11. Alex
“You went streaking? Mr. Suit-and-Tie went streaking? No way.” Alex dips a waffle fry into a small tub of ketchup, while TJ sits at Ben’s desk, funnily enough, not wearing his usual business attire.
The vinaigrette from his radish salad punctures the air inside her office as they take a much needed break from the crusade against Corporate America.
“I promise you,” TJ says, tossing his utensils into an empty takeout container. “But I’d just turned twenty-one, eh? And I told you that to lighten the mood—not so you could judge me. Damn.”
Alex laughs. “Why not both?”
She’d taken a risk by claiming that C. Harley was unavailable and deciding to do the job as herself, and she and TJ have been working to gather evidence for a couple of hours now, so she welcomes the opportunity for both.
So far, they’ve discovered that Hetty and the assistants who disappeared all came from the same temp agency, which a close colleague of the director owns. Seven years ago, this colleague married a girl less than half his age, and Alex found that someone falsified her birth records, making her barely sixteen at the time. It stands to reason the girl may have been a trafficking victim, but Alex hasn’t yet been able to make any connections.
She’s been able to make plenty to herself, though.
In the way one man rode in on his beautiful horse, blinding a girl with his shiny words. His duplicity cloaked by the appeal of achieving the unachievable. His affectionate gestures, subtle at the start, fulfilling her underdeveloped desires to the point of dependency.
The deeper Alex dives into this tragedy, the more invested she becomes in obtaining the justice she wasn’t able to get for herself. Hitting a wall is disheartening, but she’s nowhere close to giving up.
“Hey…you OK?” TJ asks as a red glob falls to Alex’s leggings.
Ugh. “Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. I just occasionally get these reminders of how important all this is to me.” She grabs a bunch of napkins and wipes the ketchup off her thigh. “I’ve never really felt as though the universe liked me very much. But things started to feel different recently, and I feel like I’m supposed to be doing this? I mean, not working on a Sunday, but…” They both smile at each other.
“Hey, this is the only day I could get down here.”
“Are you flying back tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Yikes. Then we should probably get back to it.”
They pore through bank statements, emails, and phone records, silently approaching another round of screen fatigue until—
“Check this out.”
TJ curves around and slams into Alex’s desk like he’s playing roller chair derby. It sounded painful, but he just stares intently at her monitors.
Okay, then… “So, your director purchased the same type of van seven different times over the last three years. A month ago, one of these vans caught a speeding ticket in New York. But turns out, all the vans make that trip every two weeks. At least they have for the past year. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“They’re using them to transport the victims.”
“Yeah. But once again—I can’t help you prove it. They pull off from one garage to another; the drivers wear masks the entire time. I mean, unless you tail them yourself, then…” TJ mutters something and Alex’s neck lurches back. “That wasn’t a legit suggestion!”
He quickly flashes what’s becoming a signature grin. “I know, Alex. Relax. You did give me an idea, though.”
“What?”
“I’ll…tell you if it works.”
Alex examines herself in her bedroom mirror after changing into an olive pencil-skirt and a black tank-top. She pats at her tight coils tied up in a pineapple with a satin scarf, and sniffs under her arms. Why she cares about looking cute to a man who’s supposedly about to upend her life is a real head-scratcher, but she cares, and the end result satisfies her.
She’s anxious as hell. Last night started great; Antonio seemed to reciprocate her flirting. They talked trash the entire time, found reasons to close the distance between them whether sitting or standing, and when he offered to walk her to her car, Alex would have guessed she and Antonio would have been more likely to share a kiss than a squabble.
Whatever is at the heart of his hesitation troubled him so visibly, it almost made Alex not want to know at all, but she refuses to enter this new chapter of her life willfully ignorant.
Alex swipes a pair of hoop earrings from her dresser and heads to the living room. She turns on the TV and tunes in to a news segment on climate change before sitting on the couch.
The next forty minutes report on a string of carjackings, a baby born at the exact day and minute as their mother, and the April showers in store for this week. Then the bell finally rings. Alex slaps her thighs and prepares for the unknown while walking to the door.
At the mere sight of Antonio, her brain shorts out. He looks good, no surprise there, but it’s the effect he has on Alex emotionally that’s so mystifying. She thought it was only when they touched that he made her feel so secure, but right now, just his presence does the same. She feels as though she has his undivided attention, and considering how dismissive she’s seen him with others, that’s kind of a turn-on, albeit in a shallow way.
“How…does it feel to be on the approved visitor list?” Alex jokes, employing her go-to technique against awkwardness.
The corners of Antonio’s eyelids crinkle. “Very exclusive.” He flaps his hair from his face and steps past Alex to take his shoes off.
He remembered?
Great. She’s letting more basic decency impress her. Alex closes the door and crosses her arms, ready to transition to their main objective. “Alright. Let’s hear it.” But Antonio’s mouth parts, and he grunts. “I—guess we could at least sit.” Alex moves to the couch, tucking her feet under her and leaning her head against a crimson blanket.
Antonio cracks his knuckles and faces her, but doesn’t sit down. “I don’t even know where to start. I’ve had this conversation so many times with you in my head, but now… This thing I’ve been holding on to? It’s about our fathers. Your biological one. Charlie Fox.” He lands beside Alex, while his opening statement settles as well.
“Okay…”
Antonio leans his elbows on his knees and looks toward the TV, silently advertising some unappetizing-looking, boxed mac n’ cheese. “In the 80s, Donny Moretti was a prominent dealer. The textbook definition of ruthless. Scary, cold, calculated, untrusting.”
“Kind of like—”
“Me?”
Alex’s head shoots up and she furrows her brows. “N-No. Ivan.” Is that really how he sees himself?
Sure, the very first day they met won’t exactly be one of her favorites, but after that, Antonio has pretty much been the opposite. With Alex, anyway.
Antonio scratches his neck. “Oh. I guess, but in my opinion, Donny was worse. I guess because I had to live with the guy. But before all that, he was best friends with your dad. In eighth grade, Donny stopped Charlie from getting jumped by these real ‘you don’t belong here’ assholes. Probably saved his life. After that, they looked out for each other. Became something like brothers. Then, in high school, Donny started working as a runner under this guy. Giancarlo Tucci.”
“Did my dad—was he…did he do that, too?” Alex sits up all the way while Antonio sits back.
“Yes, and no. Donny put all his energy into getting ahead of the pack so Tucci would notice him. He had no problem getting his hands dirty.” Antonio cracks his knuckles again. “That wasn’t Charlie’s style at all, but he wanted to help his friend, I guess. Fast forward some years, Tucci’s ready to retire. He never had any kids, so who better to pass his legacy to than his most accomplished employee? Donny was right where he wanted to be. So, if he was like the brazen, go-getter CEO, then Charlie…was the reserved second-in-command.”
And Alex couldn’t find anything about that. Or, maybe there was nothing to find. Where would someone list narcotics distribution on their job history?
“You’re gonna rip this thing off one day.” Antonio wrests Alex’s hand from her ear and caresses it. “What are you thinking in there?”
What she’s thinking now is how good her hand feels in his. But she can’t say that. “I’m wondering what I’m missing. Our dads were drug lords, yeah, okay. But that can’t be what’s got you so intense, so what happened?”
Antonio frowns. “What happened was that our fathers fell in love with the same woman.”
“That’s some soap opera shit. Who?”
“...Tracy Daily.”
Alex’s hand snaps out of Antonio’s. “I’m sorry. What?”
He shrugs, his head hanging to the left. “Yeah. Donny never liked to talk too much about it, and the parts I do know have a shit-ton of gaps. He took the rest to his grave. But it’s a fact Tracy and Donny were together first.”
Antonio doesn’t look at Alex while sharing the details of their parents’ relationship. He’s so hunched over that if he laid down, he’d be in the fetal position. It’s hard to believe that the details actually distress him so much, and Alex feels strangely compelled to rest a hand on his back.
She learns Tracy was a bartender at Pinnacle, and Donny liked what he saw and claimed her. However, because Donny was always so busy, Tracy started spending a lot of time with Charlie, who was the only one Donny ever let be alone with Tracy. Under those circumstances, her feelings changed, and clearly not in Donny’s favor. Charlie and Tracy were both excommunicated for their “betrayal”.
“Wild. Both my parents were in a fucking gang.” Alex then raises her eyebrows and peers at Antonio. “So you inherited a gang. No wonder.”
“prism is…light years away from what Donny built,” Antonio says, but not very firmly. At least he’s sitting up now. “Anyway, years passed. Donny met my mom, had me. And somehow, he and Charlie cross paths again and reconcile. I swear I remember him coming over for Christmas once and giving me a bike when I was like three or something.”
A freaking bike, huh?Alex shakes her head. “Why would you not tell me all this when I literally asked you who you were?”
Antonio’s laugh is abrupt and breathy. He hops off the couch and clenches his fists, only giving her his back to see.
“Antonio…”
His head falls and he quietly says, “The reason…you don’t have your father…is because of mine.”
“He got him killed?”
“Tch. No, Alex. Donny Moretti killed Charlie Fox. Almost twenty-seven years ago.”
“…Oh.”
So, there it is. Alex immediately prepares to launch into a visualization exercise, but she doesn’t find herself dissociating as she expects. The room stays where it is, and her consciousness doesn’t float away; she doesn’t disconnect from the feelings Antonio’s revelation evokes.
A long time ago, Alex decided to assume Charlie and Tracy were no longer alive. It was the only conclusion that made sense. So, somewhere in a swarm of emotions is relief to have the mystery resolved. Somewhat. There’s still the matter of the glaringly obvious, though.
Alex stares at Antonio’s shoulders falling from his ears. “Why?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if Donny would’ve told me if I hadn’t…”
“Hadn’t what?”
“Seen it,” Antonio whispers.
“Wait. S-Seen it?” Alex echoes, rushing over to him. She stands on her toes and yanks his chin down.
It appears as if he’s seeing it now, too. His gaze turns cloudy and distant. Alex does the math; Antonio wasn’t even five years old. At that age, he should’ve been scraping his knee learning how to ride that bike of his. Or learning how to tie his shoes, or count to twenty. Not witnessing a murder. She wants to ask him how it happened, but fears she’d be cutting into a wound that likely never healed properly. So, instead…
“I’m sorry.” Alex wraps her arms around Antonio and plants her cheek against his chest.
Not only does he not return her embrace, he tenses. “What? Why would you be sorry?”
“Because you saw your father kill someone?”
He pulls back and they hold onto each other’s forearms. “Not someone. Your father, Alex. Seriously, how the hell are you apologizing right now?”
“It’s an apology of empathy, Antonio. Jeez.”
“Well, it’s stupid. You were the one talking about how obsessed you were with finding out what happened to Charlie and Tracy. I tell you it’s my fault and you’re apologizing?”
Alex steps back from him completely. “How did we get to this being your fault? Did you really think I’d…what? Blame you because I can’t blame your dad?”
“I think you can’t be OK after hearing all this.”
Alex definitely foresees some aftershocks, but at this moment, her primary concern is the person in front of her. She sighs and pulls Antonio back to sit on the couch. “It feels like…you want me to be more upset than I am.”
Antonio looks at her as if she’s speaking another language. “It feels like you’re not upset at all.”
She lets out a soft laugh. Now it feels like they’re in the middle of a couple’s counseling session. And what would Dr. Kiara Bell say? For Alex not to force something she doesn’t feel, but also not to repress what she does, as would happen with Nik.
So, Alex studies Antonio and in doing so, remembers the look he gave her when she told him her biological name. She remembers his comment, “I don’t think you ended up here on your own”. And his shift from adversary to hero… Maybe it was all too good to be true. Maybe he’s more like James than she’s willing to admit.
But James never disclosed his own red flags.
Ugh.
Alex’s head is one big ball of confusion, so she follows her gut.
“Fine,” she says. “Fine. I am upset with you, okay? I’m upset because I don’t want to feel like your damn charity case.”
“Wait, what?”
“Two million dollars, Antonio! You forked over all that money because you felt guilty?!”
Antonio shoots both hands over his hair. “It’s not even that much—”
“It is to me.” She slaps a hand over her chest. “I never want to feel like I owe anybody ever again.”
“You don’t—”
“But I feel like I do. If you had told me that’s what you’d done, I would’ve—”
“You would’ve what? Worked for me instead?” He folds his arms, and for a moment, Alex gets a flashback to her heated debates with Nik. “Don’t you realize that’s exactly why I did what I did? So you didn’t have to be in that position at all?”
“But I didn’t earn it!”
Antonio stands up as if he were sitting on a spring. “Godda—what do you want from me?”
His confusion irritates her. “Did Frankie kill my father?”
“What?”
“Did Luca? Or Yuri?”
“Where are you going with this, Alex?”
“By your logic, I should be blaming anyone with the same last name as Donny, right? Look, I get it, okay? What happened between him and Charlie is a huge fucking deal. And if Donny was in front of me, then I’d…” One of those aftershocks hits Alex, but she keeps the tears forming at bay and breathes deeply. “But he’s not. And I’m not going to make you pay for his sins. You don’t owe me anything. So you have to let me pay you back that money.”
“What, with honorable intentions? Sorry, I’m not really sure what the exchange rate is.”
“Then we’ll make one up!”
Antonio breathes sharply and presses his palms together. “You sound insane.”
I bet.
If Ben were here, he’d be cursing Alex out bilingually. Her parents, too. But she doesn’t expect anyone to understand her perspective. Call it PTSD or whatever, but the thought of Antonio having two million reasons to feel like he’s able to call in a “favor” at will is unsettling. At least this way, Alex feels as though she has a say in the terms of their arrangement.
“One week,” Antonio says.
“Be serious. It has to be at least until the end of this year.”
“You only had two left with Komarov. You might as well have…” He sucks his teeth. “One month.”
“Six.”
“Three. Final-damn-answer, Alexandra Agneau.”
“Okay. Shake on it.” Alex stands up and has to reach for his palm, as Antonio never looks to make an effort.
Boy, we’re in for a wild-ass ride, aren’t we?