Chapter 6
Annamaria
Fifteen years old.
I’m hurrying to my last class when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
Rafe: Hey. You got a minute?
Me: Sure. What’s up?
Rafe: Can I call you?
I bite my lower lip and glance down the hallway, now thinning as students rush toward their classrooms before the bell.
I should be moving with them, but Raffaele and I rarely get the chance to talk on the phone.
It’s too risky. Texts can be explained away.
A phone call would invite too many questions.
Especially at home, where my siblings are both nosy and protective.
Since I’m not exactly a social butterfly, talking to anyone on the phone would immediately draw their curiosity.
They’d want to know who I was talking to and why.
I’m still considering my options when Raffaele sends me another text.
Rafe: Anna?
Damn it. He seems anxious.
I’ve never ditched class before. Not once in all my years at Sacred Heart. Except for that one afternoon spent holed up beneath the school’s chapel, praying over a rice-filled bag and the only connection I had to Raffaele. I doubt missing one class will do much harm.
Me: Give me five minutes.
Not wanting anyone to see me, I hurry outside, scanning the grounds for somewhere private to talk without being interrupted. Or worse, caught by one of the nuns and reported to my parents for skipping class.
Since the chapel is usually empty around this time of day, I decide to go in there, but when I reach the stairs and see Father Torres inside, talking to my brother, Enzo, no less, I quickly backtrack.
By the time my phone vibrates with an incoming call, I know my five minutes are up.
I make a split-second decision and slip behind the chapel into the small garden tucked away in the back.
There are no windows along this side of the building, and the thick bushes offer enough cover to keep me hidden away from prying eyes.
I head straight for a bench that rests near the base of an old oak, and I drop onto it to answer the call.
“Hey,” I say, a little breathless.
“Have you been running?” Raffaele asks. His voice sounds off. Tense.
“A little. What’s wrong?”
“You picked up on that, huh?” he says with a quiet sigh. “You always could read me like no one else.”
“Well, we’ve been friends a long time. It’s easy to tell when you’re not okay.”
“No. That’s not it,” he says slowly, and I can almost picture him dragging a hand down his face.
“You’ve always had this uncanny ability to see right into me.
It’s like you feel what I’m feeling. And I doubt it’s only with me either.
It’s like you know what people are carrying just by being near them. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“Are you calling me an empath?” I ask, smiling despite myself.
“Yes,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s the word. I’ve been trying to think of it all day.”
“Rafe,” I say softly, knowing he’s trying to sidestep whatever has him so weighed down. “What’s really on your mind?”
“Nothing,” he replies quietly. “I just needed to hear your voice.”
“Well, I’m here,” I tell him. “And I’m listening. Tell me what’s wrong.”
The line goes silent, as if it physically hurts him to begin.
I wasn’t lying when I said that being friends with Raffaele for so long has given me insight into how his mind works. Raffaele likes to joke and keep things light, pretending that our lives aren’t as heavy as they are.
I’ve never judged him for that. If anything, I understand it. I enjoy our conversations when they stay easy and playful. Debating ridiculous topics, laughing over nothing at all. Our lives are intense enough without dragging reality into every moment we share.
Still, sometimes reality creeps in anyway, demanding to be acknowledged. And by the looks of it, today is such a day.
“Have the twins been inducted yet?” he asks out of the blue.
My forehead creases, caught off guard by the question.
We never talk about Outfit or Cosa Nostra business.
I make it a point not to ask him about what is happening in New York, and he does the same with my family.
Talking about our families’ business with one another feels like crossing a line we are not meant to step over, since it could put both of us in an impossible position.
“You know I can’t answer that,” I say carefully.
“Wow,” he replies after a beat. “That’s not the response I thought I’d get.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, guilt settling heavy in my chest.
“It’s okay. I get it.” He lets out a sigh. “You don’t want to betray your family. I just thought…” His voice trails off, the silence stretching again. “I thought we were past that. I thought I had your loyalty, too.”
I take a moment before responding, really turning his words over in my mind. “You’re my friend, Rafe,” I say finally. “I’ll always be loyal to you.”
“As long as I don’t ask about the Outfit, right?” This time, I’m the one who keeps quiet. “It’s fine. I get it. Whatever,” he says, his tone sounding bitter all of a sudden. “I didn’t even want to know if your brothers were inducted anyway.”
“Then why did you ask?” I probe gently.
“Because,” he exhales in frustration before finishing, “I wanted to know if it was as hard for them as it’s been for me.” My heart breaks the second the words leave his mouth.
“You’ve been inducted?”
“Not yet, but I’m on my way,” he grumbles. “I didn’t want to worry you, but I’ve been doing low-level work for a while now. Just to get my feet wet. But next year, when I turn eighteen, I’ll have to face the music and take the fucking omertà.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, even though I know it offers him very little comfort.
“It just sucks, you know,” Raffaele says quietly. “Carlo promised me I wouldn’t have to worry about this shit. That I could be my own person. And then fucking Matteo…” He trails off, the curse hanging unfinished.
Whenever he talks about Matteo, there is always a trace of bitterness in his voice. Niccolò, he seems to tolerate better. Maybe even like him, in his own way. But Matteo is different, and I understand why.
After meeting him all those years ago, I can see exactly why a kind-hearted boy like Raffaele would resent him so deeply.
To me, Matteo comes across as nothing more than a bully with too much power over his siblings.
It makes sense that Raffaele would clash with him, especially if Matteo is forcing him into something he does not want.
“I wish I could be there,” I tell him softly. “I wish I could hug you.”
“Yeah,” he replies just as softly. “Me too. A hug would be really nice right about now.”
I wonder if anyone there can give Raffaele that kind of comfort.
A mother’s comfort.
He rarely talks about his mother, and when he does, there is always a quiet sadness in his voice.
From the little he has shared, I get the sense that she might not be well enough to offer him much of the attention he needs.
And Raffaele is starved for it. Perhaps that is one of the reasons we understand each other so well.
“Maybe,” he starts, hesitating. “Maybe one day I could come visit you in Chicago.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I admit, a lump forming in my throat at the mere suggestion. “All things considered, I mean.”
If any Donato were to so much as step onto Outfit territory, it would be a death sentence. And no matter how much I long to see Raffaele again, I would never want him to risk his life for me.
“Yeah. You’re probably right,” he mutters despondently. “But if I could, would you want me to? Would you even want to see me again?”
“What kind of question is that?” I smile. “Of course I would.”
“Really?” His voice brightens instantly.
“Raffaele Donato,” I say with a giggle, “if I could teleport you here right this second, I would.”
“Teleportation, huh?” he jokes. “You know there are these little things called planes, right? My family has, like, three of them.”
“Are you showing off now?” I tease, feeling lighter now that he is joking again.
“Just stating a fact, angel. How many does your family have?”
“One,” I reply. “And that’s only because we’re mindful of our environmental footprint.”
“Footprint?” He laughs. “This blue marble is going down the drain eventually. Why stress about it when you can enjoy the ride while it lasts?”
“Remind me to have the environmental responsibility talk with you again.”
“Please don’t,” he groans. “My head is already a mess. I don’t need to feel guilty about destroying the planet, too.”
“Alright,” I say with a smile. “I’ll give you one day of grace. Tomorrow, we revisit the topic.”
“Geez. Thanks,” he retorts playfully.
Then, as if all the worry and sadness that Raffaele had been carrying before calling me, simply seems to evaporate, as he starts animatedly talking about this and that. About nothing and everything. And just like that, he’s himself again.
I spend most of the time I was supposed to be in class on the phone with him, grateful that I was able to lighten his spirits. When I finally hang up, I feel like I’ve done my job as his best friend. Like I showed up when he needed me most.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and gather my books from the bench.
The bell will ring soon, which means Marcello will be here to pick me up.
If he sees me coming from behind the chapel, he’ll ask questions.
Questions that will lead to admitting I skipped class.
And I don’t want that. Because then he’ll ask why, and I want to keep Raffaele a secret for as long as I can.
But I don’t have time to make my escape, since two boys suddenly appear before me, halting my next step, with huge, ugly smirks on their faces.
My hackles immediately rise when I recognize them from class—Alec Parkinson, Blair’s boyfriend, and Tim Gavin, Victoria’s long-time crush.
Blair and Victoria are very familiar faces in my life, for all the wrong reasons, and their counterparts are just as unpleasant.