Chapter 11
FRANKIE
“Frankie, can I have a minute?” My father asks, startling me on my way out the door.
I’ve got my backpack in one hand, with my laptop, charging cables, snacks, and a bottle of water. I’m on my way to the library where I think I can get some studying done. There’s also a small chance I’ll run into Sofia again, which I’m looking forward to.
“Sure,” I agree, because there’s only one answer to any of my father’s questions. If he says “jump,” you’re supposed to ask, “How high?” If he asks you a yes or no question, the answer he’s looking for is invariably “yes.”
“Come into my office,” Dad says, leading the way down the hall.
I glance at the door, lamenting not having left sooner.
I know I should be grateful for everything my father’s position has afforded me.
I have enough food to eat, water to drink, and a fantastic living situation.
But my favorite time of day is any time I can get outside these four walls.
It looks like that won’t be happening anytime soon.
When Dad asks me into his office, there’s usually an entire agenda, or a lecture. I can’t decide which is worse.
I follow him dutifully and set my things down on one of the two chairs facing his desk.
I take a seat on the other chair, waiting to hear what he has to say.
He closes the door, and I wonder why we’re alone.
Usually, he has a bodyguard sitting in, or Uncle Gio.
I’m not sure if privacy is a good thing or a bad thing this time.
“Where are you off to?” Dad asks, circling the desk.
“I thought I would go to the library to study,” I say.
“You’re studying a lot lately,” Dad observes.
“Do you want to know the truth?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he answers.
“The sample questions for the bar exam are complicated. There’s a lot of case law I need to know.
And more than that, I must prove that I can apply the case law to a new situation.
” I study his reaction carefully. Ordinarily, I would assume that I was boring him by now, but he doesn’t look bored.
He’s giving me space to answer the entire question and listening like a concerned father should.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he replies after a moment passes.
“I just don’t want to walk into the room and blank out,” I say, revealing some of my insecurities.
“I think you need to relax,” he says. I translate that to mean he has something else planned for me today.
“Okay,” I agree.
“You don’t want to burn out on studying,” he continues.
“Right,” I say. I can’t tell what’s on his mind, so I’m forced to wait patiently for him to reveal his agenda. In the meantime, there is no way I’m going to anger him by refusing to cooperate. If he wants me to take a break today, that’s fine. I’ve already done enough studying.
“I’m really proud of all the effort you put into becoming a lawyer,” Dad says.
My heart pounds inside my chest. This is getting dangerously close to something like affection.
I know my father loves me, but he doesn’t express it often.
I don’t want to move or breathe, for fear that his moment might evaporate.
I wait to hear what he says next, knowing that it comes from a good place.
“I’d like you to become more involved in the family business,” Dad continues.
My eyes close like a camera lens refocusing.
A thousand emotions hit me at once. There is terror; I don’t want to be more involved in the family business.
Pride fills me because I’m glad my father considers me worthy.
There is disappointment because I don’t know what this will mean for my blossoming relationship with Sofia.
And there is anxiety because I’m not sure if I will be any good in the role.
“What were you thinking?” I ask, trying to be tactful. I don’t want him to know that I’m so conflicted, but I need more information.
“I’d like you to spend some more time with Gio,” Dad replies.
“Okay,” I agree rapidly. I like Uncle Gio. To some people, he can seem intimidating, but to me, he’s always been a teddy bear.
“He can walk you through a typical day,” Dad explains. “I’d like you to get out there and meet some of our…assets.”
I’m not sure what he means by assets. I’ve met tons of people who are in business with my father, both legitimately and illegitimately.
I’ve met politicians and police officers who are probably on the take.
I’ve met famous movie stars and sports figures who were eager to prove their loyalty to my father. So, what does he mean by ‘assets’?
I decide to chance asking the question, since I’m obviously not getting out of this room soon. “What do you mean by assets?”
“Some folks we work with,” Dad replies. That’s only slightly clearer and still leaves me wondering about the identity of all these people I’ll be meeting. “Underbosses, Capos, informants, that sort of thing.”
I swallow hard. In my home, it’s common knowledge that my father runs a criminal enterprise.
Yet he is remarkably circumspect about his personal involvement.
I’ll hear him talk about things like packages being delivered, or certain people needing to see HR.
But I’ve never heard him describe the people who work for him as underbosses or informants.
There’s really only one way to interpret those words.
“Don’t worry,” he assures me with a smile. “We’ll start you off in the shallow end.”
“Good,” I answer, wincing when my voice cracks. That hasn’t happened since I was a teenager, and it doesn’t sound even remotely confident. I don’t actually want to wade into the shallow end of my father’s enterprise, but it doesn’t look like I have a choice.
“Great,” he says, wrapping up our brief interview.
It looks like I’ve landed the job I’ve been worried about since day one. I know that all who work for my father have been wondering whether I’ll get more involved. They treat me like a prince who may or may not be ascending to the throne.
“I hope you feel ready for this,” my father adds, not quite looking for my input. He gazes up at the ceiling and talks about his own future. “Now with the new baby on the way, I’m considering the possibility of stepping down at some point.”
“Really?” I gasp.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he cautions. “This is still classified.”
He gives me a smile, and I know he loves comparing himself to the President of the United States.
Their jobs aren’t exactly similar, but there are some things they have in common.
For example, the President has access to military forces that will kill on a moment’s notice.
I suspect my father has access to the same thing, albeit much less special ops and more breaking kneecaps. I guess I’m going to find out.
“I won’t say anything,” I promise him.
Now that he’s opened the door to speculate about life after the mafia, my father can’t stop talking. “I was thinking about retiring to our place in Italy. A nice country villa would be a great place to raise a son.”
“Are you sure it’s a son?” I ask, unable to escape a twinge of jealousy.
If the new baby is a boy, and our father really invests time and energy in his upbringing, I’ll become old news.
My baby brother might have the kind, attentive, loving father that I never did.
Instead, I’ll be running a criminal organization while my father, his beautiful new bride, and their love child are off on vacation together.
“I’m sure,” Dad says, in a way that makes me understand he doesn’t really know.
Marlena isn’t showing yet, and while I don’t know a lot about pregnancy, I’m positive that you can’t know immediately.
There must be some doctor’s exam or test that they run to determine if the baby is a boy or a girl.
Since Dad hasn’t shared those results, I can assume he’s just being presumptive.
He wants a boy. Therefore, he’s going to have a boy.
“Will it be safe for you and Marlena?” I ask. I’ve also heard that the kind of life my father lives is notoriously difficult to get out of. I don’t want to take over operations only to learn that he’s been killed in Italy. What would I do then? I would have to avenge him.
That whole scenario takes up real estate in my brain that I don’t want.
I start imagining all the horrible things that I would have to do in the event of an attack on my father.
Will I have to vet hitmen? Or will Uncle Gio take care of it all?
Will I have to look at pictures of what happened, or could I just accept on faith that the job has been done and leave it at that?
I’m getting ahead of myself.
I take a deep breath, dragging my thoughts back to the present moment. I’m not the leader of the organization yet. I’m not even a soldier. All my father has asked me to do is meet some people and shadow Uncle Gio for a day.
“As safe as anywhere,” my father says. “That’s why it’s important for you not to tell anyone my plans.”
“Of course,” I respond.
I wait impatiently for him to dismiss me.
Another thing I’ve learned in my twenty-four years in this house is that you don’t leave the room until my father dismisses you.
That goes for me and his entire staff. The only person I’ve ever seen break that rule is Marlena. She’s pretty much free to come and go.
“That’s all,” my father says, excusing me.
I nod once, letting him know that I’m on board. Everything we talked about will remain between us, and I’ll do what he asks to learn the ropes. I’m not looking forward to it, but it isn’t until I’m safely back in my suite that I start to panic.
What in the hell am I going to do? I don’t think I have the stomach to run such a large operation. What if I make a mistake? What if someone dies? What if the police find out and I’m sent to jail?
I think about Sofia and how much I want to get to know her. Will my new position within my father’s organization affect our romance in any way? Will she accept me the way Marlena accepted my dad? Or will she turn tail and run as soon as I explain to her what’s going on?
But then I remember that I’m sworn to secrecy. I couldn’t tell Sofia even if I wanted to. I have to decide whether to continue pursuing her or let her go. The last option feels like mercy, but it hurts to even contemplate.
I can’t figure out what to do with myself. Realizing that I’ve left my backpack in my father’s office doesn’t help. I can’t go back now to retrieve it. He’s probably already in a meeting with someone else.
I guess I’ll wait an hour or two and then go back and get it. But between now and then, I’ve got nothing to occupy my time. I’m too wound up to watch TV, and I don’t want to drag out my bodyguards just to go for a run. I pace, but I’m having trouble breathing.
The room spins. My face feels like it’s on fire. I can hear my heartbeat like a stampede of elephants in my ears. I crouch, reaching for the sofa before I tumble to the floor. It feels like I’m having a heart attack, and I don’t know what to do.
Pulling my phone out, I force myself to concentrate long enough to dial a number. It’s not 911 because that’s not an option in my home. Instead, I call the only person who I know outside of the family, the woman whose future with me is undetermined: Sofia.