Blue
pushed into the ground-level apartment she shared with her dad, and slipped her flip-flops off before heading down the hall. Her day had gone fast. School, work, home. The group presentation had gone swimmingly, at least the parts that were hers and Sean’s. The rest of the group fumbled through theirs.
She kind of felt bad about it, she’d meant to do their work for them, but Sean had gotten her so excited about her project, asking her all the right questions, that she’d super focused on what she was doing. Although, she’d had no problem helping him with his. Which had been the point of the project she supposed. To see how well you could help someone who had a totally different business they wanted to go into, successfully brainstorm how they’d go about starting their company.
Her dad sat at the counter at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of cereal. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, and he’d finally been able to pull his golden hair back into a man bun he’d been trying to get for months now.
“Hey, dad,” she said, heading into the kitchen and helping herself to her own bowl of Captain Crunch. Neither of them was very good in the kitchen.
“Hey sweetheart,” he said in his deep and scratchy timber from years of smoking, giving her a big toothy grin showing pearly whites that no smoker ever had. He had grease under his fingernails from work at a local garage. His once slightly soft physique was all muscle now. It’d come from necessity, really, but she still had a hard time contrasting the happy-go-lucky muscle-toting, blond, grease-covered dad now, from the softer, suit-wearing, always clean, dark, and foreboding consigliere he’d been. If he hadn’t always been a softie with her, she’d say he was a completely different person now. Funny that he’d be more physically capable of bloodying a person now with all those muscles than he’d been when he was the kind of person to bloody someone up.
She poured her milk over her cereal, then took a seat next to him, enjoying the familiar scent of his All Spice that surrounded him.
“How’d your group project go?” He held his spoon like a cigarette, a habit he’d formed after quitting smoking; she doubted he even realized he did it.
She nodded and gave a little shrug.
“Did you take that outfit you’ve been working on?” He was referring to the dress she currently had hanging on the mannequin in her room. A pale pink Maxi skirt made of chiffon with pleats that she paired with a white t-shirt she’d re-fashioned to be fitted and with a sweetheart neckline. She planned to pull the outfit together with a beaded leather belt and brown boots—that is if she ever decided to wear it. It was also the one that’d come to mind when Sean had asked her out. His favorite.
The clothes were great for a girl with a name like bell, but not so great for a girl formally known as Vittoria Rockefeller now hiding in the witness protection program. They were the kind of clothes a person stood out in, but not in the same way as she’d stood out in The Outfit.
“No, just the pattern. It wasn’t really necessary for the project.”
Dad dropped his spoon with a metal clank into his bowl and faced her.
“You have a closet full of designs and you never wear them.”
She chewed slowly, enjoying the sugary, peanut buttery taste of her cereal, and shrugged.
He placed a large, heavy hand on her shoulder.
“We’re safe.”
swallowed hard, a jagged piece of crunch scratching all the way down her throat, then turned to look at him.
“We’re safe,” he repeated.
“They think we’re dead. Have thought that for four years now. And besides, the last place they’ll come looking for us is in Tampa. If for whatever reason someone suspects we’re alive, and they don’t or the Marshalls would’ve relocated us again—” They’d been relocated twice, not because they were in any danger, but because the threat of potential danger was there, but they hadn’t moved in well over two years.
“—the last place they’d look for us would be Florida.”
That was true enough. Dad had always thought of Florida as crass. A little kid’s playground for big kids who should be adults, only without casinos. If he was going to take a trip anywhere, it wouldn’t be to the state that boasted constant “Florida Man” memes. They’d always gone to Europe. Dad loved Italy and Greece. Not that they’d traveled often.
When they’d gotten out, the Outfit had been on a huge comeback—as big as it’d been since it’d been run by Paul Ricca in the 1960s. Most people heard names like The Waiter, Hoffa, Al Capone and thought of entertainment; of the books and the movies that had come out about them and the mafia. heard them and thought famiglia .
But because of the growth, they hadn’t had much time to take vacations. Not when there was an empire to run, and the constant appearance of new gangs all over the city to control.
She shuddered.
“Dad, I’m fine.”
“But are you happy?” he cut in with his question so quickly, it caught her off guard.
“Yes?”
He smirked.
“Are you asking me? Because if you are, I’d say you could be happier.”
“Dad,” she groaned into her cereal.
He stood, picked up his bowl, and headed for the sink.
“I didn’t take you away so you could spend your life like you’re running away from an abusive spouse. I want you to have fun. To try new things. I want you to wear your creative outfit-things you make. Make friends. Go on dates.”
Her throat tightened up as he rinsed his bowl.
“I have friends.”
He faced her and crossed his arms over his burly chest.
“Name one.”
Ooo! She glared at him and fisted a hand under the counter.
“Sean. Sean Clayton,” she said decisively. She’d worry about why it was Sean’s name that she’d gone with later and not the one girl she’d sat next to in her economics class who asked to borrow a pencil.
Her dad’s brow shot up.
“Sean. Sean Clayton. A boy?”
“Ugh. Dads.” She rolled her eyes and shoved another bite in her mouth.
“He’s in my Business class.”
“You’ve never mentioned him before.” He waggled his brows comically.
She took her time chewing her last bite of cereal, then got up and placed her bowl in the sink next to his. He still hadn’t moved.
“I don’t tell you everything,” she practically whispered.
Dad chuckled.
When you only really had one person in your life, you tended to share all the things with them. As corny as it sounded, she told her dad everything. Not that she had much to tell. What classes she was taking and what she was learning. What song the guy at Wawa gas station was singing when she stopped in for her afternoon raspberry Pepsi. About things she’d observed. Like about the scenes couples were making at her school.
Last week a couple had gotten into a huge fight in the quad, resulting in the girl chucking a full soda at the guy, and ten minutes after that, the two of them made out in a sticky heap under a tree. It’d been ridiculous. And while she never in a million years would want anything like that, she was not a drama girl, she’d still felt a small pang of jealousy. That she hadn’t told her dad.
Feelings weren’t something she was ever comfortable sharing. Never had been. And it helped that she didn’t seem to have strong feelings about most anything these days.
She turned around and leaned against the sink next to him, folding her arms just as he had.
He bumped her with his shoulder.
“Sean? Is Sean a good guy?”
The best as far as she could tell. She nodded.
“He’s really . . .” She tried to think how to describe Sean, and the same word she’d told him just kept popping into mind.
“Reliable.”
His deep blue eyes, the same color as hers and her brothers, sparkled with excitement.
“Worse things to be than that. So . . .”
A lump grew in her throat. She didn’t want her dad to feel bad for her. He’d already given up everything so she could have a normal life—a life she wanted and not one picked out for her, probably intended as a punishment for what she’d done that made them have to leave Chicago in the first place.
“He invited me to a concert tomorrow.”
A huge smile spread across Dad’s face.
“You’re going to a concert?”
She nodded. Well, maybe. Fear gripped her stomach. What if Sean’d already asked someone else? Or what if he changed his mind? “Yeah, maybe. I haven’t said yes, yet.”
Dad wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
“You should go.”
He gave her a tight squeeze before grabbing his wallet and keys off the counter. He shoved his wallet in his jeans pocket.
“I’ll be home in a couple hours. Juan wants me to come back in and look at a Harley that’s making a gurgling sound when the engine turns on.”
She’d been surprised by how much her dad knew about being a mechanic when they’d left. He’d never shown it. And no one would ever assume he’d “lower himself to such a job.” It was perfect. But his real expertise was motorcycles. He loved them.
“Okay.”
“And just so you know, Dominic’s okay.”
Every muscle in ’s body went stiff at the mention of her brother. They almost never talked about him.
Dad’s happy-go-lucky countenance dropped in an instant.
“Don’t act surprised. I know you’ve been looking out for him. I talked to Marshall Stroup. He looked into it. There was no evidence to convict him.”
Marshall Stroup had been with them from the beginning. He was their go-to guy for everything. A middle-aged man with a gruff attitude and go-get-’em zest for his job. Not that you would know it to look at him—the man never smiled—that knowledge came from watching him work.
“But he did it, right?” she whispered.
“Dom killed that guy.”
Dad glanced at his feet, then shook his head.
“Honestly, I’d be more surprised if this was his first.” That was the mafia for you. Getting boys killing at young ages is what they did, and coincidentally why they’d had to run. Because had stopped her brother from taking his first kill. Or rather, she’d taken the choice from him. No fourteen-year-old kid should have to make that kind of decision.
Dad looked her in the eyes.
“Say yes. Go out with that boy.” He winked and headed down the hall.
She waited until she heard the tell-tale click of the door shutting and locking behind him before she pulled out her phone, and opened up to his number which he’d saved under Sean “Mr. Snookums Super Stud” Clayton. She rolled her eyes and chuckled, then nerves swirled in her stomach as she thought this through.
Was this a good idea?
It’d make her dad happy but . . .
She thought of Sean’s light hazel eyes, the color of warm honey. Of his wide smile and those dimples. And the way he made her feel . . . safe . Could she afford to let her walls down with him? She felt something for him, she knew she did, and every instinct in her told her to shut it down. To close-off. To stop talking to him, and run in the other direction. Sure, she and her dad hadn’t moved in two years and weren’t likely to have to again anytime soon, but what if a potential threat presented itself?
What if her confusing feelings turned into something more? And with Sean, they very easily could. Did she want to put herself in that position again? Where she had to leave behind someone she lov—cared about?
She thought of her brother, bloody scar on his jaw, blank expression, being led into the police station earlier that week and she squared her shoulders.
At one time in her life she’d been brave. She didn’t love Sean. She barely knew him. And it was just a concert. Pulling up his number, she jabbed the call button and waited as it rang once, twice, three times, then . . .
“Hello?” Sean’s deep timbre came through the line, sounding perplexed.
“Sean,” she nearly squeaked. “It’s—”
“!” he sing-songed.
“Please tell me you’re calling to accept my invitation.”
A smile crept over her face.
“I’m calling to accept your invitation.”
Muffled sounds filled the line, then a loud “Yahooooo!” as he celebrated with a shout. He came back on.
“You just made my day.”