Chapter 75
“Are you nervous?” I ask Declan as we near the town of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.
“I haven’t seen many of these people in years.” I wonder just how much he left behind when he walked away from the Polish Mafia.
“Good thing you brought a wingman,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“At the wake, I’m going to be speaking a lot of Polish. You’ll probably hear more of that than English.”
“Oh?”
“Wait!” I yell, as we turn on a road that leads toward Lake Como. “Where are we going?” I haven’t been to Lake Como since I was with Sorin.
“To the wake.”
“The wake is here? At his house? Declan!” I scream. “This isn’t cool! You should have told me!”
“I knew you wouldn’t have come if I did.” He looks over, clearly torn.
“You’re an asshole!”
“I think you need this closure. Closure from this place and from him.”
“I’m staying in the car.”
“Dani, please.”
There’s a sea of black vehicles parked in the driveway, along the road, and in the grass. The last time I was at this house was the morning after Sorin cut me. So much happened in this house.
“I haven’t been here since …”
“I know.”
There’s no way I’m going in.
“Face your demons. Tell him to fuck off for the last time. Get some closure.”
I hear his words, but my internal thoughts are louder, and tears run down my face. He reaches for my hand, and I pull away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Do this for yourself.”
“Why is it here?”
“It’s a tradition to have the wake where the person died, when it’s in a convenient place, at least.”
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“Why not go inside?”
“Why would I go back into that house?” I glare at him, wiping my tears.
“Because you’re one of the strongest, most resilient people alive.”
“I hate you,” I say again, feeling so overwhelmed being at this house.
“You can hate me. Let’s go inside.”
“Declan! I’m not going inside.”
“Yes, you are,” he says encouragingly and opens the door, getting out. He walks to my side of the car and opens the door. We stare at each other.
“I’m not going in there,” I say firmly. He reaches over me, unbuckling my seat belt.
“Are you going to carry me in there if I say no again?” I ask, recrossing my arms.
He chuckles. “I’m not going to force you, but I’m going to stand here until you get out of the car.”
“You want to see how stubborn I am?” I taunt.
“I want to see how strong you can be. Go into that house.”
I get out of the car before I change my mind.
“Tell him to fuck off,” he whispers as we walk toward the house, and I smile a little.
“How many of Sorin’s flings do you think will be here?” I ask as we approach the front door, trying to think of lighter topics.
“More than he deserves,” he says softly, then reaches for my hand.
“I hate you,” I say, pulling my hand away from him and he smirks.
“Everyone knows who you are, by the way,” he says as we enter.
“What does that even mean?”
“Do you think I was able to punish Sorin the way I did without permission?”
“I’ve never considered the Mafia aspect of it all. I’m guessing your clean hands didn’t do it.” He smirks, and we walk in.
Sorin’s lakefront home on Lake Como feels smaller now. It feels dingier. I can’t believe I was ever impressed by this place. Not much has changed since the summer of 2017. The open concept kitchen and living room are filled with people and chairs.
Whoever is the family tattoo artist is rich.
There are so many tattoos. I’m likely the only one in the room without one.
I’m also the most conservatively dressed woman.
My black dress is belted at the waist with chunky Mary Jane shoes.
I did not get the sexy memo. There are bustier tops with wide-leg black pants and short dresses.
Declan’s hand lands on the small of my back, guiding me through the room. I try not to overanalyze it. Emphasis on try. It’s a closed casket, thank God. I don’t know how I would react to an open casket. The tourist vibes are gone, and the reality of the day sets in.
An older man with white hair and a large presence walks toward us. “Declan,” he says in a deep voice. They shake hands, but Declan doesn’t say anything. The man eyes me up. “This is what all the fuss was about?”
“I know, right? I’m so much shorter in person.” My defense mechanisms are on high-alert right now, being here.
Declan chuckles, and I smirk.
“You look so much like Crystal.” The man exhales a low whistle. The infatuation with my mom is evident in his tone. I want to barf.
Memories hit me like a tidal wave. How Sorin and my mom dated when they were in high school, a fact he kept from me until long after I was fucking him and doing coke off his body.
How Sorin was my dad’s fucking dealer, letting him rack up a debt with the Crows.
How my mom somehow took care of the debt. I hope she didn’t sleep with this guy.
“Stary,” Declan says with authority. A tone that shifts the power dynamic, and the guy walks away. Stary?
“It’s a rude word to call your dad,” Declan answers my internal question and takes a deep breath.
Dad? That guy was all bad vibes.
“You could have spent the car ride teaching me how to tell people to fuck off in Polish. Missed opportunity.”
“Are you okay?” he asks, not laughing at my quip.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
He grabs my wrist gently, pulling my hand up to my face. “Tell that to your body.” My hands are shaking. I had not prepared for how triggering today would be. Not in the slightest.
“I don’t want to be here,” I say, turning around.
He grabs my hand. “I think it’s good for you to be here.”
“Why?”
“How grateful are you that this isn’t your life? Reframe all of this.” All I can think about is if I should stop holding his hand. “If you kept doing coke … if you stayed with him … this could be you in the coffin.”
These fucking tears! I let go of his hand, quickly tapping under my eyes.
“You were able to move on from everything. You were able to move on from Sorin. There’s a lot for you to be proud of.”
“You sound like a therapist,” I retort, not wanting to feel the emotions coming up.
“I hope I would have learned a few things after years in therapy,” he says, grabbing my hand again and giving it a squeeze.
“Oh, you’re the sassy one now?” I ask with an edge.
“I know I’ve been hard on you, but with your dad, your childhood, Sorin, everything … I see things in you that make me nervous.”
“Nervous?” I pull my hand from his.
“As if you’re on the edge, teetering with a problem.”
“Is this your idea of an intervention?”
“No. I’ll stop. I know there is already so much going on being here.”
People begin taking their seats in the chairs scattered around the room.
“I see your strength and how powerful you are,” Declan says after we take our seats. My phone flashes with a text from Adam Harris. “Exactly. Powerful men are drawn to you because they see it too.”
“Hmm. I thought it was my tight ass.”
He hides his face in his palm, concealing his laugh.