Chapter 15
I thought he hadn’t seen me. I hoped he hadn’t. Out of sight, out of mind kind of thing, but he had, and now Boyan was exposed to him too.
“Cool car.” Boyan’s little voice trilled with excitement and awe as he squirmed out of my hold. His head peeked through the shotgun window. “Whoa. Anzy, it’s blue. Blue like Sally. Mister, that’s a girl’s car.”
I sucked my chuckle back in where it belonged and pinched my lips together. Still, a grimaced smile crept up my face from the shock on Renzo Iannelli’s.
“It’s not,” the outraged mafia man stated.
“Yes, it is.”
“Is not.”
“Is.
“Not.”
“Is.”
“Are you seriously arguing with a five-year-old right now?” I ridiculed.
“I win.” Boyan tossed his little arms in the air. The sleeves of his size seven shirt on his five-year-old frame slipped down to his shoulders, exposing the wrinkled, scarred skin on his left shoulder and bicep.
Iannelli cleared his throat, his fist wrestling the steering wheel. “Get in the damn car.”
“Language,” I snapped back, mockingly covering Boyan’s ears before he wiggled away. Honestly, the little chipmunk probably knew more curse words than polite vocabulary at this point.
Renzo Iannelli’s jaw clenched, and the veins along his neck popped out.
Totally worth it. Jerkwad. His eyes death-glared at me, a silent dare to continue defying him.
I almost did. Pissing him off gave me the same high as a slice of black forest cake—so freaking delicious—but I wanted a car ride more.
My body still hurt, and I was exhausted from staying up all night, wondering if drunk Charlie was going to try to break into Lou’s and my room again, like he had two days ago.
So yeah, I wanted to get in Iannelli’s luxury car more than I wanted to aggravate him, but it was the principle of the thing.
He killed my brother. I shouldn’t want anything from him, ever.
“We’re not getting in there.”
“Why the hell not?”
I sputtered for something to say. “You…you don’t have a car seat. It’s against the law.”
“There are no cops around.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“I promise not to get into an accident.”
“Pwease, Anzy, pwease,” Boyan pleaded with that little lisp of his as he tugged on my sleeve with pouty lips and big, round, honey-colored eyes.
I bit my lip. I shouldn’t accept. I really shouldn’t, but Ricco seemed on the verge of launching out of the car if Boyan and I made a run for it. Actually, he seemed to be begging me with his eyes to do just that. Poor guy looked absolutely cramped.
I opened the rear passenger door and waved Boyan to get in.
“Really?” Boyan asked, eyes wide and sparkling. He didn’t even hesitate to toss himself inside and let a stranger buckle him in. We’d need to have a talk about stranger danger after this.
“In the front, Ms. Burch. I’m not your chauffeur.”
“And I wasn’t in need of a car ride,” I snapped back.
“You know what I do to people who argue with me?”
“Pfff. You already said you wouldn’t.”
“Keep pushing it, piccola, and see exactly how far my patience goes.”
I sat and slammed the door shut behind me. “There. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.”
In the back seat, Boyan talked up a storm with his seat companion, gesturing wildly to make his points.
In contrast, the silence in the front seats as Iannelli drove consumed me.
I didn’t understand what was going on. I was in my brother’s murderer’s car—being driven around, being blackmailed, and being treated decently by an adult for the first time in months, by him of all people.
It was surreal. It made no sense, and quite frankly, it felt like at any moment someone was going to jump out with a big “sucker” sign.
“So…” I tried to find something to break this horrible goose-bump-raising awkwardness. “Why am I in the front seat?”
“We still have your foster sister to pick up, and she can’t ride in the front seat.”
“Oh.” That…made sense and wasn’t even a little nefarious.
Why was he being so logical? I crossed my arms with a huff, half tempted to pitch a fit just to see his cruelty come out.
Honestly, it didn’t help that the guy had a face most girls would fawn over.
With those green eyes, sharp features, and the short-styled goatee and mustache, he was exactly like those picture-perfect heartthrobs in movies, as long as he didn’t talk.
“You didn’t comment on his scars.”
“No.”
Just that. A simple no. He was pretty to look at but shit at making conversation. Perfect description of him.
“Well, thanks, I guess.”
“Why the hell would you thank me for that?”
“Because everyone talks about them.”
“Well, they’re assholes.”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess they are.”
I didn’t even realize I was smiling until I caught sight of my reflection in the window as we parked at Lou’s summer camp. It felt like the biggest betrayal of my brother’s memory.
“Lou. Lou,” Boyan called out, bouncing up and down in his seat. He waved his arms over his head to a waiting Lou on the sidewalk.
Timidly, she climbed into the car without a sound, frowning at us.
“This car is just like Sally,” Boyan told her.
“Yeah,” Lou whispered.
“Who’s Sally?” Renzo whispered to me.
I chortled up through my nose. “A character in an animated movie. She’s a Porsche.”
“Huh.”
“Got any food?” Boyan asked Lou.
Lou took out an apple and a milk carton from her bag while I handed them two individual packs of now-warm string cheese I’d stuffed in my back pocket earlier and some crackers.
Our loot for the day was whatever extra food we could sneak out of the community youth centers.
It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing if Marlene forgot about us for dinner or hadn’t filled the fridge again.
Micah ate with whatever friends he had and never brought us anything, so we’d learned to return the favor.
“Madonna,” Good god, Renzo said. “What is that?”
“What does it look like?” I deadpanned.
I refused to be embarrassed about this. People looked down on us foster kids enough anyway. One rich murdering jerk wasn’t going to make me feel like less for stealing from a youth center to feed myself and my foster siblings.
“Not all of us have Porsches. And it’s not like I can get a job yet that’ll pay for one either.”
“I’m hungry. Can I have some now?” Boyan asked.
“Not on my watch,” Renzo gritted out.
I wanted to protest, but he veered the car so hard around the next couple of corners that I was too busy clutching the grab handles for dear life. Finally, he pulled to a stop directly in front of a well-lit pizzeria.
He tossed Ricco his keys as we all got out. “Park it, but if I find a dent or scratch on my car, I’m taking my payment back in knuckles.”
Then he herded Boyan, Lou, and me inside.
The hostess greeted him warmly by his last name and led us to a half-circle booth against a window, which she called his regular seat.
I caressed the vinyl seat and glanced around at the warm decor of the place, with pictures and mirrors lining yellow walls.
Hip-hop songs played under the loud conversations from the groups in the booths around us and at the bar.
My mouth watered from the smells of garlic bread, baked dough, and marinara sauce full of oregano.
It had been so long since I last sat in a restaurant, but the kids had probably never been in one at all.
They gazed around the place with slack jaws, licking their lips at every pass of a server with food.
“Are we really eating here?” Lou asked as Ricco tucked himself into the booth. She looked on the verge of tears if I said no. So I just nodded, hoping this wasn’t some cruel joke.
I couldn’t believe it when Renzo ordered pizzas, pasta, bread, mozzarella sticks, a salami board, and drinks.
When the sodas hit the table, I practically cried.
When the food piled in, Boyan clapped and laughed with excitement.
Lou’s eyes bulged, her hand snatching the closest thing to her.
The moment the first bite hit, one of her rare smiles broke free.
And me, I giggled at their joy as a few tears leaked free.
“Why?” I whispered to Renzo.
“Because I can.”
The kids dug in without further ado, but I hesitated.
He wasn’t supposed to be nice. He wasn’t supposed to feed hungry kids.
He was supposed to be the tyrannical monster who chewed up anyone in his path.
I had to hate him. Anything else was a betrayal to Noah, but starving and beaten down as I was, it seemed like a stronger crime against myself to refuse.
With tears streaming down my face, I ate.
I sniffled as I chewed my first decadent breadstick, the best thing I’d had in months.
I silently blubbered through every stuffed bite until my eyes prickled with exhaustion and my shirt collar was soaked.
Bite after bite, I chewed and swallowed, regretting each one yet reaching for more.
All the while, Renzo Iannelli watched silently.
It was like that Philly cheesesteak sandwich from seven months ago all over again.