Chapter 26
Aubergine.
I emerged from Nicola’s shower to find one of his T-shirts folded neatly on the bed. As I pulled it overhead, I realized it smelled like him-- or whatever fancy detergent they used.
It was comforting.
While I sat cross-legged on the bed, I fiddled with Nicola’s streaming subscriptions in search of something mindless to watch. Another knock sounded at the door.
I tugged on the hem of my shirt so it covered more of my thighs and sat up. “Come in.”
Michael stepped inside, carrying an armful of things. “I think we got everything.”
He set two paper grocery bags on the bed.
Inside were a bunch of random tank tops. Underwear. Socks, but not any shoes.
My toothbrush.
Well… they ignored most of the things on my list, but I couldn’t say I was really surprised.
A can of hairspray sat at the bottom and I snorted as I picked it up. Ironically, this was Nicola’s, not mine.
“What’s wrong?”
I turned the can over in my hands, smiling. “Nothing.”
At least they packed my phone and my work bag that had my laptop in it.
Michael sat beside me and handed me a small rolled up white paper bag last. “And this one’s from Dr. Lee.”
“Thanks.” I pulled the bottle out and stared down at the instructions.
Michael glanced down at it, then up to my face. “Are you okay, Abby?”
“I’m okay.” The lie came automatically. I caught myself and sighed through my nostrils. “More specifically, I’m alive. Thanks to you.”
His expression softened. “You don’t have to thank me. We’re the reason you were there in the first place.”
Silence settled between us as he looked up at the TV screen. Two people were arguing, but I had the volume muted.
“I wish you’d stayed away.” His voice was barely above a whisper and I blinked at him. “You got out, you were free. Why did you come back, Aubergine?”
My throat tightened as I toyed with the orange medication bottle in my hand. “My heart was stupid. Really fucking stupid.”
Before I realized what I was doing– I leaned against him. Michael’s arm settled around my shoulders without hesitation.
It wasn’t the same. He didn’t smell like Nicola, he wasn’t all expensive cologne and cigarettes. His embrace didn’t make my heart race.
But Michael was solid, comforting. Steady and kind.
He always had been. I closed my eyes.
I really fell in love with the wrong Moretti.
I laughed weakly through my tears, surprised to feel them stream down my cheeks.
“Lorenzo Ferraro wasn’t cruel.” I wiped quickly beneath my eyes. “You know, in a weird way, he reminded me of Nicky.”
“It doesn't surprise me. There’s a reason Nicola was made so young, why the Family placed him at the top. He was born for this.” He looked toward the hallway. “But everything else...”
“He’s really shit at,” I finished. Michael chuckled.
“Yeah. Not that I’m one to talk. But that title is his whole life, Abby."
My mind drifted back to the apartment.
No, there was another part. The man who watched old Italian movies with me. Who argued about sleeping on the correct side of the bed. Who stole my food and asked for seconds.
That man existed too.
Michael seemed to read the question on my face. “You’re remembering the old Nicola, Aubergine. He died when my Dad died.”
The room fell quiet.
'I’m just a shadow of my father,' he'd said. No wonder he never wanted children.
Michael sighed. “Look, guys are pretty mechanical. We like fixing things. Protecting.”
He paused. “...Okay, and fucking.”
I laughed despite myself. “Nice.”
“I’m just giving full transparency. Don't over complicate it."
“The old Nicola is still there, you know.” I stared at the balcony. “I’ve seen both sides. I just... wanted him to let me in.”
“My Dad had a heart attack and my Mom couldn’t stand him at the end. I'm guessing he never let anyone in."
He gestured vaguely toward the windows. “Because in this life, you don’t show weaknesses. Or people use it against you.”
I thought about the way Lorenzo smiled knowingly. He knew exactly what I meant to Nicola.
He’d seen it before Nicola had. Michael gave my shoulder one last squeeze before standing.
“You should eat before you take those pills, Abby. I can ask Rob, the chef, to make you something before he leaves.”
“That’s okay, I’m not really hungry right now." I gave him a once over. "I know all of this happened under terrible circumstances, but it’s nice being around you and Tommy again.”
He hesitated at the door. “Take my advice, Abby: if you get another chance to leave all this behind… take it. I sure as fuck would, if someone let me.”
I wandered downstairs a few hours after my talk with Michael and found the kitchen exactly where I remembered it.
The room had been completely remodeled. The old dark cabinets were gone, replaced with a sleek white finishes and white marble. The appliances looked like they cost more than my car and probably did.
I opened the fridge.
“You’re Aubergine.”
I jumped, not recognizing the voice.
I spun to find a broad-shouldered man in an apron wiping his hands on a towel. I did a double-take. Between the brown coiffured hair, the tattoos, the big arms… this man looked like he could be a long lost Moretti brother.
I stared at his apron. “You must be Rob.”
He smiled warmly and offered me his hand. I shook it.
“I heard a lot about you. All good stuff, I promise.”
I wondered which Moretti he heard from, and which version of me they shared. That was a dangerous game of roulette.
“Any food allergies?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“Foods you hate, aside from mushrooms? Nicola already told me that one.”
My heart squeezed a little. “Um, no, that’s it. It’s the sliminess.”
He chuckled. “I get it.”
I looked back into the refrigerator. There wasn’t much else to say after that.
By Monday afternoon I unpacked everything the guys had brought back from my apartment.
Mostly. Nicola’s ring that I’d kept in my workbag only had a small journey to make. It should have been returned to the wooden box with the others.
Each time I tried to drop it in there, I just… couldn’t do it.
Tuesday came and went much the same.
I watched television. Answered emails. Worked remotely– a reluctant boon my boss gave me with a strained smile in our video call.
I had no idea why he hadn't fired me yet.
Occasionally, I would wander onto the balcony to get some sunlight.
Once I heard voices drifting up from the gardens below. Another time, Thomas blasted music. I caught Michael swimming laps in their massive pool.
I still hadn’t seen Nicola.
The routine continued.
Late Wednesday evening, I wandered downstairs for something to eat.
The kitchen lights were low. The house was quiet.
I found Nicola standing at the wine rack. I hadn't actually seen him for a few days and it was like a shock to the system letting my eyes get reacquainted with him.
He glanced over his shoulder as my heart raced. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
He picked up a bottle of Barolo. “Want a glass?”
“I’ll take a rain check.”
Disappointment flashed across his face for just a split second.
“The medication I was prescribed,” I explained quickly. “Dr. Lee said I can’t mix it with alcohol. I’d rather not die in my sleep at the moment.”
“Oh. I didn't know he..." He cleared his throat and put the bottle back.
I frowned. “I thought you wanted wine?” That was what he came in for, wasn’t it?
“Another time.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he disappeared down the hallway.
Thursday blurred into more routine. I answered emails. Finished a presentation.
It almost felt normal.
The only thing that deviated from the other days– Dad hadn’t answered any of my texts that afternoon.
That wasn’t like him.
Dad always answered my memes. I mean, I was hilarious. I sent another message an hour later. Nothing.
By Thursday night, worry had been done away with and evolved into panic.
I tried calling him one last time. When it landed on voicemail, I was already hurrying down the stairs looking for a Moretti brother. I didn't care which one.
I found the study door left halfway open. I knocked lightly against the frame.
Nicola looked up from his laptop, surprise flashing across his face before it disappeared beneath that familiar calm expression. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
The room looked nothing like I remembered. His father had essentially turned it into a smoking lounge. Nicola was too streamlined for that. All the dark, heavy furniture had been done away with.
Two empty coffee mugs sat beside a pile of paperwork. He had three monitors on. A tie had been tossed across the back of a chair.
On the leather couch to the far eastern wall sat a folded blanket. And a pillow.
Oh, no. He was living in here. Sleeping in here. Because I’d taken his room.
A knot twisted somewhere deep in my chest. Why couldn’t this little shit just let me take a guest room? Why didn't he shack up in one?
“You okay?” he asked.
I blinked, back to reality. “Yeah. I actually wanted to ask you something.”
He immediately closed the laptop. “What is it?”
“I haven’t heard from my Dad. It’s been–” I checked my phone. “A while. He hasn’t answered my calls or texts. And he always does."
Nicola frowned.
“I’m starting to get worried. I just want to check on him, so I can sleep tonight.”
He looked at the time on his watch. “I’ll take you.”
I blinked. “You will?”
Nicola was already standing and reached for his jacket. “It’ll be faster. Gio’s at the club right now, it would be too long of a wait. Come on.”
The garage had changed almost as much as the rest of the estate.
Fifteen years ago, it had been packed with the former Don Moretti’s classic collection.
A few remained. Most had been replaced by sleek European sports cars.
Maserati. Ferrari. Lamborghini. Things I couldn’t even name.
Nicola pointed toward a black Mercedes sedan.
“...That’s surprisingly practical,” I said aloud.
“I think you’ll be the most comfortable in it.”
“I'm glad we aren't taking a Bugatti. Thomas should get charged with a felony every time he climbs inside that thing.”
A soft snort escaped him as he opened the door for me. “Technically, Aubergine, I’d say your driving record is far worse.”
I gasped as I climbed in and looked up at him. ”I was seventeen years old. You shouldn’t have taught me how to drive in a fucking Lamborghini. If anything, that was as much your fault as mine.”
A restrained smile tugged at the corner of his mouth remained even as he walked around to the driver’s side.
“It was brand new. Practically right off the factory floor.” He sighed as he started the engine and I held back a wince. His hand went to my headrest as he glanced over his shoulder and reversed. “...And went straight to the wrecking yard.”
The drive was quiet, almost peaceful. Streetlights drifted across the windshield.
“I really think he forgot to charge his phone.” I said quietly as I stared out the window. “Or left it somewhere. He’s done that before.”
“I’m sure it’s something like that.” Nicola’s voice was calm. Steady.
I wanted to believe him.
By the time we reached Dad’s apartment, my stomach was in knots.
I practically jumped out before the car had fully stopped.
“Abby—”
I ignored him and hurried toward the building, taking the stairs two at a time.
Behind me I heard Nicola following, slower. But not by much.
My hands shook as I jammed the key into the lock. The apartment door swung open.
“Dad?” I called loudly.
Nothing. The lights were all off. The silence was killing me.
I dropped my keys onto the little table in the foyer.
Maybe he’d gone out? Maybe it was poker night at his friends?
No… that was Tuesday nights.
“Dad?” I tried again.
Still nothing. I checked the living room, the kitchen. Empty.
No sign of him.
My pulse hammered louder with every room. By the time I reached the hallway on the opposite side of the apartment, Nicola had caught up. He paused only long enough to catch his breath before following me.
I pushed open Dad’s bedroom door. The bed was empty, still made.
The bathroom light glowed beneath the cracked door. A sick feeling rolled through my stomach.
“Dad?” I pushed the bathroom door open.
He was lying on the floor, the shower curtain was half torn, hanging off its rings.
I think I screamed.
Nicola was at his side. Two fingers pressed against his neck, checking for a pulse.
“He’s alive. Help me get him on his back.” His voice was calm and controlled. I knelt down and we rolled my Dad onto his back. I saw a gash on his forehead where he must have hit the tubs edge and I bit back another whimper.
“Dad?” I whispered, shaking him at the chest. Nicola rose and pulled out his phone. I assumed he dialed 911, and then he brought it to his ear.
“Abby,” he said. I couldn’t answer, I was still lightly shaking my Dad.
“Look at me.”
My eyes lifted.
“He’s alive. We’re going to get him help.” He turned back to the dispatcher on the phone. Already giving the address, the apartment number. Instructions.
And... for the first time in my life, I let someone else take care of it.