Chapter Fifty
Max
“Congratulations, Max.” A familiar, gruff voice is barely above a whisper behind me as graduation caps flood my view.
As I turn, I blink into golden-green Renzetti eyes, a bit grayer than the ones that visit me in my dreams. My smile cracks, or slips off the edge of a cliff.
“Nico.”
The brother of the man who changed everything stands before me; his hands looped behind his back.
It’s been ten weeks and the grief still isn’t gone.
I have seen Nico from afar when he occasionally switches out with Gio or Rudi on Max-Watch—this is what Becca has been calling it. But it’s been almost a month since the wedding—since my last breakdown.
Almost four weeks where I poured every ounce of energy I had into finishing this semester so I could graduate. Because that’s what I needed. Or at least that’s what he would have wanted me to do—finish school, take the bar, get a kick ass job and take care of myself.
“Thank you for coming, Nico.”
His eyes are soft; he looks older somehow, like the weight of the world in the past month has pressed upon him. And I suppose their world has been on his shoulders.
The last two times he was this close to me, he ended up having to carry me.
I refused to go back to their mother’s house, politely declining when Maggie or Sophia called or texted to invite me over.
I got together with both of them for dinner a week ago. They said I needed a girls’ night to celebrate my graduation, so Becca and I met them out at a fancy restaurant and got lost in conversations about their lives, their jobs, and the gossip of strangers.
And at the end of the night, they hugged me just a little too long, and the grief came flooding back.
But I didn’t let myself drown. Because I had to get through today.
Nico and Becca continue to argue but do so at work rather than in our apartment, because I wasn’t sure I could handle being around him after my heaving sobs in the car on the way back from the wedding.
I take a step towards Nico, and suddenly my arms are heavy, unsure whether we hug or just nod at each other. I’ve avoided him specifically because he reminds me of his brother—so much that it makes my eyes and nose and body burn.
We seem to decide the answer at the same time because our arms loop softly around each other simultaneously, his arms stopping to hold me at arm’s length to place a soft kiss on my right cheek, and then my left.
The gesture makes something inside of me break; memories of his brother, meeting their family, and all the moments I have buried to get through the last ten weeks start flooding through me.
I glance down, willing the emotions to go back into the box I so fiercely have kept closed. Willing the tears not to fall.
I notice his hands are each holding a small package, and I cringe internally thinking about accepting a present from the newly crowned mafia boss brother of my dead boyfriend-slash-mafia-boss.
His mouth tilts up on one side.
“I know it’s been a few weeks, I hope it’s alright I came. I know you haven’t been around the house and I, uh, I understand. And I won’t take too much of your time.” He glances around me, waving two fingers at Becca standing behind me pretending to mind her own business.
The other fingers on that same hand are looped through the handles of a small gift bag.
“Thank you for coming. It means—” My voice cracks, realizing I’m unsure how to finish the sentence.
It means something, him being here. It’s not nothing.
But him showing up here is more heartbreaking than anything else—him showing up in the place his brother should have stood, hugging me and giving me presents.
His eyes meet mine and his lips pull tightly across his face in a knowing expression.
“We all are so proud of you, me and Sophia and Maggie and Ma. You’ve accomplished so much.” I lift my mouth, hoping it’s giving some semblance of a smile as he continues speaking, “You have so many of us behind you if you ever need anything.”
“Yeah, it’s been okay, Becca and I have a nice routine.” I send a look over my shoulder at my best friend, my pillar of strength, then sigh, my fingers twisting around each other.
Becca and I quickly settled into our new apartment with Bart and picked up a strict routine.
We have our coffee every morning, cook dinner together every night (except Fridays, because those are reserved for takeout and bad TV reruns) and she helps me study for the bar.
After graduation, assuming I pass the bar, I already received an offer from one of the top criminal defense firms in the city.
They only take cases where the defendants are being wrongly charged.
I’ll be the absolute bottom of the food chain in terms of being a brand new attorney, and I’ll have to work hard to earn my spot there, but I know it’s what I need.
It’s what I want.
I feel awkward, so I ramble.
“It’s been nice to have Becca here. And our apartment is cozy.” I glance back at her, again, and grin. “Maybe too cozy sometimes, I think. We probably would be better off getting separate places in the next few months, but we will survive.”
I blink back up into his eyes, trying to pretend they’re not almost identical to the ones that made me feel seen and whole. Almost the same golden-green that traced every part of my body and soul.
What I’d do to see those eyes one more time, the thought comes unbidden.
“No boyfriend though it looks like? Come on, Maxie, you’ve got enough game to get anyone you want in this city and the next,” Nico gives me a playful grin, but I don’t miss the way he glances back to the group behind me, like he’s double-checking the guests.
“No, Nicolas.” I let out a quick laugh on a breath, because at least his humor remains intact, and I shake my head. “I’ve been asked out a few times, but it hasn’t even been three months, I can’t… I’m not…”
My words trail off and he nods, looking down at both of his hands—the two presents weighing him down.
“I’m not over it, I’m not sure I ever will be. He was—” I swallow the sob that threatens to crawl out of me, and Nico looks kindly at me, but he honestly looks bored. “You know.”
He nods again and sighs. He holds the small gift bag in the air over the back of his shoulder.
Someone walks up beside him and, although the man is unfamiliar, I recognize the air he gives off.
He is massive with dark brown hair, another relative maybe or Gio and Rudi’s replacement—and a glaring reminder of Nico’s current occupation as head of the Renzetti mafia family.
He takes the gift bag from Nico and walks back to his place against the wall of the large, marble hall.
“This one…” he says it with certainty as he holds up the small box, raising his eyebrows, “is for you, then.”
Nico hands me the small flat box and I can’t help but raise my eyebrows at him with a smile.
A small, genuine laugh escapes my lips, and I nod towards the departed bodyguard with the small black and white gift bag. “So, if my answer was different, would I have gotten the other one?”
The box in my hand is almost weightless.
Nico’s hands find his pockets, his smile picking up the setting sun framed by the two-story glass windows behind me lining the other side of the hall.
He shrugs. “Open it.”
There’s no ribbon. No wrapped paper. The lid is black, the bottom is black.
I lift the short lid, revealing black tissue paper. When I fold it back, there’s a gold keycard and when I run my fingers over it, it’s cold metal.
“Wow, if this is a key to the city, it is seriously disappointing when celebrities get the big, ornate gold-plated kind! But I accept, thank you, kind sir.” I shake my head, looking up at Nico, waiting for the punchline.
His smile is full now, his eyes are sparkling, fully crinkling at the edges, just like his brother’s used to.
“You think if I had a key to the city, I’d give it to the girl who went with a practical stranger on a private jet? Then stayed when she found out his occupation?”
“That was one time! And ‘stranger’ is a strong word, Cal wasn’t—”
My laugh and smile dissolve just as fast as they appeared because I don’t think I’ve said his name out loud in months.
My heart aches, my stomach feels like an empty pit, and nausea climbs up my throat. I clench my muscles and close my eyes, but the white-hot flames that burst from the restaurant that night are permanently branded inside my eyelids.
I open them, reminding myself to breathe.
Nico presses his lips together and breathes in a few deep breaths while I do the same.
“It’s for the penthouse.” Nico looks off, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding my eyes as he nods down at the key, and I think my heart is going to explode if it beats any faster.
“We finished some renovations, added a new guest wing and some other stuff.” The smile accompanying his words is soft, but his sigh is heavy. “Anyway… it’s, uh, in your name.”
My eyes go enormous as I hurriedly place the lid back on the box and shove it towards him. “Oh, Nico, no, that’s… no, that’s too much, I can’t. You don’t have to do this, you don’t. I… I can’t.”
He looks up to the ceiling like he’s trying to remember exactly what to say.
He takes a big breath. “A fancy graduation present, a fancy new penthouse for your new fancy adventure, Counselor.”
The ground feels like it might rush up to meet me at his words.
He notices my expression and adds, “The blueprints, that’s what was written on them—for the renovation.”
The nickname rings in my head. Cal has been calling me that since before I even got into law school.
Had been.
Did.
Past tense.
I’m shaking my head, but Nico’s hands don’t leave his pockets. The idea of walking into that penthouse… that empty penthouse, previously filled with laughter and love and happiness and memories. Coffee syrups and that balcony where he kissed me. The desk in the study. The bed.
I can’t. The thought of it makes the ground tilt briefly and I swallow, watching my outstretched hand shake under the weight of the keycard as I try to get him to take it back.
His eyes don’t even look down at the box, and his smile is gone. He finally looks into my eyes, and he takes a small step closer and lowers his chin. Even though he is slightly shorter than Cal was, he’s still towering over me almost half a foot.
“I didn’t do it for you. And this isn’t the place for me to try and explain it,” his voice is calm, and his eyes search mine for understanding.
I nod, pulling the box back to hold between my hands.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, confused, but remembering the surreptitious nature of the family business. My head is swimming as I glance down at the box.
“If you really can’t accept the gift,” Nico’s words are louder now as he bends down to catch my gaze.
“At least accept an explanation. Tonight, around eleven at the penthouse? If, after the explanation, you still don’t want it, you can leave the key behind.
We’ll… I don’t know, donate it to charity or some sappy shit Cal would like. ”
What kind of explanation does he think will get me to live in that place? I don’t want this.
But a part of me wants to be somewhere Cal was—maybe just for tonight, just to celebrate a door closing, and another one opening.
Like maybe just feeling his presence one more time, being somewhere he once was… maybe that’s okay. I can handle being there and hearing Nico out, whatever the reason is. I wasn’t the only one who lost someone, and I’ve avoided him for weeks.
I inhale deeply, coming to terms with the decision.
“Thank you.” I tap the box with a finger, and his hand reaches out to grasp my wrist. “Thank you for coming.”
His fingers squeeze briefly, the warmth of it reassuring, and his hand slips away.
A small smile touches his lips as he takes a couple steps backwards. “Tonight? Eleven?”
I nod, and he turns to walk down the big hall, muscle in tow.
I watch him go, and when he almost reaches the doors at the end of the hallway, I let my eyes play tricks on me.
From this distance, in the golden light of the sunset, my mind pretends it’s Cal at the end of the hall.
His dark, curly hair; the frame of his body.
But it’s not.
So, I rip my eyes from Nico’s departing figure and look down at the box.
I startle slightly at the hand that slides around my waist. “Ready for dinner?” Becca offers me a gentle squeeze around my middle. “I won’t ask any questions about whatever that was for the whole car ride over as my graduation present to you.”
I giggle briefly, and shake my head.
“He gave me the penthouse key. He said it’s in my name,” I scoff with an incredulous expression. “He asked to meet there tonight to explain, and I could give the key back then.”
“Wow,” she lets out a long sigh, looking up at the ceiling.
“A mysterious, hot Italian man with dimples offers you a multi-million-dollar apartment and you’re…
what, exactly? Saying no? Please, someone drop a hot, Italian millionaire with a private jet on me, I promise, universe, I will not ask questions!
I won’t even make you do it twice like Max did!
” She throws her arms out around her and spins, looking up at the ceiling.
I shush her, laughing, pulling her arms down from praising the gods in the aforementioned universe.
“It’s complicated and you know it.”
She gives me a knowing look. We may have binged The Sopranos and all The Godfather movies at her insistence a week ago, her calling it part research and part grieving process.
“I know it is, babe. Do you want me to come with you to drop the key off?” She offers me a small smile as we walk. “‘Leave the keycard, take the cannoli’ style? We can ‘make him an offer he can’t refuse.’”
I wrap an arm around her and laugh harder than I have in a while at the reference, the mafia binging has paid off in spades with the humor during the hard nights.
“I think it’s better if I do it alone, ‘Those who want respect, give respect’ style.”
Her hip bumps mine. “You know Tony Soprano was my favorite. Gabagool and all that. But the ending was absolute trash.”
My laugh echoes in the hallway and the orange of the sun hits my face.
She continues, “I heard the creator of the show actually said that Tony died in every episode, isn’t that insane? That no one could keep him dead, so he just woke up every morning 'with a gun in his hand,' like the theme song.”
Her words go on, but the box holding the keycard doesn’t feel so weightless in my hand.
It’s heavy; carrying the unbearable weight of what could have been.