Chapter 13
FRANKIE
Ihave to focus just to fit my key into the ignition.
My father has cars that are push-button, and for a moment, I wish I had one of those.
But the key finally cooperates, and the engine turns on.
I ease out of the parking lot, feeling like I’m driving on fumes.
Any moment now, I worry the car will break down, leaving me stranded.
So, I’m extra careful with every turn, and I don’t speed up to five miles above the limit the whole way there.
I’m not surprised that Sofia lied to me about her apartment.
She’s a single woman, and she didn’t know me very well.
My father has safe houses stashed all across the city so that he can meet with people without giving away his location.
It seems so commonplace, I don’t even give it a second thought.
I have to remind myself to keep Sofia’s car in view.
I don’t have her address so I can’t find her apartment if I lose her.
That also doesn’t bother me because I assume that we just didn’t coordinate this convoy well enough.
If we had more time, surely, she would have given me her address.
Neither of us is thinking straight. I just had an existential fright, and she’s only worried about comforting me.
Things slipped through the cracks. That’s all there is to it.
We pass the place I thought was hers and continue on for just a few more blocks. It may not have been the right building, but it’s in the same neighborhood. Her apartment is in a much smaller building. It doesn’t have a doorman or an awning out front.
She circles around back to a large parking lot and chooses a spot near the back door. I pull up beside her and get out, clicking the key fob to lock my car. Sofia takes my hand, which is a welcome gesture.
She guides me upstairs to the second floor, and down the hall to her apartment.
Inside, I’m struck by how small it is. My suite in my father’s house is bigger.
Sofia has a kitchen, which I don’t have, but hers is mashed together with the living room in a space smaller than my bedroom.
There are two doors on either side, which I assume are a bathroom and a bedroom.
The brown leather couch that takes up most of the space looks like it was sourced from a thrift store.
I try not to be judgmental. I know my circumstances aren’t normal.
My father is determined to display his wealth through the house and the cars, the interior design, and the pool.
He says it’s important that people who come to visit need to know who they’re dealing with.
All the furniture in my father’s house is custom-made, and a top interior designer selected all the paintings on the walls.
Since he married Marlena, a few things have changed. There are more cut flowers in more artistic vases, and a few paintings with warmer colors. But the entire scene remains unchanged. It is a testament to his power, and he likes it when people are impressed.
In contrast, Sofia’s place seems cozy. There is no pretension here, no indication that she cares what anyone else thinks. I suddenly feel unwelcome, as if I’m some kind of voyeur who is taking up space in her home without permission.
My heart rate speeds up. I feel a wash of heat creep up my neck, and I’m having trouble breathing. I’m not sure why this is happening again. Sofia has done nothing to elicit this kind of response.
“Is it happening again?” Sofia asks, her voice heavy with concern.
All I can do is nod.
I feel her hands on my shoulders as she guides me toward the couch. I sit down gratefully, and a moment later, I’m rewarded with a glass of water.
“Sip slowly,” she instructs.
I follow her advice, taking a small sip.
The cool water lifts my spirits, helping me relax.
I’m still wound up tight though, and I can feel my heart thundering in my chest. A moment later, something heavy falls across my shoulders.
I stiffen, ready to spring into action. If life with my father has taught me anything, it’s that you always need to be ready to fight.
“It’s a weighted blanket,” Sofia says softly. “It will help.”
Some of my panic deflates, and I focus on my breathing. This time isn’t as bad as it was in my room. At least now I know what’s going on. I close my eyes, clutch the glass of water in my hands and breathe in slowly.
Sofia sits down next to me and puts her arm around me.
We sit in silence for a few minutes until I’ve regained control.
Now that the panic has passed, I feel ridiculous.
Here I am with a blanket and a glass of water, looking like a prizefighter who has just stepped out of the ring.
Only, instead of an actual opponent, I’ve just been fighting myself.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Are you feeling better?” she asks.
“A little bit,” I admit.
“Sit back,” she says.
I’m too vulnerable at this point to care what she thinks of me.
Of course, I want her to see me as someone strong and attractive, but my heightened nervous system has made that impossible.
There’s no fighting it. I’m obviously a mess.
I follow her instructions, leaning back and relaxing my hold on the glass.
The cup comes to rest on my knee, and I’m just keeping it balanced, not really holding it up.
I open my eyes to see her television and a wall that has no artwork on it.
The dimensions of the apartment are a little restrictive, but I try not to become overwhelmed.
The last thing I want to do is point out how poor she is by comparison.
Not everyone has a billionaire father to pay for their lodging.
“Let me turn on the TV,” Sofia says.
She reaches for the remote and switches it on.
After punching a few buttons, she lands on a comedy show that I’ve never seen before.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out that it’s a really dumb show.
The laugh track alone identifies it as a late 1990s sitcom, with a typical family thrown into ridiculous situations.
It’s about the right speed for me now. I don’t have to concentrate to follow the plot. They’re just trading insults back and forth, and I enjoy it. As the seconds tick by, I’m able to relax increasingly until I finally decide to put the glass of water on the table in front of me.
Sofia lifts the blanket and my arm, leaning against me. I stretch my arm across her shoulders, welcoming her head onto my chest. We’re curled up like an older couple, watching daytime television alone in her apartment. It feels good.
“I’m sorry,” I begin, wanting to clarify that I’m not always such a train wreck. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“You’re human,” she says simply.
And there it is. She’s given me permission to let my guard down.
I don’t need to be a picture of masculine health for her to like me.
In fact, I’m getting the feeling that she’s impressed by my lack of self-control.
Maybe she’s one of those women who likes taking care of people.
I promise myself this is the last of the panic attacks.
I have to get this under control if I’m going to work for my father.
The tension rises again, so I have to block those thoughts out.
I’ll deal with the whole ride-along with Uncle Gio thing later.
For now, I just need to collect myself. I focus on the television show, laughing at some of the more ridiculous jabs.
I can’t believe this show ever made it onto the air; it’s terrible.
“You don’t have to apologize for having feelings,” Sofia says after a while.
“I wish I could be more manly,” I say regretfully.
She laughs. “You’re plenty manly. Even men have panic attacks. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Tell that to my father,” I moan.
She waits a beat, then adjusts herself in her seat. It’s almost like she’s sitting up to pay attention but also leaning against me. “Do you want to talk about it?” She asks.
I sigh, my eyes drifting up to the ceiling.
I want to talk to her, but I can’t risk it.
My father would kill me if I told anyone about his business.
And in a very real way, I would put Sofia in danger.
The less she knows about our family’s operations, the better.
But there are a few things I can talk about.
“I guess I’m worried about the new baby,” I admit.
“It’s a big change,” she agrees.
“I didn’t have the greatest relationship with my father growing up,” I tell her.
“How so?” she wonders.
“He was always busy, and I got the sense that I was a bit of a disappointment to him,” I say. Even speaking those words out loud hurts. I realize I haven’t ever spoken to anyone about my father because our secrets were too important.
“I’m sorry,” Sofia says, commiserating with me as if I’m just a regular guy with a regular father.
“And when the new baby comes, my dad is talking about retiring,” I continue. It feels safe to reveal that much. Most fathers don’t leave behind a legacy of violence when they retire. Most of them don’t have to go into hiding or pass down their criminal empire to their oldest son.
I mention nothing about me stepping into my father’s shoes. That’s not happening yet. I have plenty of time to work my way up to that level of leadership. Nine months to be exact, although Marlena’s at least a month into her pregnancy, making it eight months or less.
I close my eyes. At this rate, I’m going to be panicking forever. Sofia puts a hand on my stomach and draws a slow circle, calming me down. I hate that I’m so weak, but I’m thrilled at the physical contact. This is so much more than I expected, and exactly what I want out of our relationship.
I turn toward her, abandoning all thoughts of my father. His world seems so far away now that I’m safely enveloped in Sofia’s apartment. With her blanket on my shoulders and her body in my arms, I’m transported to a place where my family can’t touch me.
I lean over to give her a kiss, and to my surprise, she gives me permission. After brushing her lips with mine, I discover that she’s open to more. Tightening my arm around her, I pull her close.