Chapter 22
SOFIA
Ineed to tell Mr. Harlan about my invitation to dinner, but I don’t trust emails or texts. I have to speak to him in person. Frankie hasn’t given me much time, but dinner isn’t until seven, so I drive downtown around noon to report my progress.
Mr. Harlan is in a meeting, so I have to wait for him to finish. I’m too excited to work on any writing projects, or to do any more pointless research in phone books. This is the breakthrough I’ve been waiting for, and I just want to alert my boss to the progress I’ve made.
I tap my fingers on my knee nervously, wondering how the news will be received.
Hopefully, he will be thrilled like I am.
But I have to admit there is a possibility he won’t be receptive.
It’s a dangerous thing I’m planning to do.
If Frankie finds out who I really am and why I’m so interested in meeting his family, the family might retaliate.
I’m not afraid of Frankie at all, but his father is a different story.
Mr. Harlan opens his office door, and one of the other reporters comes out. He sees me waiting and waves me inside. I get right to the point, not wanting to beat around the bush.
“I’ve got an invitation to meet Francisco Corello,” I say.
“How did you manage that?” he wonders.
“Frankie invited me,” I say. “I didn’t even have to ask.”
“Congratulations,” Mr. Harlan replies. “When is the meeting?”
“Tonight,” I answer.
“Can you take someone with you?” he asks.
“I don’t think so,” I respond, shaking my head.
“Are you sure you want to go in there alone?” Mr. Harlan hesitates.
I can see the writing on the wall. He’s nervous about a potential backlash from having an inexperienced reporter going undercover in a dangerous location.
“Frankie will be with me,” I say. “And while I don’t know everything about him, I’m sure he wouldn’t let any harm come to me.”
“You’re putting a lot of faith in someone you’re using as a source,” Mr. Harlan says.
I sigh. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need to do this. Even if Harlan says otherwise, I’m going to go. I just have to make my case seem rational and ensure that the prize is worth the risk.
“Think about the story,” I urge. “I have to do this.”
He sighs, glancing down at his desk. “All right. But I want you to text me the moment you get home.”
“Got it,” I say, feeling like I’m talking to my father. It’s kind of him to be worried, but I really don’t need the added pressure. I’m worried enough about dinner. The thought of having to check in with my boss only creates more drama.
I leave the office and go home to change. I try on a bunch of different outfits and finally settle on a church dress. I want something that’s attractive but not sleazy, something appropriate for meeting the parents of my boyfriend.
I have to remind myself that Frankie’s not my boyfriend.
He’s just a guy I’m using to get closer to Francisco Corello.
But that doesn’t change the way I feel. I wish I didn’t have to do this.
If there were some way to get revenge for Danny while also protecting Frankie’s feelings, I would gladly take it.
But I’m at war, and hearts will be broken.
I get dressed and spend the next couple of hours pacing my apartment, waiting for my date to show up.
I decide to go to the corner liquor store to buy a gift for the evening’s hosts.
Something classy but not ridiculously expensive should do.
I choose a thirty-dollar bottle of red wine with an Italian label.
By the time I get home, I’ve got another thirty minutes to wait.
Frankie knocks on the door right on time, looking much calmer than I am. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me, making me feel even worse about what I’m doing than ever before.
“You look amazing,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply. “I’m really nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he assures me. “I spoke with my dad and my stepmom, and they’re excited to meet you.”
I exhale, locking the door behind me as we walk to the car. “I’m glad they’re excited.”
“Yeah,” Frankie agrees. “I almost expected the third degree, but they’re just dying to meet you. I think they worried that I would never find someone.”
“Why?” I tease. “You’re a catch.”
He gives me a side-eye, and we both laugh.
My nerves are humming. I’m wondering if I can pull this off without revealing my true intentions. What will I do when I come face to face with the man I’ve been hunting for so long? I swallow my fear and step into the car. Frankie closes my door for me and walks around to the driver’s seat.
“Don’t worry,” he reassures me, placing a hand on my knee.
“It’s dumb how nervous I am,” I scold myself. “I just hope this evening goes well.”
“I think it’s sweet that you’re so nervous,” he responds. “That tells me that you care about my family.”
I look away, not wanting him to see how wrong he is. I’ll let him think that I’m just anxious about making a good impression. The truth is something far more sinister.
On the drive over, we talk about inconsequential things.
He reports that he’s been studying, and I say something about a new flavor of coffee at my favorite coffee shop.
I feel almost lightheaded, and I wish I could open the wine and take a sip before handing it off to Corello.
That would certainly calm my nerves, but it would be a social faux pas.
Frankie pulls off the main road, up to a gated entrance.
Before he has a chance to buzz the gatekeeper, the massive iron bars swing open on their hinges.
He puts a hand out the window to wave at the gatehouse before moving forward.
I hold my breath as the escape route is cut off.
We glide up the driveway, and the gate closes behind us, sealing off the only exit.
My heart is pounding out of my chest. I close my eyes to find my center, forcing myself to trust in Frankie. With any luck, I should learn everything I need to know about the Corello family this evening. I just have to ignore the very real possibility that I’ll be found out and killed for my plan.
Frankie parks near the house and gets out of the car.
I stay nailed to my seat until he comes around and opens the door for me.
Getting out, I clutch the wine bottle in my hand like it’s a life preserver.
I’m not going to get a second chance at this.
It has to go well, or everything I’ve worked for will be flushed down the drain.
Walking up the steps, I find my focus. It’s game time, and I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Frankie opens the door to the house, gesturing me in. I give him a brave smile, stepping through the entrance and onto enemy soil.
There is no one in the foyer when we arrive. Frankie takes me by the elbow and points toward the living room. From the entrance, I can see an expensive couch wrapped around a fireplace.
“Let me give you a tour,” he suggests.
I smile at him politely. As we walk through the first floor, I feel like a soldier, memorizing the layout of the compound.
It is huge. The living room is in the center of the home, surrounded by a spider’s web of other hallways and chambers.
There is a library, a den, a billiard room, an exercise room, and two bathrooms.
“This is amazing,” I say, complimenting Frankie on something he has nothing to do with.
“It’s pretty impressive,” he responds.
“You grew up here?” I ask.
“Aside from a few extended trips to Italy,” he replies.
“You really are rich,” I observe.
He picks up my hand and kisses it. “With all the good and the bad that comes with it.”
For a minute, I think he knows my deepest secrets. Why else would he mention the bad part about having money? But the moment passes. I assume that he’s talking about feeling isolated from the rest of the world, or another similar drawback to massive wealth.
He shows me to the kitchen, where a young, pregnant woman is reaching for a cup on a high shelf.
Frankie abandons me instantly, hurrying to assist her.
He pulls the cup down and hands it to her, as if she is important to him.
I think she’s a staff member or maybe even a sister, until I realize that this must be Mrs. Corello.
“Sofia, this is Marlena,” Frankie introduces us.
“Hello,” I say.
“Come in,” Marlena says, waving me over excitedly.
I walk around the island to stand before her, feeling like I’m standing in the presence of royalty.
I wonder what she knows about her husband’s business.
Is she aware of how dangerous the father of her child is?
Does she have any regrets when it comes to bringing a new baby into this world of crime?
She hugs me, drawing back to smile sweetly.
I’m caught off guard by the genuine happiness in her eyes.
I assumed that everyone in this home would be walking on eggshells or oppressed by the trauma they inflict on the rest of the world.
Contrary to all my assumptions, Marlena seems down to earth.
She’s warm and friendly as she takes my hand.
“Frankie’s told me so much about you,” Marlena says.
“I hope to live up to whatever he said,” I joke.
“What is this?” Marlena points to the wine I brought.
“Oh, this is for you,” I say, remembering my manners. “But now that I think about it, wine isn’t a great gift for a pregnant woman.”
Marlena laughs. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for one glass.”
Frankie winks at me. I’m caught off guard by the comfortable humor in the air.
I’d been expecting something much more rigid, less human.
I don’t know why I pictured a houseful of murderers and thieves, but this is nothing like that.
I can even imagine myself visiting again, if I weren’t a reporter trying to get a story.
“Cisco loves a good red,” Marlena continues, taking the bottle from me.
“Great,” I respond, my voice a little more sarcastic than I planned.
“This is the girl?” a man says from the kitchen doorway.
I turn to see the man I’ve hated for so long standing in front of me. He’s less intimidating than I imagined. He actually looks a lot like Frankie, only older. He has a warm, kind of charm that’s immediately evident. He comes right up to me without any hesitation and offers me his hand.
“Sofia, this is my father, Francisco Corello,” Frankie says.
“Please,” the don responds, “call me Cisco.”
“Sure, Mr. Corello,” I reply woodenly.
“Cisco,” he repeats.
I glance at Frankie, wondering if this is normal operating procedure.
I’m not sure I’m comfortable being on a first-name basis with Francisco Corello, the man who murdered my brother.
Of course, it probably wasn’t him who pulled the trigger, but I have no doubt that he gave the order to have Danny killed.
I force myself to shake Corello’s hand, smiling nervously.
I reach for Frankie’s arm. I may be lying to him, but he doesn’t know that.
In this moment, he’s the one anchor I have.
I glance up at him, and he gives me a reassuring smile.
In his mind, I’m anxious about meeting his father and impressed by the massive show of wealth that is his home.
It’s true that the house is gorgeous, but it’s also incredibly cold.
The entire place seems to be designed to take people’s breath away, distracting them from the knowledge that evil lurks around every corner.
The interior designer who placed every framed oil painting and matching piece of furniture doesn’t seem to have given the building any soul.
I wonder if the lack of personality is by design.
Maybe Corello hosts meetings here with other criminal bosses and uses the imposing decor to command their respect.
By contrast, both Mr. and Mrs. Corello seem very friendly.
I’m thrown off by their warm hospitality, and I have to remind myself why I hate them.
No matter how genuine his smile might seem, Francisco Corello is a killer.
That fact alone gives me energy to continue my espionage.
I need to find out what he knows and discover some clues to my brother’s demise before the night is over.
“Did Frankie give you a tour?” Corello wonders.
“Yes, he did,” I answer. “Your house is very impressive.”
“Thank you,” Corello responds. “You’re most welcome here.”
I squeeze Frankie’s hand, relying on him even though he has no clue who I really am.
We move to the dining room, where a fantastic meal has already been laid out.
The plates are real china and the silverware is real silver.
There is a chilled glass of water beside each setting, and fresh cut flowers for a centerpiece.
Frankie scoots around me to pull out a chair.
I glance at him gratefully, knowing that my status as his girlfriend is the only thing protecting me from his father.
The evening has just started and already I’m leaning heavily on the man I’ve been lying to for almost a month.
I hope I can make it through without revealing my hidden agenda.
It takes everything I have to make polite conversation with the monster at the head of the table.