Chapter 6
Nicole
By the time I give Jaime dinner, I've read the message at least a hundred times, pacing back and forth across the soft Persian carpet of Shane's living room. My eyes are glued to my phone screen, my thoughts racing. Jaime looks up from his plate, sensing my unease.
"Are you okay, Ms. Nicole?" he asks, his big round eyes full of concern.
I force a smile. "I'm fine, Jaime. Just a bit tired."
But I'm far from fine. The message gnaws at me, each word a tiny, insistent whisper in my mind. Why now? Why this message? What are they hiding?
"Are you sure?" Jaime asks again. "Is something wrong? Where's Uncle Shane?"
Come on, Nicole. You've got a traumatized kid you're working up. I stop pacing and calm myself, giving Jaime my full attention.
"Your Uncle Shane is fine, bud," I reassure him. "He's probably on his way home now, and if he doesn't arrive by the time you sleep, I'll send him in to check on you. Okay?"
"Okay," Jaime says, going back to his dinner. I have a bone to pick with the absent-minded uncle, but the biggest thing on my mind now is this text I've received from Gio.
The message is simple:
Hi Nicola, I've missed you dearly. All is well back home. I've finally gotten a job and met a girl who adores me. I think it will be some time before I'm ready to come to America, but don't worry. Things couldn't be better for me here.
I analyze every word and phrase of the text for a sign, symbol, or signal. The only revelation I've come to is both the most important detail and the most frustrating: There is no way that Gio sent me this text.
There are several issues with it, the first being that it doesn't resemble my brother at all. The tone is dismissive, and the wording is off. It's too casual and vague, which is entirely unlike Gio. The author—who I suspect is Raffaele—writes as if Gio and I frequently communicate when, in reality, we haven't spoken in almost a year. The phrases and wording used would deceive no one who truly knows him. Gio is straightforward, reserved, and concise. He would have, at the very least, asked how I was doing or requested that I call him back.
Fake texts are not uncommon for me. I've asked Raffaele to speak with Gio a few times before. Sometimes, he's complied, finding a way to connect me with Gio, even if it was just for a few moments. Those conversations kept me content, knowing he was alive and able to speak. This is sometimes the best I can hope for, given our situation. Other times, I've received what I thought was a fake text, but even those messages usually came with a picture to reassure me. This time, it's different. It feels like an attempt to deceive me more than a white lie meant for comfort—it feels like something is being covered up, and that scares me.
I have an urge to uncover the truth, but I can't show my fear to Jaime. Frantically making phone calls in Italian won't help either of us. My priority is to protect him and maintain normalcy. I need to calm down and accept that calling now might not be beneficial. I take a deep breath and try to focus on the present. We'll sort this out when the time is right. For now, the grieving child and absent uncle need to take priority.
"How about we play a game after dinner?" I suggest, hoping to distract both of us.
Jaime's face lights up. "Can we play hippos?"
"Sure," I say, relieved to see him smile.
As we play, his laughter fills the room, momentarily easing the weight on my shoulders. But deep down, I know this is only a temporary reprieve. The truth about Gio still looms.
Just after 8 p.m., I hear the door open and the security box beep. Shane rushes in and finds me on the couch, sipping coffee. The blend is bitter and distinct, much better than the store-bought stuff I'm used to, but to me it still doesn't compare to the beans we get in Italy. Still, I've had about four cups this evening.
He stops in his tracks when he sees me, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. I can see he wants to say something, but there's an apprehension in his eyes. I'm ready to let loose on him. This is only the latest in a long line of missed events important to Jaime, and he's given the same excuse each time. But there's something in his expression—a genuine concern—that makes me pause. It softens my resolve just slightly, even makes me a bit sympathetic to him and, I hate to admit, a bit attracted.
"I'm not going to give you any excuses," he starts, his voice steady but laced with regret. "I've missed another important moment in Jaime's life and selfishly taken away your time; there's no excuse. I'm sorrier now than I've ever been; I can't take it back, but listen, I—"
I raise my cup to my face and take a sip of coffee, and he stops mid-sentence.
I set my empty mug on the coffee table and dive right into my rant.
"I don't really understand how you expect him to get used to this situation, or you, if you refuse to be around. He needs you to be involved and attentive. He needs you to bond with him. And each chance you get, you throw it away for work, or whatever you're doing. You've missed his school events, you've not done anything with him outside of the house, and you can barely even make it home in time to have dinner with him. And I see the sadness in his eyes each time I tell him you're not coming. You're his last living immediate family, Shane, and his legal guardian—those are big responsibilities."
I don't hold back. I tell him how much he's missed, naming every developmental hurdle Jaime has crossed and how much each of them meant to him. I talk about how his absence affects Jaime's development and recovery, how he needs him more than he'll ever need me, and how he doesn't know a single friend, classmate, or teacher involved in his life.
For five minutes, Shane listens attentively, his gaze unwavering. He even agrees with me verbally on certain points, nodding his head or softly murmuring his assent. He seems like some imposter, and I jokingly wonder to myself if the Avvoltoi have also sent me a fake Shane. He doesn't interrupt the entire time, and when I'm done, he's still standing there, his demeanor unflinching. His straight, serious face is as beautiful as a sunset falling into an ocean horizon.
He waits a moment to ensure I've finished, and only when he's certain I've settled does he begin to speak again.
"You're right," he says quietly, his voice calm but heavy with emotion. "I've failed Jaime. I've failed you. And I can't apologize enough for that."
He takes a step closer, his eyes locking with mine, and for a brief moment, I see something vulnerable in them—something real.
"I know it seems like I don't care," he continues, his tone earnest. "But I do—more than you could know. I've been so caught up in... everything, trying to keep it all together, that I've lost sight of what's most important. Jaime needs me. And I need to be there for him, not just as his guardian, but as his family."
His words catch me off guard. I expected defensiveness, excuses, anything but this genuine admission. His words disarm me, and for the first time, I feel like I'm seeing the real Shane—the one who has been buried beneath the weight of his responsibilities and regrets.
"I don't know how to fix this overnight," he admits, his voice softening. "But I promise you, Nicole, I'm going to try. For Jaime's sake. And for mine."
His sincerity is palpable, and it stirs something in me. Maybe, just maybe, he's finally ready to be the guardian Jaime deserves. But it's going to take more than words—it's going to take action. And I'm going to make sure he follows through.
I nod slowly, feeling the tension in the room begin to ease. "Okay, Shane. I'll hold you to that. Jaime deserves nothing less."
He nods in return. "I want to check on him and tell him goodnight before it gets too late," says Shane.
"He's waiting for you," I say.
A faint smile curves his lips as he leaves and heads into the hall, but the weight of the moment still lingers between us. There's a long road ahead, but for the first time, I believe that Shane is ready to walk it.
I feel some relief; Shane's promise, whether temporary or not, offers a small comfort. It allows me to focus on what's going on with Gio. I find myself drawn to review what got me here with the Avvoltoi, like a detective retracing steps. I need to make sense of everything to understand how things spiraled into this chaos.
What I remember is that things weren't good within the ranks of the Avvoltoi when I left. Raffaele's crew, among a few others, were looking to branch out and expand, causing tension among the bosses. I was front seat for the entire thing, delivering packages or dropping off vehicles—whatever odd job they assigned me to pay off my and Gio's debt.
I recall nearly being recognized by a member of the Avvoltoi while we were out in public. Raffaele quickly snatched me away, hiding me in some dark corner until the danger passed. It was the first time I ever doubted our safety with the Avvoltoi. That moment made it clear how precarious our situation truly was. It was a stark reminder that our fates could change at the drop of a hat. We had no friends to trust, no home to hide in—no one except each other, and it was this that drove me to collect some insurance against the Avvoltoi.
As I leaf through the pages, my mind races with the implications of holding on to this information. It's a lifeline, a last resort, and yet it's also a noose around my neck. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. I freeze, my heart pounding. Slowly, I turn around and see Shane standing in the doorway. A wave of emotions crashes over me. Did he see the document? How long has he been watching me?
And what's even more confusing is his presence in my doorway. I don't think he's been in my room like this since he showed me the house, and now, inexplicably, I feel a surge of emotions I can't quite place. There's an attraction mingled with fear, and it's unsettling.
"Sorry, I didn't see you there," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I was just... sorting through the... mess that is my life." I force a smile, hoping it hides my unease.
I quickly turn and slip the dossier into a drawer, struggling to maintain my composure.
"Sorry to interrupt. The door was open, so…" Shane's voice trails off, almost as if he's unsure of himself.
"It's fine," I respond, trying to sound casual.
"I just wanted to thank you for all you've done. I know it hasn't been easy with me."
I nod, my heart beginning to calm. There's a sincerity in his tone that makes me believe he's genuinely trying.
"I actually had a chance to revisit some lost... history of mine," he continues, his expression thoughtful, though I have no idea what he's referring to.
"Shane... it's fine," I say gently, cutting him off. "You've said enough tonight, and it's seemed genuine. Why don't we read Jaime a bedtime story?"
He hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Well, yeah. I came to fetch you because he's requested just that."
I smile, feeling warm in the moment that eases the lingering tension. Together, we head to Jaime's room, and for the first time in a long while, things feel... almost normal.