26. Cassandra
26
CASSANDRA
E verything is numb.
Everything I’ve ever felt seems like something distant and intangible. Like I’m somehow suspended underwater while life continues above me, entirely unreachable.
All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other. The city streets are cast in gray light as the early hours of the morning creep in.
I’m freezing. I know this because everything is shaking. Because I’m still only wearing this stupid black dress, walking around in the cold.
But none of the bleary-eyed morning commuters seem to bat an eyelid. Nor do they seem to care about the blood splattered across my legs and arms.
Claudio’s blood.
It had been like unlocking a door to the darkest part of me. A part that I’d sealed shut my entire life for fear of what it might mean.
But knowing who my father was, what my family had been…
I am a daughter of the mafia. And in that moment, between aiming and pulling the trigger, I dug deep into that part of myself, barely flinching at the recoil as the bullet had found its home in Claudio’s chest.
I want to feel remorse for it. I want to feel anything at all for it. But from the moment I saw Claudio pulling a gun on Rocco, everything had shut down. It was as if my body instinctively knew it needed to put me in this numb, self-preservation mode.
Someone bumps into my shoulder as I navigate across the next block of unfamiliar houses. The jerk causes my ankle to flash in pain.
Where the hell even am I?
I’ve been on autopilot since Rocco got down on his knees and begged me to stay.
I slow at the next intersection to read the street sign. Brighton.
I’ve been here before—my second day in Brooklyn. It seems so long ago now, but I still remember the address.
It’s the same address I’ve been writing to these last few years, ever since she moved out of her parents’ place.
It takes me twenty minutes to orient myself and find it, counting the doors until I reach the small apartment complex.
“Mia? It’s me.” My voice is hoarse as I speak into the intercom.
I don’t even know if she’s here. But a second later, the front door buzzes open.
I step into the familiar foyer and make my way up to the second floor.
Mandy is already halfway down the corridor when I get there; her apartment door flung open further down the hall.
For a second, we just stand there, frozen as we take each other in.
Dark circles have blossomed under her eyes; from lack of sleep or the darkening bruise over her cheek, I can’t be sure.
“You look like shit,” I say.
She throws herself at me, arms pulling me in so tightly I can barely breathe. But God, do I need this. The numbness burns away under human contact, leaving me with nothing but raw, uncontrollable grief.
“Shhhhh,” Mia strokes my hair as the sobs begin to rack my body. “Come on.”
She takes my hand, leading me into her tiny studio apartment and gently sitting me down on her bed.
Wordlessly, she climbs over to lie next to me and opens her arms to me once more.
I’m not sure how much time passes while we lie there as everything pours out of me in one messy stream of grief.
Grief for my father, a man I never knew. A man who thought it wise to bring me to this godforsaken place. For him dying before I had a chance to damn him to hell.
Grief for my mother, who had lied to me my whole life. Who had somehow managed to leave the Italian mafia and would have never wanted this for me.
Grief for Claudio Lazzaro, who I had so earnestly and naively loved. Who had so completely and utterly ruined me. Who was now dead by my own hand.
Grief for the girl I once was, the person I would never be again.
I can’t process anything else more. Can’t even think his name without becoming overwhelmed by the immensity of my own emotions.
The humiliation, the anger, the pain, the longing are all vying for my attention all at once.
My tears finally, finally begin to subside and Mia, the constant rock tethering me to reality with her soothing words the entire time, begins to stretch out a little stiffly.
“Let me get us some water,” she says gently as she pries me off of her.
I roll over so I can bury my face in her pillow.
“Unless you’d like anything stronger?”
A sudden craving overwhelms me. “Do you have any breakfast tea?”
Mia gives me a bemused look. “I’m sorry, when did you turn into the Queen of England?”
The thought of Donatella twangs my already sensitive heart strings. My face immediately crumples into a new wave of tears.
“Shit,” Mia says in alarm. “I’m sorry, I’ll go get some tea, okay? Just wait here.”
Absently, I’m aware of the front door opening and closing as I try to get myself under control again. By the time she returns, I’ve managed to sit myself up, although I’m still clutching the pillow.
Mia appears a moment later, a steaming mug in her hand. “All they had was decaf, but…”
I take it from her gratefully, warming my hands on the porcelain.
“How are you feeling?” Mia says as she rejoins me on the bed.
“Like crap.”
“You have a bruise,” she says, pointing to my cheek.
I snort darkly. “I guess we match.”
“Who…”
“Claudio.”
Mia goes deathly still. “I will kill him.”
“I might have beaten you to it.”
She blinks at me, taking me in. No doubt she’s already noticed the blood splattered over my body.
“Explain.”
So I do. I tell her everything. About coming to Brooklyn, realizing that Claudio was an abusive asshole, how I had gone to him for help. The words keep pouring out as I tell her about the brownstone and how I’d been trying to help the Guild unearth the rat.
By the time I reach the events of the night before, Mia is clutching her own pillow. Her eyes are wide, but she refuses to interrupt as I tell her about being thrown in a trunk. I tell her about what Claudio had revealed about my father and how I shot him.
When I finish, I’m met with her silence. The light of the afternoon slowly fades in the window behind her.
It’s a tiny apartment. The bed faces the only window and the TV stand. Behind the headboard is a compact kitchen without a freezer, and next to the front door is a small, half-concealed bathroom that somehow crams in both a shower and toilet.
But despite the size, it’s the only place in Brooklyn I want to be right now.
“I’m so sorry, Cas.”
I look over at my friend and shake my head. “It’s not your fault. You tried to warn me, for God’s sake.”
“I should have told you the truth from the very beginning.”
The sadness and pity in her eyes make me swallow down any biting response. Instead I merely ask, “Could you tell me the truth now?”
She sighs, repositioning herself so she can lean back against the wall. “My dad…your dad…they were part of Giuliano Moretti’s inner circle. They were accountants, really. Carmine had a way with numbers, and my father appreciates that kind of thing.”
You could hear a pin drop as Mia draws her next breath.
“I didn’t know about it officially until I was sixteen. But by that point, I’d already guessed. I thought about writing to you about it a hundred times over, but…” she pauses before continuing. “They told me what your mom went through to get you out, and I just couldn’t.”
“No one leaves,” I whisper back.
Mia nods. “Your mom went to Giuliano herself a week after Teo Vitale’s family was murdered. I didn’t know until much later how dark things were at that point. That my own father had considered leaving as well.”
“Someone killed Teo’s parents?”
“And his sister.” Mia stares out the window. “She was our age, Cas. She used to play with us sometimes.”
I literally shudder at the hazy memory that resurfaces. I suddenly remember a dark-haired girl with a bright smile running around the park with us tailing behind her. Squeals of delight escaped her lips as Mia tackled her to the floor in my mind’s eye.
“I don’t know how your mom convinced him,” Mia continues. “But with the Vitale family gone, Giuliano told her if she wanted to leave, she had to disappear for good. Neither of you were ever meant to come back to Brooklyn again.”
Then why did my father have me brought back? The question bubbles to the surface, but I choke it back down.
“But you and your family stayed?” I ask instead.
“Things started to change when Roccowhen Giuliano started losing power. I was eighteen and ready to prove myself, so I started helping my dad out here and there.” Her cheeks flush a little, and she looks away.
I narrow my eyes at her. “What else?”
“I tend the bar.”
“Mia.”
“Cassandra.”
“Tell me.”
She sighs. “On occasion, I’ve been known to help my father collect his debts.”
To my jaw-dropping surprise, she pulls out a knife that was somehow concealed within her jeans and begins to twirl it around her fingers with expert precision.
I watch as the tiny blade catches the light every few seconds, utterly transfixed.
“I’m not entirely proud of it, but I am good at what I do. Good enough that people tend to leave me alone, at least,” she admits, “I try not to get involved with Guild politics, anyhow.”
A familiar numbness begins to grip my heart once more. “But you knew what really happened to my father, didn’t you?”
Sadness immediately slumps Mia’s shoulders. “Teo and Martino were there that night, too. They said that…Rocco…he did everything he could to get Carmine to stop.”
I blink at her in confusion. “Claudio said… he killed him.”
“I’m sure Rocco feels that way too,” Mia sighs. “But your father’s suicide wasn’t his fault.”
Her words hover between us, but I refuse to let them sink in. “No.”
But Mia persists anyway. “They’d discovered your father was selling information to the Cartel and was trying to make a run for it. Rocco was only bringing him in for questioning because there was no way in hell Carmine was working alone.”
“I’m done with this.”
“Cas, Carmine took his own life instead of giving up his co-conspirator. Rocco offered him a peaceful way out.”
I stand up. “Can I take a shower?” The words come out harsher than I intended, but finally, Mia seems to drop it.
“I’ll make us some dinner. Lasagne good for you?”
I nod, trying to focus on anything other than the ringing in my ears. As soon as the bathroom door closes behind me, I strip down and all but run into the shower, allowing the scorching water to burn on my skin as I regain control of my breathing.
It’s complicated. All so fucking complicated. Because my father is dead. And he might not have pulled the trigger, but that didn’t stop him from being the reason my father is now dead.
I let the numbness take over my body once more, relishing the escape from the turmoil of my emotions. I’m soothed by the scorching water that washes away the sins of the night before.
My mind only snags on one tiny thing.
I killed a man. And I still can’t bring myself to care.
I shudder when I turn off the shower and step back into the real world. Wrapping a towel around myself, I head back into the apartment to see if Mia has any spare clothes I can borrow.
“Hey, Mia?” I say as I open the door.
The smell of freshly baked lasagne hits me like a ton of bricks.
“Cas?”
Nausea rises within me so fast that I stagger back into the bathroom, searching desperately for the toilet bowl.
I make it just in time.
Mia is there a second later, pulling back my hair with dutiful care as I heave whatever was left in my stomach into the toilet bowl.
“Fuck,” I gasp as I finally rest my head against the porcelain. “I must have a virus or something.”
I’m too exhausted to notice how still Mia has become. “Why?”
“I threw up in that trunk earlier, too.”
I lean back on my heels and go to wash myself off, but Mia’s arm holds me steady.
“What?”
She bites her lip. “It was the lasagne, wasn’t it?”
“What? No.” I try to brush her off. She’s been so kind to me today. I don’t want to insult her food on top of everything else.
“Cassandra. When was your last period?”