Chapter 20
SOFIA
I’ve become an expert on my would-be boyfriend.
I log every time he texts me, and when I hit a wall in my research, I go back to his text thread.
I try to analyze the words he writes. Are any of them full of hidden meaning?
Has he dropped any hints that I missed the first time around?
Scrolling back through the blue and green text bubbles, I reminisce.
In the beginning, our texts were hesitant.
We were each trying to impress the other.
The more recent ones are much more elaborate, with entire paragraphs describing our feelings and our memories.
I can tell that he stays up until one or two in the morning sometimes, and that he wakes up early as well.
This means he’s probably not sleeping very much.
I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad, or if it has any significance at all.
I usually wake up around eight-thirty because I’m not a morning person. If I have to be in the office by nine, that gives me half an hour to wake up, get dressed, drink some coffee, and drive. I’m always a few minutes late, but no one has ever said anything.
When I arrive at work, I decide to reach out to Frankie.
I’m getting nowhere with my research, so I have time on my hands.
Mario is waiting for me to deploy him on another assignment, but so far, there’s nowhere else I want him to go.
And Mr. Harlan is still waiting for that article, and I only have a few days left to put something on his desk.
I stare at my screen for a few moments, composing a text in my head. Finally, I type, trying to make the question relaxed rather than pushy.
Me: Do you want to meet at the library?
There’s no reply for almost an hour. I’ve almost forgotten about the invitation when my phone buzzes.
Frankie: Sorry. Got caught up in something. Are you at the library yet?
Me: Not yet.
Frankie: Meet you there in two hours?
Me: Sounds good.
I have two hours now to finish up my work, but since it isn’t going so well, I decide to go home early.
I change into something I hope will impress Frankie.
It’s a little more formal than what I usually wear.
I have to remember that we’re going to the library.
That means we might study together or do something else equally unromantic.
But the thought of seeing him again fills me with joy.
I’m skating dangerously close to something like love, and it should frighten me.
But instead, all I’m feeling is a sense of satisfaction and anticipation of the night to come.
I waste an hour and a half going over my notes and getting ready for my date.
I need to come up with something to do if we are going to work at the library.
I decide to double down on what Frankie thinks is genealogical research.
I pull up a few articles about previous mayors and print them out so that I can show him.
It’s a simple distraction that will allow me to pull the wool over Frankie’s eyes.
I feel a little guilty about that, but only slightly.
There’s no way in the world I can be honest with him, so this small lie seems inconsequential.
I get into my car with my laptop in a carrying case.
Driving to the library, I rehearse my story in my head.
Instead of working on an article about his family, I’ll tell him I made little to no progress on my city history project.
I’ll deflect any direct questions and make the whole evening about Frankie.
Who knows, maybe I’ll even get some intel out of the arrangement.
I park on the street and walk up to the library. I’m expecting to find him studying inside, but he’s waiting for me on the steps. He takes me in his arms and kisses me before I can even say hello. I’m astonished. He’s never been affectionate in public before. I wonder if something’s changed.
“You’re in a good mood,” I say, when he finally lets me go.
“I had a good day,” he remarks.
“What was so good about it?” I ask, linking my fingers together behind his neck. I’m gazing up into his eyes, astonished by the joy within them. He’s really and truly happy, something that I don’t know if I’ve ever witnessed before.
“I don’t know,” he responds. “Just seeing you makes everything better.”
I put my head against his chest and hold him tight.
That isn’t an answer to any of my questions, and it doesn’t give me any insight into his daily activities.
But that doesn’t really matter. He’s happy to see me, and I’m happy to see him.
Whatever else is going on in our lives can’t hold a candle to that.
“What do you say we skip the library and go for dinner?” Frankie suggests.
“Sure,” I agree. “I actually did a lot of my work already.”
“You spent the day working?” He guesses.
“Pretty much,” I respond. “Although I spent a few hours getting ready for our date.”
“A few hours?” he gasps, looping one arm around my shoulders and leading me away from the library steps.
I link my arm around his waist, and we walk down the street, officially a couple.
If anyone sees us now, there’s no mistaking what’s going through our brains.
I don’t even look like an undercover journalist anymore.
I’m wearing nice clothes and practically hugging my mark as we walk and talk.
I hope Mario isn’t around somewhere taking pictures.
Mr. Harlan would yank me from the story faster than a lightning strike if he found out.
“There’s a tiny little restaurant just around the block,” Frankie says.
“How is it you know so much about restaurants in this city?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy eating?” I tease.
“Among other things,” he agrees.
I let that slide. I’m hoping that the other things he’s talking about aren’t directly related to his father’s empire.
I want to believe that he’s just an innocent bystander who has nothing on his plate other than the bar exam.
Some part of me wonders if I’m being na?ve, but another, larger part, believes that it’s okay to trust my gut.
I know Frankie isn’t a dangerous man. Whatever he’s doing at all the restaurants he visits can’t be all that bad.
I follow his lead around to the opposite side of the block. The place he wants to go is a tiny sliver of a place, wedged between a sandwich shop and a bookstore. We step inside, and the smell of curry hits me. It’s warm and welcoming, and my stomach grumbles in happy anticipation.
There aren’t a lot of tables, and only one waitress.
She seats us near the door so that we can watch all the people walking by on the street.
I wish I could open my heart and tell Frankie exactly what’s bothering me.
I have a hunch that if I did so, he wouldn’t run away.
He might even forgive me, considering all I suffered when I found Danny’s body.
But of course, I can’t do that. I have no way of knowing whether Frankie would tell his father, and then my whole investigation would dry up.
The lies between us feel like barbed wire, but they have to stay in place.
I search my brain for safe topics of conversation. Our daily activities are off limits, since there’s so much, I have to hide. So, I settle on girls’ softball, since the playoffs are currently running on TV.
Frankie brings up one of his hypothetical questions from the bar exam study website. “There’s a gift shop that wants to advertise by using graffiti on its walls. What are the laws concerning free speech, and do they apply in that case?”
“I guess so,” I say hesitantly.
“It depends on the message of the graffiti,” Frankie tells me. “If it’s just ‘shop here,’ that’s not protected speech.”
“Fascinating,” I say.
He wrinkles his nose, “It’s boring. You can tell me the truth.”
“Okay,” I relent. “It’s a little bit boring.”
“It’s a lot boring,” he objects. “And I’m up until midnight studying every night. Those questions don’t get any easier.”
“You’re going to do fine,” I assure him. “I’ve never seen anyone study harder.”
He rolls his eyes but then catches himself before he reveals anything significant. “I could be studying more,” he says.
“I don’t see how,” I respond.
He doesn’t answer, so I let the subject drop. I don’t want to step on any landmines, even though I feel like Frankie’s the quickest way to a great story. I’m not sure what I’m going to deliver to Mr. Harlan in a few days, but I find myself increasingly unwilling to throw Frankie under the bus.
“I’d like you to come to my house tomorrow,” he blurts out.
I look up at him, shocked by the sudden invitation. I open my mouth to accept, but he rushes into an explanation.
“I’m sorry to just spring this on you, it’s just that I’ve given it a lot of thought,” he says. “There are some things going on in my family that have everybody on edge. It’s not a perfect time to introduce you, but I’m not sure there will ever be a perfect time.”
“You mean, your stepmother’s pregnancy?” I guess, although I’m wondering if he’s talking about his father’s business arrangements as well.
“Yes, that’s it,” he confirms. “I’m sure she would love to meet you.”
“Have you told her about me?” I wonder.
“No,” he admits. “But I will. That is, if you’re available.”
“I’ll make time,” I promise, overjoyed by this new development.
This is the breakthrough in the case I’ve been waiting for. A personal invitation to meet the don himself doesn’t come around every day. I can abandon my attempts to learn anything from Frankie and focus on the real culprit, his father. I don’t want to seem too excited, but Frankie doesn’t mind.
He reaches across the table to take my hand. “We’ve been spending time at your place, so I feel like it’s only right that I take you to mine,” he says. “But just be aware that I don’t live alone, so there will be a lot of people there.”
“Your chef?” I guess.
“Yes,” he confirms. “And my father, my stepmother, maybe my uncle.”
“That doesn’t seem like too many people,” I reply.
He nods thoughtfully, and I have no idea what he’s thinking.
After I accept his offer, he seems quieter.
I guess he’s worried about the whole ‘meet the parents’ situation.
I’m nervous too, but for a whole other reason.
I’m about to enter the inner sanctum of the Corello family and witness firsthand how they treat their guests.
It’s an opportunity any journalist would jump at, and I vow to make the most of it.
We finish our meal and walk back to the library. I’m parked right around the corner and I suspect he must be parked somewhere nearby.
“Do you need a ride?” he asks.
“No, I’m fine,” I respond. “I brought my car.”
“Alright then,” he says, tugging me into his arms. “I’ll pick you up around seven.”
“Can’t wait,” I say, sinking into our goodbye kiss as if we’re the last two people on earth.
I’m almost afraid to go through with my plan.
Once I find out the truth, will I have any need of him anymore?
Our relationship is just a sham designed to get me closer to his father.
Once I cross that threshold, I should let Frankie go.
My mind is humming with all these thoughts as I climb back in my car and shut the door.
I can feel a deep sense of disappointment in my heart, thinking about ending things with Frankie.
It’s entirely possible that he’s become more than just a means to an end.
I have to lie to myself and pretend that everything will work out in the end.
I’ll get Francisco Corello to say something incriminating; I’ll report him to the police and write my prize-winning article.
Then Frankie will discover what his father actually does for a living and forgive me.
We’ll all live happily ever after with the bad guys in jail.
But I know that’s too good to be true. It wouldn’t happen like that in a million years, and I’ve got to face the fact that something is bound to go wrong.
I need to prepare myself for tomorrow night’s dinner, no matter what it might bring. I drive home silently, not even noticing that the radio is switched off. There is so much noise rattling around in my brain that the lack of music doesn’t even compute.
When I arrive home, I park slowly. I sit in the car for a long time, staring out the windshield. This is it, the point of no return. I’m about to come face to face with Danny’s murderer, and it’s up to me to get him to confess.
My legs feel like they’re made of stone as I trudge across the parking lot.
Walking upstairs, I let myself into my apartment, where I immediately go to my computer.
I sit down to begin my research, as if every single well I’ve tapped hasn’t already run dry.
I pore over the pictures Mario took, hoping to gain some insight.
I work until midnight, just in case Frankie texts me, but he doesn’t.
I’m on my own, and I’m about to go into the lion’s den.
I try to sleep, but I can’t switch my mind off. I end up haunting the living room where I eat ice cream and watch television game shows until three in the morning. I get just a tiny bit of sleep before my alarm rings. It’s almost game time and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.