Page 13

I t’s still the blazes of summer all over the US as August rolls on, yet everything inside me is freezing cold. There are some raised eyebrows at the airport—I’m in a coat in this ninety-degree weather. My teeth would be chattering otherwise. It’s like the life is draining out of me. Is this what it feels like when you’re dying?

Stefano didn’t object to my request to leave. The quiet, stoic resignation on his face told me everything I needed to know. We are done, and there’s no going back now. And it was all my fault. That’s what I’ll have to live with now for the rest of my life. Guilt on top of loss, of heartbreak, of having a glimpse of a wonderful life I could’ve had if I hadn’t jumped the gun too soon. No wonder they call girls my age silly—we act like idiots, sometimes, at barely twenty-two.

And Stefano, what will he do when he goes back? Will he be brow-beaten into this arranged marriage his father has planned for him? Will he fight back? Will another woman—that little skank with a potty mouth—have him as her man?

But that’s none of my concern, is it? I’m moving on…

A quick search on his phone showed we could catch the last flight out this evening for Portland International. I went down to say goodbye to Valentino. It’s a stretch to say we’d ever meet again, though I know I now have an ally on US soil. He’s a friend, at least.

All the Andretti brothers were conferring in his study, the beautiful man hovering on the sidelines with them along with the older one. It’s clear I interrupted a Borgata meeting, but time was of the essence. Valentino hugged me tight and told me to not be a stranger. It warmed a tiny part of me to know I wouldn’t be alone here anymore.

Stefano hung back, lengthy goodbyes happening as I left the room. Did he not plan to return here to see his cousins? Not my problem, though. Anything to do with Stefano should be erased from my perception asap. While waiting for him, I pack a small bag. It’ll be easier to have everything shipped over once I’ve found a place to stay. For now, getting out of here is the goal.

It's another silent flight that takes us west, just five hours this time, still tricky and fraught with the tension between us. There’s much he wants to say, I know it, yet he won’t come out and say it. What difference would it make, too? He’s going back to Torino, ultimately, and I’m staying here.

He finally breaks the silence once we’re in the rental car in the parking lot.

“The Don has asked me to put you up in a good hotel until you can find a place to move in.”

“There’s no need—”

“There’s every need,” he bites out.

That’s when I get it. He made a promise to the Don, just like I did. We’d never renege on our word to him. So be it. Va bene , as the Italians are so fond of saying.

Thinking of Italy opens the fault line I didn’t want to probe ever since we spoke back in our room in New Jersey. We also weren’t talking, but now that the communication lines have re-opened, I have to know.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to face Stefano. “Was I really in such danger in Torino?”

His jaw tightens, hands squeezing the wheel tight even though we’re still going nowhere.

So it’s true. I was in mortal peril. Don Giacomo and his enforcer made sure I’d be kept safe. At least one good thing about being back on US soil, it’s that no one knows me here. No Albanian overlord is targeting me in revenge or for some deranged ego-slash-power trip on this side of the Atlantic.

Then a flicker inserts itself—Daku knows who I am. He had my passport, after all. My identity is no secret to him. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about these criminal organizations, it’s that they leave no stone unturned.

I’m Kaya Norton from Portland, only daughter of Grant Norton, and there aren’t a lot of us Nortons in town. Were someone to come after me, they could do it through my father.

My gasp startles Stefano. His hand’s on my shoulder in a flash, his palm warm and comforting, strong and solid.

“My father,” I breathe out. “He could be in danger.”

His eyes narrow. “You want to make sure he’s okay?”

It strikes me he didn’t ask why I thought so or that I was being far-fetched. Which means he must’ve considered this possibility.

“Where would he be?” he continues.

“Home.”

His debt must’ve been repaid by now, and if he knows what happened to me, he wouldn’t go back to gambling.

“Put the address in the GPS.”

A rush of hot embarrassment flares over me. I won’t need to say it aloud, but he’ll know where we’re heading. It’s a trailer park in North Portland, and not a nice one. I’ve never hidden my seedy origins from anyone, but I’ve never shouted it from the rooftops, either. After seeing the luxury and comfort Stefano and the Don, and even Valentino, live in, this will seem like the pits.

It doesn’t take us long from PDX to get to the park. It’s as shabby as I remember, and the deeper we go in to where our RV was parked year-round, the more squalid it gets. We used to be the last one at the back. Still are, by the looks of things.

There’s no light on, no one inside when I pop in, the door left unlocked. Everywhere looks derelict, most of the trailers abandoned. Did he move on? How will I find him now?

Stefano is quiet the whole time, standing like a statue next to the SUV. I’m walking around, trying to find any sign of life. This place can’t be abandoned.

There’s lights on in a trailer at the very front. I’m bracing myself to go knock on the door when it opens slowly, a woman peering at us over the cannon of her sawn-off shotgun.

Stefano stiffens next to me. I don’t think he’s carrying a gun even though we’re in the country of the second amendment. He’s an Italian here, a foreigner, and not under the protection of his Don.

“Mrs. Muldoon,” I quickly say. “It’s me, Kaya.”

The shotgun doesn’t lower, even though she’s squinting now. Then she’s all smiles and effusive welcomes, pulling me into her bosom with one hand, the other still holding the gun, now lowered.

“Kaya Norton! I thought I’d never see you again. Your father said you were in Europe.”

This is how I get the low-down on how my disappearance was explained away. The story is I met a guy and decided to stay back. I’m here with a guy now, and it’s obvious he’s not American. The tailoring of his clothes alone puts him in the European league.

“Done well for yerself, haven’t you?” Mrs. Muldoon adds with a wink toward Stefano.

I neither confirm nor deny. “Is my father still here? I went to his RV, but…”

She snorts. “You’ll find him in town. At that casino he’s always favored.”

So he’s back to gambling again. Is that why I was still a target of Daku back in Italy? Grant Norton’s debts accumulating here?

I have money now; I could pay it off. And then he’d only be back at it again.

I thank the older woman and get back into the SUV, giving Stefano directions to the casino.

“I just need to see he’s okay,” I say softly, averting my face from his.

He doesn’t reply, just takes me to our destination. Of course, he’s there beside me like a shadow. There’s no way he’s letting me go until he’s stowed me away safely in a hotel room, like he’s promised.

The casino is all flashing lights and gaudy ringtones once we’re inside. My dad had a predilection for the blackjack tables even though he was always shit at counting. A ladies’ man, guess he felt even Lady Luck would fall for his charms one day.

He’s not there. But I know there are more exclusive tables at the back, and I ask the bouncer to be led through. I don’t think he realizes I’m Grant Norton’s daughter when I ask for him—he must take me for a high-end call girl or something, the fact a man like Stefano is silently by my side meaning he’s my pimp. I don’t discourage the idea if it’ll get me inside.

We make it past the exclusive door, and my gaze roves over the blackjack tables, the roulette spinning away in the middle, landing on the VIP area to the side. And there, my breath catches.

I can see my father. He’s okay. In fact, he’s better than fine, lounging on the velvet booth, a glass of Scotch in hand, a curvy blonde in his lap. He’s happy, laughing, trading jokes with the person next to him—Evan Monroe, the man who was supposedly going to kill or maim him if I didn’t go to Italy with his family for the summer.

My father is BFFs with the motherfucker who handed me off to Daku in Torino.

It hits me now. He knows. He must know I was sold into prostitution over in Italy.

Was that how he’d planned to repay his debt all along?

My strangled gasp isn’t audible in the loud clamor of the music in the lounge, but I’m certain Stefano heard it. His hand is back on my shoulder, infusing me with the strength my knees suddenly lack. One arm makes it around my waist, and he is carting me back out of the casino and into the SUV outside.

“He knew,” I mutter around clacking teeth again. It’s like ice has taken over me everywhere except for my vocal cords and my brain, which is firing on overdrive.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, big, solid palm on my back. “Let’s go. You have to put this behind you.”

From nowhere surges a flare of fire.

“Are you serious right now? I need to know what went on. I need the truth!”

“And what’s that going to help?”

“Closure,” I yell in the closed confines.

He’s clenching his teeth now, shaking his head as if I’m being unreasonable. Well, fuck him. This is my life, and I have to figure it all out. It’ll eat me alive otherwise, like it’s already doing now.

“What do you propose?” he asks.

I ignore the way his nostrils are flaring, the set of his jaw, his knuckles white where he’s clenching the steering wheel again.

“I need to speak with him.”

Stefano sighs. “So let’s wait until he heads back home.”

If he does. Neither of us says this, and it’s a good thing we didn’t jinx ourselves. It’s not an hour later when he comes out of the casino and hails a car, which we follow. It takes us right back to the trailer park.

So he’s still living in that squalor despite high-rolling with the big guns. Guess I now know where his priorities lay. It was never with me.

I know it, but I still need to hear it.

“Kaya,” Stefano grits out, hand closing on my arm when I go to open the passenger door. “Don’t.”

I know it, and he knows it, too—what I’ll find inside will break my heart. But what choice do I have? Not knowing is worse, right?

I shrug off his touch and push out of the vehicle. He’s doing the same when I come round the hood.

“I’m not letting you in there alone,” he states.

I sigh. “Stefano…”

Silence thrums between us, broken only by the sound of the nighttime insect life around us.

I can’t let him come inside. He’ll hear, he’ll know, and that, I can’t have. My humiliation will have to be mine alone.

“Please,” I beg softly.

Finally, he nods. “Two minutes, then I’m coming in.”

I’ll take it, turning toward the door of the trailer, taking one step, two. Not bothering to knock, I pull the latch and climb inside.

It smells like a distillery in here. Funny how the scent had only been funky dust and decrepitude earlier. So it’s him, then, carrying this stench.

“Hi, Dad.”

Grant Norton whirls around, and the way his eyes grow wide when he sees me, like I’m a ghost, crystallizes my worst fear. He did sell me off, never expecting to lay eyes on me again.

“Why did you do it?” I ask.

He rakes his gaze over me from head to toe. He’s my father, and I’ve been a prostitute, yet never have I ever felt so exposed and dirty before.

“Did good for yourself, it seems.” He sneers. “Always knew you’d catch some poor sucker’s eye. Maybe the big guy himself.”

A retch of bile touches my throat. He planned for me to be Monroe’s slut? Or worse yet, Daku’s?

“How could you do this?”

“How?” He splutters. “Fat lot of help you were being.”

What is he on about? I don’t understand. My confusion must be obvious as he continues after a pause.

“You could always have made yourself useful, you ungrateful bitch. I just took the decision for you. After everything I did for you, put a roof over your head, food on the table. I didn’t have to. After that slut you had for a mother left, I could’ve dumped you to child services. I didn’t. But it never crossed your stupid air head mind you owed me this much, did it?”

Owed him? I didn’t owe him a single thing. I didn’t ask to be born, to be saddled with him, to stay with him when he could’ve offloaded me to CPS. That food on the table, I paid for it, waitressing since I was fourteen, sneaking leftovers home when I could. I worked three jobs at twenty just so he could lose all he made in gambling.

And I owed him ? In what universe?

I’m still staring at him, dumbfounded, when something eerie happens. He’s snarling like a deranged hyena one second, then his tongue is lolling out, choking sounds coming from his mouth. The thin line of blood along his throat appears almost with a lag in the time continuum—almost in slow-mo as he sputters and crumples to the floor.

What the fuck is Stefano up to? I told him to stay away, to let me handle this. He just had to go all knight in shining armor on me, taking ‘care’ of this unfortunate matter in the only way he knows how as an enforcer, by killing him.

I’m about to give him a piece of my mind when my gaze travels behind my father’s prone body…and it’s not Stefano standing there. No, this man is short, stocky, dressed all in black, the only thing standing out being the glint of the sharp blade in his left hand.

I think I scream. Or did I freeze? The only thing I can register is this man coming at me now, lunging over the dead body, his knife aiming for my chest.

A strangled cry catches in my throat when I slam into the rickety table at one end of the trailer and lose my balance, falling back. The knife is coming at me, and the man is saying something. My blood freezes when I hear the name Daku.

I think I scream again, I don’t know.

What I do know?

I’m about to die.