Chapter Twenty-One Cammie #2
In the moments that follow, Johnny Russo becomes forever indebted to the Jacobs men.
They are the primary reason this doesn’t turn into the Agatha Christie kind of party, with one wealthy asshole winding up dead and no question as to whodunnit.
It’s a blur, really, as exclamations of “I think the fuck not” and “incel-ass bitch” and even “you’re from Ohio” are flying, two heads’ worth of ginger curls along with them, five feet four inches of pure rage—times two—lunging forward, until West’s arm cinches around my waist, Dr. Danny’s around Mom’s, and Paolo and Tony physically push Russo in the opposite direction. One unworthy life spared.
When I can catch my breath and see through the irate haze that briefly fell over my field of vision, I meet West’s steadying gaze, his hands still braced on my waist, and cry, “This is my fault.”
Through the cacophony of multilingual anger, insults, and ranting, I somehow hear his quiet answer of, “No, it’s not. You didn’t invite any of this.”
“It’s more drama than a Real Housewives episode,” I say as I peer around at the chaos. West lets out a small chuckle before a new thought occurs to me, and I add, “We’re just lucky Luca Goedhart didn’t show up. I can only imagine how that would have…”
I trail off as I notice the abrupt silence sweeping over the arguing group, the rest of the bewildered partygoers following their lead. West and I turn to follow the collective stares and find that I spoke too soon.
“Hello,” Dr. Luca Goedhart says in his measured, naturally authoritative voice as he steps out from the main house, his eyes scanning the terrazzo until they land on my mother. Even from a distance, I can see the flare of intense emotion in the gray-blue depths. “What have I missed?”
I don’t think anyone at the party breathes for the next few moments, even if the majority has no idea who the new guy is.
Mom certainly doesn’t exhale, just stands there in shock.
Luca seems similarly frozen by the sight of her, though he surely knew to expect to see her when he decided to show up tonight.
And holy shit. He showed up.
I get the same gut feeling from our first meeting, though I’d wanted to deny it or tell myself I’d imagined it, after how that ended up.
But it’s back, this instinctual pull, like even though we barely met once, some part of my soul is connected to some part of his.
I know it’s illogical to read much into a gut feeling, that I could just be seeing what I want to see, desperate to believe that all this searching wasn’t for nothing.
But it’s still there, this voice whispering, however cautiously, fearfully, hopefully, “It’s him. ”
I’ve tried to keep from thinking about him since Pompeii, or the possibility that the reason he was so weird is because he is my dad, and he knows, and he doesn’t want to know me.
But now the possibility is here, basically on my doorstep, no longer able to be ignored. And when my eyes drift from his shell-shocked expression back to my mom’s, I find that she is no longer frozen, looking at Luca.
No, she is laser-focused on me, striding determinedly in my direction.
But it’s what I read in her face that makes me feel like my heart has dropped through my stomach, onto the paving stones below my feet.
She doesn’t appear furious, or like she’s coming to me to demand an explanation for why I brought yet another piece of her ancient history here tonight. She doesn’t look upset with me at all.
Instead, her wide blue eyes hold something like apology.
“Cam,” she says, low and urgent, when she’s only a couple feet away. A hand tightens around mine, West’s, and I don’t even know when I grabbed it or if he grabbed mine, just that I’m holding on for dear life now. Bracing for impact, maybe.
“Honey, we need to talk somewhere alone. Now.”
I start to ask what’s wrong, even though I’m pretty sure I know, but I’m cut off by the return of Dr. Russo’s shouting.
“You need to leave now,” he’s saying, and when I look past my mom, I see the command is directed at Luca Goedhart.
What does he have against Luca specifically? Or is this just more posturing about his authority over the guest list?
“Excuse me,” Luca says in a careful calm that says he’s barely keeping his real feelings leashed. “I was invited.”
“An invitation from a nineteen-year-old girl with no right to extend it is invalid, I’m afraid.”
Luca’s face pinches tight, some mix of confusion and anger reminiscent of what he showed upon seeing me for the first time at the archaeological park. “Are you referring to your daughter? Because I don’t know if you’re aware, but she came to see me. I had nothing to do with—”
“His what?”
The screeched words are so unlike any noise I have ever produced that I don’t even realize they came from me at first. Three gazes dart my way, from Mom, Luca Goedhart, and Gianmarco Russo.
Certainly plenty of others, given the inhuman sound, but my world has shrunken down to the four of us, like some absurd Renaissance painting, or maybe a still from a soap opera.
I don’t hear anything but those two words from Luca tossed at Gianmarco Russo, echoing over and over in my head.
Your daughter. Your daughter. Your daughter.
I’m suddenly short of breath, and spots appear at the corners of my vision. This can’t be happening, is all I can think. No. I might even voice it out loud, denial of the horrifying revelation.
There’s a hand at my back, West’s voice in my ear murmuring, “Cam. It’s going to be okay. Breathe.”
I do as he says, letting him spin me to face him and locking his gaze with mine as I match his deep inhales and exhales.
It clears the panicked fog enough that other sounds start to filter back in, namely my mom’s highly confused, “John Mark has a daughter?”
Wait. What?
That’s my first thought as I look to her, feeling as mixed up as she sounds. Because if she doesn’t know he has a daughter, then Goedhart couldn’t have meant…
“What?” Luca asks, like he pulled the incredulous question from my head. “You…you…” He points to Mom with one hand, Russo with the other. Then one of the accusatory fingers drifts to me, followed by a dazed, barely audible, “She…she’s his, right? And yours, the two of you—”
“What?” Mom screeches, making it clear where I get the ability from. Her absolute horror at the implication is written in every scrunched-up line of her face, in her arms flung wide, shoulders up near her ears. “Absolutely not. What on earth would make you think that?”
She is a combination of fuming and completely baffled that I’ve never quite seen on my mother.
Luca is matching this energy, though leaning more toward the baffled end of the scale.
I’m trying to put together the pieces, maybe more confused than anyone, given that I was, you know, a fetus when everything between these folks first went down.
But the only person who doesn’t look totally lost is Gianmarco Russo. No, his expression is carefully blank, though he is nearly vibrating, with tension or anger or whatever else, I don’t know.
Before I have time to analyze it further, he calmly turns away.
And then—very not calmly—starts running.