2. Valeria
VALERIA
I steal into my parents’ home, as silent and careful as a mouse.
The lights are all off. In the distance, a car drones past.
My boots in hand, I tiptoe through the kitchen to the first flight of stairs that leads to my room. Dad’s room is only a single door away, silent as a tomb.
The moment my foot touches the first stair step, the living room lamp flicks on.
“Val.”
I freeze. In the darkness, I hadn’t seen him, but he was waiting on the couch.
He’s dressed in a matching set of pajamas that look polished, even now when there’s no one here to see him but me.
“What?” I ask in a toneless voice. It’s late. Maybe he’s tired.
“Come here.”
I shuffle across the carpet and stand in front of my brother on the couch, just out of hitting range.
Stefano sets his glass of whiskey on the coffee table and stands. He’s only a little taller than me, but I’ve always felt tiny next to him. He brings his face close to mine and sniffs.
“You’ve been drinking.”
I don’t make excuses.
I know better.
I stand silently, and don’t let any of the resentment, fear, or anger seep into my face. I don’t make a single expression or sound. I do nothing.
“You smell like a fucking whore, Val.”
My mouth twitches with a grimace.
His hand jumps to my cheek. I flinch.
He laughs and pats my cheek, his eyes softening with genuine affection. He doesn’t need to be mad—I’m still the pathetic little sister under his thumb. He’s in control.
“You have fun?”
It sounds genuine, but I know it’s a trick question.
“No,” I say flatly.
SLAP.
Pain explodes into my face. I stumble back, cupping my stinging cheek. My teeth jangle in my mouth.
“Then why the hell did you go?” Stefano hisses, leaning in. “Was it worth it for you to go whoring around, opening your fucking legs for half of Chicago?” He grabs my wrist, and even though my cheek hurts and my head is pounding, I don’t resist. I stare down at my feet and bite my tongue.
“This isn’t a fucking joke, Val,” Stefano says, and I know what he means. I have to see Dad every day, just like him. “They’re going to kill us all if you don’t step in line.”
I clench my teeth and curl my toes into the floorboards, willing myself not to cry.
Dad fucked up, stumbling home more than a month ago with blood seeping into the bandages on his face and hand. He did something bad, and the don punished him for it. Why Don Salvatore didn’t finish the task and kill him, I don’t know. I don’t pretend to understand the motivations of evil men.
Now Dad spends all day in his room with the door shut. Mom already left, flew to Quebec to visit her sister, even though she hates the cold almost as much as she hates Zia Monica.
That just leaves me and Stefano, who’s more stressed than ever as he comes and goes at odd hours, eyes rimmed with dark circles.
We haven’t spoken about what happened, but I understand enough. No one invited us to Uncle Adrian’s birthday party, or to Cousin Steffie’s graduation. We are exiled from the Family.
But none of this changes my plan.
I’m moving out. Every day after work this week, I’ve been touring apartments. I have enough saved from my countless odd jobs over the years.
No one had kept tabs on me before, so long as I could pay my part of the rent. I figured I could sneak off to a party without anyone noticing.
“If you ever pull some shit like tonight again, I’ll beat you so hard no man will ever want you, you hear me?”
I was wrong. Everything’s changed now.
I nod.
Stefano releases me, and I stumble away.
I slink upstairs to my bedroom, shut my door with a whispered click, and lean against the solid wood, burying my impotent rage under pretty girl and the satisfying throb between my legs until my breathing settles.
With the silence in the house wrapped around me like a blanket, I change into sweatpants and a sweater and kneel at my bed in prayer.
But I don’t pray anymore.
Instead, I slip one trembling hand under my mattress and touch the first stack of cash there. All the money I’ve stashed away, from my bartending gigs and dancing stints, kept in cash so my family couldn’t find it—it’s all mine and still untouched. It’s safe. I’m safe.
I let out a shuddering breath. I’m moving out soon. Tonight will be the last time Stefano ever hits me.
“I wanted to touch base and see how you were fitting in.” Melissa clasps her hands on her lap and leans back in her chair, probably in an attempt to make me feel more comfortable, but despite the pictures of laughing, grass-stained grandkids on her desk and a handmade charm bracelet on her wrist, meeting with her is about comfortable as sitting on a thumbtack.
When she interviewed me a couple of months ago, she leveled a hard stare at me and asked if I would be able to sleep at night if one of my mistakes sent an innocent man to jail.
I told her no. She accepted my answer with a noncommittal hmph, but a few days later, I was sent an acceptance letter for the illustrious role of entry-level forensic tech.
She used to be a police officer until a perp shot her in the belly. She almost bled out on the side of the road as she dragged herself to the nearest gas station for help. She got her man, but after that, she decided she was more suited for office work.
“Thank you. I enjoy it. I’m learning so much.” I sit stiffly in the chair opposite to her, my palms on my thighs. After a beat of awkward silence, I add, “Trey and Connor are great to work with.”
Melissa lets me sweat in silence for a moment longer before she cracks a smile. “That’s great to know. I’ve been hearing positive things about you, so keep up the good work.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fumble with my pants to silence it. “Thank you so much.”
She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t mention the interruption. “We briefly discussed relocation during your hiring process.”
My heart rate spikes.
My phone vibrates again, and I silence it with sweaty palms. I wet my lips. “Yes, I’d be more than willing to relocate.”
“It would be about a year out, but I like to make sure my people can be prepared. At this point, it’s looking like once you’re finished with the training period, we have a need for competent folks in our lab in Springfield.”
I hold my breath. Springfield is almost three hours away, one of the farthest labs from Chicago but still within the Division of Forensic Services.
Melissa frowns a little. “I know you’re young. Relocating from Chicago to Springfield probably isn’t most people’s idea of fun—”
“No,” I say. Her grey eyebrows rise higher. I force a smile. “Springfield would be great. More than great. Thank you for telling me. I’d love to be considered.”
Another beat of horribly awkward silence before she lets out a raspy smoker’s laugh. “You’re an odd bird, Val.”
I speed walk to the bathrooms, containing all the buzzing energy inside me like a ricocheting bullet looking for an exit. I squeeze my hands into fists until I manage to get into a stall and lock the door behind me.
Once I have privacy, I cover my mouth and grin wildly.
Springfield?
Big, bright, New Year’s Eve fireworks shoot off in my mind’s eye.
All of my hard work—balancing school and bartending and stints of dancing and grocery delivery, of saying no to my friends countless times so I could study—all of it is finally, finally coming to fruition.
In a year, I can move. It’s practically a done deal the way Melissa spoke.
I’ll finally be free from my family—and I did it all on my own, the right way. I finished my degree, landed the job, and soon I’ll take off for a fresh start, far away from my crumbling, rotten life.
I blow out a huge exhale of relief through my fingers and slump against the bathroom stall divider.
I did it.
I fucking did it.
It doesn’t matter that Dad messed up or that Mom left or that Stefano’s on edge. I’ll move into my own apartment early next month, open a banking account my family won’t find, and I can start saving for a real place of my own in Springfield.
I close my eyes. I’ll have to get something tiny.
A fixer upper. But it’ll be in a safe neighborhood where I can walk to the coffee shop a few blocks down.
Maybe I’ll meet someone there. Springfield’s a quiet town.
I could raise kids there. I think of the sexy guy at Mei’s party and grin—a wild memory for when I’m a boring, happy, suburban mom.
With my lungs full of fizzy delight, I grab my phone and check my messages. Lacey sent a dozen memes per usual, and there are two missed calls from Stefano.
And a text from Dad.
Come home now.
Icy fingers squeeze my organs into a mash.
It’s probably nothing, I tell myself, even though Stefano never calls and Dad doesn’t text me. Is Mom okay?
I check under the stall to make sure I’m alone and call Stefano.
“I’m on my way to pick you up,” he says.
“What? I can’t leave. I’m at work. My shift doesn’t end for another two hours.”
“Make up a fucking excuse. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Panic thrums through me.
My family has never asked to visit any of my places of work, and I’ve never wanted them to—especially not this one. Melissa would take one hard look at my seedy brother and draw certain conclusions about my own suitability to be an impartial part of the criminal justice system.
“What’s the emergency, why are you even—”
He hangs up.
I stare at the silver stall latch, locked shut, and squeeze my phone as hard as I can. I force myself to swallow the hot, useless emotions swelling in my throat.
And when I’m done, I turn toward the toilet to make myself throw up.