4. — what happened in Miami. #2
“What the fuck do you mean she’s been at it again? And a guest? Who in the hell is staying at my home without asking me?”
Too many things happened, then.
Frankie bolted up from the chair, gripping Sassy for dear life. The impassive stare she took on made Salvatore think any progress he won in this war with her might be ruined just as he gained ground.
Nico pulled a face like something smelled as he peered over his shoulder and mumbled, “Well, if that isn’t the sister I wish I didn’t fucking have every day that I live.”
The phone on the desk rang. Salvatore might have swore. Again.
He nodded at Nico, saying, “And this is why I wanted you at eight, got it?”
Nico turned back around fully. “My bad. Uh—”
“We’re gonna go over, in detail, what those three things I specified to you actually mean when I break it down, okay?”
“Yep.”
Sal realized a few things in that moment.
He might be in trouble here. Definitely.
How ironic could it be that the problem which now kept him close to New York, would allow him the same thing his daughter desperately needed? Also, he and Larkin needed to talk. For a few reasons.
Why was his life so fucked?
Carina started shrieking again.
Sal wished he were a better man. “I’ll deal with her, I promise,” he told Frankie. “And I’m going to be here for everything and anything until you don’t need me to be from this moment forward. Do you hear me?”
“What about California?”
“I promise, from now until you don’t need me. I’m yours.”
“I’m tired of hearing promises that you don’t keep.”
His daughter’s emotionless shell didn’t blink a lash.
Something banged downstairs.
Frankie shrugged. “It could be worse. I could be like her—starving myself six months out of the year and hating myself the rest of the time. At least I know people want me to exist.”
With that, she left the room and knocked shoulders with Nico on the way. Nico only cleared his throat, but his lips formed the word damn.
“Sorry,” Nico said again as his brow knotted like he’d realized something. “I know that thing you’re gonna want to go over the most is probably respect, right?”
“It’s good that you ask a lot of questions because only idiots don’t,” Salvatore replied.
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“Just so you know, in some ways, between you and me—”
“Spit it out, son.”
Nico broke their staring contest again. “Uh, parts of my life look like roses, comparatively.”
···
Four weeks later...
“I’d trade half a team for another one of your daughters,” Coach Denadei said.
Standing beside him, arms crossed, Salvatore sighed. “You’re shit out of luck. She’s the only one I’ve got.”
A trip to the doctor’s office for a vasectomy mere months before his marriage to Carina assured Frankie would be his only child. Besides, his daughter needed enough love.
Well...
He had to give Frankie credit. He demanded she cut down on practice time, and she did. There hadn’t been any running at home, and he sat at the table every night with her for dinner, something she asked from him. Those changes made a difference. His part, so far, was done.
Life would still come up with ways to make his daughter miserable. A human condition they all suffered through. The other shoe had to drop for him to determine how she would cope with hardships and anxiety.
“Another like your daughter, then,” the man said, chuckling. Salvatore tried to leave his thoughts inside while the coach rambled on, praising a girl that he already knew was amazing. “Striker, forward, defence. Offence. She’s not scared to run, get hit, or hit back.”
“That does seem to be the thing getting her in trouble, doesn’t it?”
The coach cough-laughed under his breath, glancing around to see if anyone close might hear their conversation.
The empty bench for the team down on the turf had become a command post for the more annoying mothers of the teens.
A handful of teenagers watching their friends sat a few rows behind where the two currently stood, passing around phones and vaping whenever they thought the adults didn’t see.
The only person close sat four benches ahead, the second from the first. But he wasn’t listening.
Nico used the first bench ahead of him to kick his black combat boots up, crossed one over the other.
Too busy ignoring the teenage girls that kept walking in front of him, smiling and giggling.
One had even stood in front of him, shorts rolled high and asked what school he went to.
An entire four Saturdays after their first proper conversation in his office, Nico hadn’t gotten any of the things he wanted yet, but he followed Salvatore’s expectations to the letter.
They revisited that conversation a couple of times, deciding what did and did not constitute disrespect or dishonesty. What mattered most was that Nico tried and remained open having a conversation when needed.
“Come on, man.” The coach leaned sideways enough to bump his shoulder against Salvatore’s.
The two weren’t friends, and if it weren’t for his daughter nearing the sidelines, he would’ve made that fact clear.
“You can’t tell me she picked soccer over cross-country this year because she thought she was better at it or would win more. ”
She broke records either way. Trophy after trophy.
“She needs an outlet for aggression, and she’s getting it here in a way she can’t get it through just running alone,” Salvatore stated what the coach didn’t want to say. “Ask her, and she’ll probably deny it.”
“What girl wants to admit that sometimes she needs to drag someone across the ground?”
Now, Salvatore smirked. “A special kind. I know a few.”
“Yeah, I bet you do. And hey, thanks for getting her back for me. I’d miss her in the upcoming tourney. Keep her on a short rope, would you? She behaves when you’re around.”
“You got it.”
Salvatore waved at Frankie when she glanced his way as the coach return to the turf and blew the whistle. The man picked three quarters of the team to run laps while the remaining players had to clean the team’s gear off the turf. Including Frankie.
Surprise shot through him when Frankie headed beyond the white boundary line of the field and started picking up the pile of cones left closest to Nico’s spot.
He couldn’t hear the exchange between them, but they clearly had something to say.
They rarely passed one another at the estate and didn’t share a living space.
The most the two saw of each other happened when he brought Nico along to get him out of the guesthouse, like today.
The disinterested attitude Nico had earlier drifted away as he sat up straight, boots to the ground, and leaned forward with his hands clasped between his knees while Frankie shrugged at something he said. She wouldn’t look directly at him, but she laughed without warning.
A genuine laugh. Salvatore froze, taking in that sight and sound.
Stranger was how slowly, seemingly one by one, the teenagers and a few others on the field and in the stands noticed the two. Quieting, the girls running laps slowed to turn and stare at Francesca and the boy who had refused to look at them.
The exchange between Nico and Frankie lasted less than two minutes before she darted back onto the field in search of whatever else needed gathered.
It all seemed innocent enough, and Nico reverted to his previous position on the bench.
The slight turn of his head told Salvatore that his gaze tracked Frankie from one side of the field to another.
Huh.
“Hey, boss man. Sorry, I’m late.”
“Right on time, actually,” Salvatore told Larkin as the man saddled beside him.
The two sat side by side on the bench.
“First, keys,” Larkin said, handing over a wrist-sized lanyard attached to various keychains, one fob, and two keys. “His Mercedes and the vintage Mustang are both at the estate in the garage.”
“And his Ducati?”
“Sitting out in the parking lot,” Larkin said, grinning. “Brought it here myself. That thing really goes.”
Salvatore shook his head, laughing. “Seriously?”
“I felt like I might meet God on the freeway. That’s all I’m saying.”
Salvatore nodded. “As long as he doesn’t meet God out there on the way home. Do you think he’s earned these back?”
“That’s up to you. You call the shots.”
“Give it to me straight,” Salvatore said.
Larkin lifted one shoulder. “Honestly, I think he needs something to do. He gets so bored down there by himself that he finds things to be entertained. What nineteen-year-old is scrubbing tile grout with a toothbrush at night?”
He gave Larkin a look who widened his arms as if to silently say, See?
“Yesterday,” Larkin added, “he turned his Zippo...you know that golden one he has, right?”
“Yeah.”
“He turned it into a burner phone by basically trading up with the guys until he got what he wanted. The Zippo was worth twenty bucks at a gas station.”
By guys, Larkin meant the estate’s security. Salvatore’s head swung sideways at the mention of a phone. Phones were still way off limits for Nico.
“No worries, he was just playing that stupid candy game. We checked.”
“You took the phone, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. We took the phone. Kinda shows he’s got a brain between those shoulders, though,” Larkin added quieter.
“If you think about it. That was a Zippo. A lighter, Sal. The phone had to be worth a couple of hundred, at least. I bet he’d hustle a kid out of candy if someone said he couldn’t.
Put something that’s got value into his hands and see what he could do with it. ”
Salvatore glanced at the folder Larkin had brought into the stands with him. “What did you find out about his Miami mess?”
“That took some work.”
He asked for that information a month ago, and it never took Larkin this long to dig when needed. But...Salvatore had to know, and the boss didn’t seem very interested in having a conversation about his youngest son, or the private university that expelled him.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
Larkin didn’t reply.
“It is, isn’t it?”