20. Ophelia #2
“How does he do it?” I whisper to Salvatore as we eat in silence.
“Do what?”
“He has murdered people, right?” I whisper in his ear, smelling his cologne.
Salvatore nods, cutting up his steak. “Some people can compartmentalize.”
“Isn’t that what you have been doing for years?”
“I try,” says Salvatore. “But when you start forming real connections, you start getting in trouble. It’s best to remain distant.”
I stop chewing the steak for a moment, reading his side profile.
My appetite fading, I set the silverware together and rise from the table, excusing myself to go to the bathroom.
I make it under the first floral arrangement when I see David grab Salvatore. He pulls him to the side, away from the table, producing something from his breast pocket.
He hands it to Salvatore, muttering something to him. I zero in on David’s hands, trying to speak the language of hand gestures so I can work out the conversation. It looks extremely private.
Seeing the conversation start to wrap up, I disappear around the corner and spend the next two minutes finding the bathroom.
The woman in front of me wearing a corset dress guides me there.
I follow her into the restroom like a stalker and shut myself away in the stall for a few minutes of solitude.
I collapse on the other side of the door, releasing an aspirated breath. Who else is hiding secrets besides David and Salvatore? Is this fundraiser even about the families, or is it an excuse to dress up and show the city how much money you have?
My heart yearns for the simple life, for coffee with my mom after school. I would give anything to hear her make a comment about my ripped jeans, or for Aunt Viv to frown at our jokes.
She fell sick and died, and sometimes it still hits me that she’s never coming back. Death already takes enough lives as it stands without David and Salvatore running around killing people.
The difference is, Salvatore seems to be punishing himself for the past. He has everything. The cars, the money, the perfect penthouse overlooking Central Park, and he still looks lost…
Like he’s a Crow, but a lonely one.
I experienced love and loss, but Salvatore has only ever lost.
Working at his assistant, seeing these different sides to him, I realize how lonely it feels to be at the top. To have everything, and nothing all at once.
I unlock the stall, making eye contact through the mirror with a woman, topping up her lipstick. I offer her a smile but receive nothing in return.
This world looks warm from a distance, but cold up close. I understand why Salvatore wants to stay at the top, to bury Crow evidence and keep his mafia life secret—all he knows is the cold.
Jazz melodies drift through the walls as I exit the restroom, heading back to the main hall.
Salvatore is speaking to someone else, shaking their hand, listening to what they have to say. I walk straight past him, feeling his eyes on me as I return to the table.
I place the napkin over my lap, tucking back into the cold meal. I’m the only person at the table. Everyone else is networking, laughing about things I am probably too poor to understand.
I tuck into the wagyu steak—definitely the best steak I have ever eaten, but my appetite is still cold.
That being said, I’ll never touch a steak like this again, so I pick up my silverware and start cutting.
A dark shadow engulfs me, warmth spreading through my body as I sense Salvatore’s familiar presence behind me.
He takes a seat beside me. “The food is cold.”
“It still tastes good.”
Salvatore rises from his chair. “I’ll order you a new one.”
“And let this go to waste when people are starving? Wasting food doesn’t seem very fundraiser coded.”
Salvatore watches me with peculiar eyes, sitting back down. “Fair point.”
“What was David Hale talking to you about? I saw him pull you aside as soon as I left the table.”
Salvatore glances over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “The Crows.”
“Please tell me he knows who the new leader is? I’m tired of all this uncertainty.”
“He doesn’t know,” says Salvatore. “But he seems more passionate about the cause than I am. I guess he has more to lose.” Salvatore glances over his shoulder to where David is standing, talking to another table. “I have my business to lose, whereas he has his entire reputation.”
“He doesn’t give a fuck about orphaned children, does he?”
“Taking them off the streets prevents the new leader from rounding up new recruits,” says Salvatore. “But David’s mission to ‘save’ orphans has failed miserably.” Salvatore sits back, sliding a hand into his pants pocket. “One of his men was kicking around the self-storage unit in Queens.”
“How would David know about the unit? You bought it off the market.”
“Yeah, well,” shrugs Salvatore. “Philanthropists have eyes and ears everywhere, and you caused a trail, which probably didn’t help. Anyway, he paid someone to break into the unit.”
“He did what?” I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“I know,” says Salvatore. “I understand this isn’t nice to hear.
He should have come to me, asked for permission, since I’m the one who bought it.
Your late mother’s belongings are in that unit—it’s a sensitive matter, but if it makes you feel any better, there were only a few items inside.
” Salvatore hands me an old photograph. “Do you recognize this man?”
I hold the photograph, staring at the young man. He’s topless, a black crow tattoo marked across his chest. “No, I don’t.”
“His name was Ben. We were in the Crows together,” says Salvatore, staring at me. “If your mother kept this image safe in a unit—”
“This could be my father? The bastard who abandoned me and my mother while she was pregnant with me?” I tear the stupid photograph in half, handing it back to Salvatore. “Why are you showing me this?”