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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

NICO

N ico had rented a car and drove until she reached the small country road that led to the village.

She pulled off to the side of the road and parked.

From there, she walked the rest of the way—all five miles of it.

It wasn’t until she’d reached the stone path that she remembered there was a parking lot much closer.

She’d called ahead. They were expecting her.

Now as she entered the house and followed Rocco’s mother into the living room where they were all sitting, she tried to recapture that feeling of warmth and light she’d felt when she’d come here before.

But all she could feel was weight—like an anchor that had been strung around her heart, her gut, and her legs and then flung out to sink to the bottom of the sea.

Even her breath felt as though it were attached to that anchor.

She hoped she could manage to find the words and say them aloud.

If you don’t face your past now, you’ll never get beyond it.

She was relieved when Isabella assured her that Sofia and Beatrice were outside and were instructed to stay there. There were some things she couldn’t say with them here. They were so young. How could they understand? But then, how could any of them understand?

“I’m sorry that I left the way I did and just disappeared. You deserve the truth, and I don’t know what or how much Rocco has told you.”

She looked searchingly at their faces.

“He didn’t tell us anything, dear,” his mother said. “But we knew something happened when you and your uncle Mickey left like you did.”

She swallowed. “He’s not my uncle.”

And there it was, she thought as she looked around the room at their faces. That same warm, welcome, and safe space.

No look of surprise. No frowns. No gasps.

“You don’t have to do this, Nico,” Rocco’s father said.

“Oh, but I do. People talk about welcoming people into their home, and it’s just talk.

But the way you welcomed me—I just need you to know that I know.

And I didn’t—I don’t—take it lightly. It means”—she placed her hand on her heart—“it means everything to me. And in return, all I gave you was Mickey. It’s because of me he was here.

That never should have happened. Never would have happened if it wasn’t for me.

He’s a con man, a horrible man. And he could have ruined you.

Because of me. And I’m so sorry about that.

I’m not asking for you to forgive me. I’m not here for that.

I just need you to know the truth. I owe you that. ”

She wished she could get up and pace. Do something with her body. All the words felt so heavy. That’s because behind them lay a flood of water. Maybe the anchor was a good thing. It kept everything in place, including her tears.

Please let me get through this without crying. I don’t want to make them feel obligated to feel sorry for me.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she muttered.

“Well,” said Rocco’s mother, “they usually say it’s best to begin at the beginning. But sometimes it’s not easy to see where that beginning is.”

“True,” his grandmother said. “Why not begin with your mother, dear?”

Nico nodded. “Well, you already know my mother died when I was less than two years old, and I never knew my father. You know I was raised by my grandfather, that he was a mechanic. That my love for racing comes from him.”

She drew a deep breath. Here goes.

“What you don’t know is that when I was twelve and we were at the farmer’s market, Grandpa collapsed. Some people tried to revive him. But when the ambulance came, they said he was dead. He’d had a heart attack.

“I was standing with people I knew, friends of my grandpa’s.

He knew just about everyone who lived in that small Midwestern town.

I still don’t know exactly how it happened.

At some point, somebody’s hand was in mine.

I think I heard them telling someone they were family, but I’m not sure if that’s something I just made up in my head. ”

Nico drew a deep breath. “They weren’t family.

I’m still not sure how they did it. I can’t remember if they’d convinced everyone, and everyone just watched me walk off with them, or if they’d taken off with me when no one was looking.

It’s all a blur. Uncle Jack and Aunt Milly, that’s what they wanted me to call them. ”

She felt, looking at their faces, that she might not be the only one finding it difficult to swallow.

“They didn’t abuse me,” Nico said, feeling the need to reassure them.

“They weren’t all bad. They gave me a kind of home, I guess.

They fed me and bought me clothes. I think they loved me in their way.

Milly wasn’t able to have children, and I think she’d wanted to have a little girl.

But they were grifters, con artists like Mickey. ”

She glanced around the room, but their faces revealed nothing. No , she thought, that’s not right. They do reveal something—one thing .

They’re listening.

“In the beginning, they were careful about having me in public. I think they were afraid I might say something, that they’d be found out.

So, they handcuffed me to the bed to make sure I wouldn’t run away.

I thought about it. But then I had nowhere to run to.

If they hadn’t taken me, I suppose I would have been placed in foster care.

“Eventually, we came to an understanding. I wasn’t going to run away, and I wasn’t going to reveal their secret because their secret was now my own. It was useful having me around. People were much more willing to trust a couple with a young girl.”

Nico looked down at her hands. Her palms were sweating. Her heart racing.

“Is that how you met Mickey?” Isabella asked. “Through Milly and Jack?”

She lifted her face and nodded.

“He taught me how to play poker and pool, how to read signals, people’s faces, and their body language. He was kind to me. Or as kind as anyone had been since my grandfather died. I told him about my grandfather and the karting and how much I missed it.

“He convinced Jack and Milly to let me do it, telling them there were people with money in that world. If I turned out to be good at it, there could be money in it. At that point, I wasn’t doing any serious racing, but I still loved it. I could feel my grandfather with me when I raced.”

Nico smiled, forgetting for a moment what she was about to tell them. She quickly looked down.

“When I turned sixteen, Mickey took me away—” She paused, shaking her head.

“No, that’s not right. I ran away with Mickey.

We went to Massachusetts, where the age of consent is sixteen.

With the money I made at poker and pool and some of Mickey’s money, I was able to keep racing.

Mickey was willing to put some money into it as long as he thought there would be some kind of payoff down the road. ”

Nico cleared her throat.

“Would you like some water, dear?” Rocco’s mother asked.

She shook her head. “Thank you. I’m okay.

” She drew a deep breath. “I was pretty much a passive observer when I was with Jack and Milly. But that wasn’t the case with Mickey.

I did some things I’m truly ashamed of. I was the girl on his arm when he conned people—another set of eyes and ears.

I was there to be a distraction, charm people, mostly men.

” Her cheeks burned, and as much as she wanted to face the truth by facing them, she found herself looking down and staring at the wood floors. “And sometimes charming meant sex.”

Her eyes bristled, and she willed the tears to wait.

She drew another deep breath and exhaled.

“When I was racing, I knew that was the only place I wanted to be. But Mickey kept pressing me about targeting people in the racing world. Even at the level I was doing, there were people with money.

“So, late one night, I left him. I took what money I could and tipped off the people Mickey was conning at the time.”

She felt her shoulders lower. There it was. But there was more.

“I went back to the town where I’d grown up and found my grandfather’s tombstone in the cemetery.

I thought there would be weeds, but there weren’t.

People in that town knew him and loved him.

Someone had even placed some flowers there.

True, they were old and dried out. B ut someone at some time had thought enough of Grandpa to bring him flowers.

And when someone pulled the weeds, they didn’t take them away and throw them out.

I suppose to some people they would have been trash.

But I don’t know. Even dried and withered flowers can be nice, you know? ”

One plump tear escaped her eye, followed by another and another.

Damn it.

She hastily lowered her head and brushed them aside and then saw a wrinkled and weathered hand holding out a handkerchief. She took it and looked up. It was Rocco’s grandfather. She noisily blew her nose.