna and Nonno,” I said.

Kristen shook her head. “It’s not the same. You’re not a parent, so you don’t understand how fucked it is that ours just up and abandoned us.”

Annoyance flared through me again, and it was on the tip of my tongue to argue with her, to say that I didn’t need to be a parent to understand that, but I held my response back, reminding myself that she was six months pregnant and exhausted.

I loved my sister, I really did, but sometimes, I didn’t like her all that much.

“Have you heard anything else about our father?” I asked, switching gears.

“No, but Hugo thinks someone got rid of him.”

A shiver slid down my spine. She said it with almost no tone to her voice, like the news of his potential death meant nothing to her.

Like it was just an offhand comment to be made.

To me. His other daughter. And look, I liked him a hell of a lot less than I did her, but Jesus Christ, she could be coldhearted sometimes.

I inspected her face, looking for any trace of worry or empathy, but she only looked tired and bored with this conversation, her eyes drifting toward her discarded book like she couldn’t wait for me to leave so she could go back to reading.

“And you didn’t think to tell me before now?” I said, unable to help myself this time.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, don’t start this shit again.”

“What shit?” I asked.

“Being so dramatic,” she said. “Like everything I do or don’t say is some sort of personal attack against you.”

My anger flared. “Well, I did have to find out about our father’s disappearance from someone else, and in the less than ten minutes that I’ve been here, you’ve insulted me, belittled me, and then revealed that you’ve been holding on to another pretty important piece of information for god knows how long, so excuse me if it feels that way sometimes. ”

“What was there to even tell you?” she asked, her voice rising. “Hugo has no idea what actually happened, he just thinks someone finally offed Tommy, because the last time anyone saw him, he was with Nico Trocci.”

I sat back in my chair, stunned. “What?”

“Nico? Trocci?” Kristen said, like I was stupid. “Dad of that asshole you fucked in high school?”

“I heard the name,” I said. “Why is it important?”

She shrugged. “Because according to Hugo, his guys are Lorenzo’s cleanup crew.”

“Cleanup crew,” I repeated. My ears were ringing, and I could barely hear anything over the sound of my own pulse.

“Jesus Christ, you’re slow today,” she said, twisting her voice into something ugly and mocking. “He takes the people and makes them go buh-bye .”

“I have to leave,” I said, struggling to my feet.

“Great visit,” Kristen sniped. “Thanks so much for coming.”

I turned on her. “You know what? I don’t care that you’re pregnant, and I know that by saying this, I’ll probably lose all visitation rights with your kids, because that’s the kind of bitch you are, but go fuck yourself, Kristen.”

“Auntie Lawen?” a sleepy little voice asked.

I wheeled around to see my four-year -old nephew, Enzo, standing in the living room doorway, one hand rubbing his eye, the other clutching his favorite blankie. Shit. We’d probably woken him up with our arguing.

There was no coming back from this, was there?

“ Get out ,” Kristen said, pushing up from the couch, fury replacing exhaustion.

“Sorry, bud,” I told Enzo, and then I left, stumbling down the stairs and out of the store.

The sun bore down on me, hot and oppressive, but despite its rays, my skin felt clammy and my head spun. Was I about to pass out?

I leaned against a light pole, trying to catch my breath.

I’d convinced myself that I needed to hash things out with Kristen, that that was why I’d come over here, but deep down, I’d also been hoping to get some answers about Nic.

Thanks to Hugo, my sister knew more about the mob than anyone else in my life, and part of me had been planning to find some way to bring Nic up, mention that I’d been seeing him again.

But then Kristen had dropped that bomb, and now I wished I hadn’t come to see her at all.

I felt like the last bride of Bluebeard discovering the forbidden closet, only instead of finding Nic’s other wives inside, I was staring down at the corpse of my father.

Tommy went missing, and suddenly, after ten years, Nic came waltzing back into my life.

I felt like a fucking idiot for not seeing the connection sooner, but up until today, I’d honestly thought Tommy was just lying low for some reason.

That he would show up again when he was ready to.

Because that’s what happened every time he’d gone “missing” before.

Oh, god, was any of it even real, between Nic and I, or was I some sort of pawn?

Did Nic and his family think I had information on Tommy that they planned to trick me into giving them?

Or were they just trying to keep a close eye on me because I was an easy mark and the best shot they had at learning about the inevitable investigation into my father’s disappearance?

Anger replaced my terror. If it was all an act, and Nic planned to abandon me again as soon as he got what he wanted, or worse, do to me what they’d done to my father, I would spend the rest of my life, or afterlife, depending on the outcome, making him regret it.

Starting now.