Sweet Prison: Chapter 8

Four months later

“You know nothing about him,” I say. “How can that be a healthy relationship?”

Nera rolls on her stomach and props her hands under her chin, her eyes sparkling like little gems, the same as they do whenever she speaks about her “stalker.” It’s plain as day that she’s in love with him. In love with a man whose name she doesn’t even know, and they’ve been seeing each other for almost a year.

She stumbled upon him—wounded and bleeding in a dark alley—and took him to the vet clinic where she works to patch him up. When she told me what she had done, I nearly lost my everloving shit. Alone, with a man who had been shot! In the middle of the night! She must have been out of her mind. He could have been a total psycho. But they’ve been meeting up ever since.

At first, I thought it was just a simple crush that would pass as quickly as it started. As the months dragged on, it became obvious that wasn’t the case. I don’t recall seeing Nera so happy before, and I’m truly not sure if I should be glad for her or if I should worry.

“Have you ever met someone you can talk to about all the things you can’t discuss with anyone else?” my sister asks from her spot on my bed. “Even though you don’t know much about them?”

Pain shoots through my thumb as I stab myself with the tip of my needle. A small drop of blood soaks into the beige silk, and I’m nearly hyperventilating, alarmed that she somehow knows my secret. But when I glance up, I see her staring at the ceiling with a dreamy look in her eyes. It was just a rhetorical question, thank God.

“Maybe,” I answer, without actually intending to.

“What?” Nera abruptly shoots up in bed. “Who?”

I quickly drop my gaze back to the fabric in my hands. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Zara.”

Guilt threatens to consume me. We’ve never had secrets between us. Until Massimo. I’m not in any way morally opposed to spying for him, but I do feel bad for keeping my activities from Nera. On the other hand, Massimo has become much more to me than a stepbrother. And because my sister knows me so well, I’m afraid—terrified, actually—that it won’t take her long to realize the truth. And condemn me for it.

Did I ever believe it was possible to fall in love with a man sight unseen? To love his mind? His spirit? His hidden nature?

Nope.

But that just underlines how wrong I was.

Because, I am falling in love with our stepbrother.

“Not this time,” I mumble, pretending to be engrossed in my sewing.

Nera narrows her eyes at me, but she doesn’t pry further, and we segue back into her twisted relationship with her stalker-slash-boyfriend.

“I can’t believe it took you guys a year to work up to the first kiss. What are you—twelve?” I say as I lift the bodice of the dress I’m making for her. “You need to try this on. Watch out for pins along the side.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I guess you’re right.” I shrug. “I’ve never even had a boyfriend.”

“What about that guy from school? The one who kept following you during lunch.”

“Finn? He was just a weirdo.” The bodice is a bit too loose, so I unpin the sides and readjust. “Stop wriggling.”

“Speaking of weirdos… Have you noticed the way Salvo has been looking at you?”

I frown. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You truly are oblivious. I first saw it at lunch after the baptism of Tiziano’s son. Salvo was practically devouring you with his eyes.”

“The one with escargot on the menu. I remember. Yuck.”

“Exactly. The guy is forty.”

“Thirty-five,” I correct her. Salvo and Massimo are the same age. “He was probably just staring at my face.”

“He was. But not because of what you think.” Nera sets her hands on my hips and turns me around so I’m facing the oversized mirror.

“You messed up my work,” I mumble. “I’ll have to redo the bodice again.”

“Forget the bodice.” Standing behind me, she rests her chin on my shoulder.

Nera is slightly taller than I am, and her hair is a shade or two lighter than my own light brown. Although my nose is narrower and my cheekbones are more pronounced, we look a lot alike. Ignoring the pale patches around my eyes, that is.

“No wonder creepy Salvo can’t take his eyes off you,” she says next to my ear. “Can’t you see how drop-dead gorgeous you are?”

I sigh. My sister has made it her mission to convince me I’m pretty. She might believe it’s true, but I can’t. I wish I looked like everyone else. Normal.

“Yeah.” I turn back around and begin taking the pins out of the bodice. “I need to get started on this if you want it ready for Dad’s birthday party next weekend.”

“Are you going?”

“Probably.” There’s no way Dad would let me skip his party, especially since he’s back to not-so-subtly insinuating that both Nera and I are ripe to be married. He even hinted that Ruggero would be there, and that it would be a great opportunity for the two of us to get to know each other. Just thinking about it is making me sick.

“Shit, I’m going to be late for my shift at the clinic.” Nera shrugs out of the half-made dress and grabs her purse off the chair.

“Have you noticed Dad acting strange lately?” I ask. “He’s been distracted, forgetting things. And Leone has been coming over more often than usual. He and Dad hole themselves up in Dad’s study for hours.”

He also started locking his office door when he’s out of the house, something he’s never done before.

“Mm-hmm. Some problems popped up at the casinos, but Dad said he’s working them out. I have to go.” Nera pecks my cheek and rushes out of the room before I get the chance to ask her to elaborate.

Problems at the casinos? The last time I managed to sneak into Dad’s office and rifle through the paperwork on his desk was two weeks ago, but I didn’t find anything suspicious. There were a few warehouse leases and some brochures for the new condominium block that was just built on the outskirts of Cambridge. That was all.

I’ll have to find a way to get inside again and check the documents he keeps in his safe for anything that may shed light on what’s going on before I write to Massimo.

***

One week later

Private property, Thirty miles north of Boston

Nuncio Veronese’s birthday party

Laughter and clapping ring out behind me as I rush across the lawn. Dad has obviously started his speech. He usually cracks a few jokes first to warm up the crowd, and then he moves on to flattering the members of the Family. I’d hoped to catch plenty of useful gossip tonight, but Nera stuck by my side all evening, and I didn’t get the chance. Dad will be livid when he hears I left his birthday party early, but I don’t care. I need to get out of here now after hearing what happened to my sister three days ago.

“Miss Veronese?” Peppe asks when I find him hanging out with the other drivers in a lounge off the attached garage.

“Home, please.”

During the past week, I’ve made several attempts to sneak into Dad’s office, but the door was locked every time. The only other way in is through a window that faces the backyard. Dad leaves it ajar sometimes. With all the staff and security guards who typically buzz around the house, I couldn’t risk breaking in. Today, all our household personnel were brought to this country estate to help with the party.

I had already written to Massimo this morning, telling him about the bloodbath that decimated Camorra. On Friday, the head of the clan—Alvino—along with half of his crew, had been found dead at an out-of-the-way church outside of Boston. I heard Dad telling Nera about it yesterday when he called her. Then, he spent a good part of the afternoon shut inside his office and on the phone with Efisio, the guy taking over the Camorra Clan.

Dad’s concern over the Camorra news didn’t seem that strange at first—any major skirmish inside our territory would be worrisome. Still, I tried everything I could to overhear what they were talking about, but the conversation was much too muted. I figured I’d get a chance to discover the details later, since Cosa Nostra never deals with Camorra, it was likely nothing more than the usual top-dog posturing. Now, though, after finding out Nera was kidnapped by Alvino and that’s what led to the carnage at that church, I’m convinced there has to be more to whatever Dad and Efisio were discussing. And there must be a clue or a paper trail hidden in his study.

Something tells me that this situation is critical, so I need to relay every piece of information I can find to Massimo right away. Maybe Salvo has a faster way to contact him? Last I saw, Salvo was in a group with the other capos. With the party in full swing, I might be able to get him alone, but I don’t want to turn around and lose the opportunity to sneak into Dad’s office. Maybe I could risk calling Salvo? I reach into my purse to grab my phone, but then remember that I left it at home. Fuck.

***

The small display screen above the keypad hidden behind the Monet painting flashes red.

Dad changed the combination on the safe.

I stick my thumb between my teeth, biting my nail. The locked study doors. Changed access code. Dad must have suspected someone inside the house would find out what he’s been up to, maybe even been paranoid that whatever it is would reach Massimo. Would he have suspected me? Yeah, as if poor little Zara would ever be capable of doing something so daring. He probably thinks it’s a maid or one of the security guards.

I try the digits of the previous combination but in reverse order.

Red light again, damn it.

He must have chosen a number that’s important to him, but what could it be? Dad loves birthdays. Maybe he used one of ours? It sure as hell wouldn’t be mine. Nera’s?

I try it. Nope.

What about his own?

No. Just the mocking flash of red.

“Shit.”

I rummage through his desk, moving notes and folders in hopes that he wrote the code down somewhere, but come up blank. A thought strikes me just as I’m ready to give up. La Famiglia. It has always been the most important thing to my father. Turning back toward the safe, I enter the date my father took his vows as the new don.

With a barely audible click, the safe door slowly slides open. An unhappy laugh escapes me. It is my birthday after all. My father became the don of Boston on my first birthday.

I’ve just started leafing through the folders I pulled from the safe when the rumble of a car engine and the squeal of tires come through the window. What the hell? Everyone should still be at the party. It was planned to last well into the night. Quickly, I snap the safe closed and run out of the study just as the front door on the other side of the entry hall flies open.

“Nera?” I choke out.

My sister hovers on the threshold, her makeup smeared all over her face. Her dress is wrinkled, with a big red stain covering the front.

“Nera!” Crying out, I rush across the hall to her.

“I tried calling you.” Her voice is hollow and her gaze unfocused. “You… you weren’t answering your phone.”

“What happened? Is that… blood? Nera, oh my God, are you alright?”

“It must have been a hitman. I tried… I tried waking him but…”

“What? Who?” I cry out.

Her red-rimmed eyes meet mine. “Dad.”

No. I reel back as if she kicked me in the chest. No. He’s okay. He has to be. We have our differences, Dad and I, but that doesn’t change the fact that I love him. He’ll be okay.

“How badly is he hurt? Where did…? Which hospital?” My breath leaves my lungs in short bursts, and I can’t seem to form full sentences. Why is she just standing there? We need to be with Dad.

“Zara…” Nera stretches her hand toward me but I swat it away.

“No,” I plead. Then, clutching the front of her bloody dress, I bury my face in her neck. “Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it.”

“Dad’s gone, Zara.”