55. Tasha

55

It's so weird to be behind a wheel again, and it takes me a good ten minutes to figure out the car. Now I know why Dad always insisted I learn how to drive stick shift cars. It's highly strung and crazy fast, and definitely not the best car for my current state of mind. I'm jittery with having made it out of Matteo's apartment, but I bet he has ten people on me already.

Not that I care. My fear has been wiped out by my need to know the truth. Plus, I haven't been scared of Matteo for some time now and he would never hurt me. That doesn't mean this move isn't going to piss him off big time.

I drive through the city, finding comfort in being in this familiar place, even though part of me feels like a stranger with everything that's come to light. When I eventually hit our exclusive suburb and the wall that surrounds our house, my heart is like a rock in my throat. Heavy, beating, ready to be vomited onto the pavement.

The gates open and I drive in, somewhat suspicious that it's so easy. The new guard that opened the gate isn't one I know, but for the rest, everything looks exactly the same. I park in front of the garage and for a moment clutch the steering wheel as if it's a life buoy. The front door opens and when Dad steps out into the sunlight, I blink at the rush of tears. I can't help it… whatever happened, he is still my dad.

I'm out of the car and run up to him, into his arms, and we're both weeping.

"What did they do to you… what did they do to you, honey?" he sputters between tears. "My sweet child. I?—"

"I'm fine, I'm totally fine," I try to reassure him, but I pull away to look into his eyes. "What have they done to you?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I've been under house arrest of sorts. It's been torture not knowing where you are, or what… how? How did you get here?" he asks, his hands on my shoulders, squeezing to make sure I'm real. "Are you free?" He glances around, nervous.

I spot two bodyguards in my peripheral, guns in hand, ready to pull a trigger. "Best we talk inside."

"They'll listen in either way." Dad is trembling, but we have each other by the hand and go inside the house. I swallow as I blink into the well-lit interior, so foreign now, and ignore the bodyguard who is by the front door, watching us.

"I don't have a lot of time," I say, wanting to get to the point. "How did we get here, Dad?"

He leads the way to his office, and as I walk inside, it's clear it's been stripped of all electronics. Dad's been cut off from the rest of the world just like I have, and that right here at home.

"I don't know where to start," he says as he sinks into the leather sofa.

"Start with why you got into dealing with these people in the first place." The mess surely started there. My knees cave and I sit too, although I have the urge to pace the room.

"Ah, honey, you'll never understand?—"

"Try me," I bite out, tired of being treated like a little girl. "Can we cut through the bullshit?"

He's shocked by my word choice, but then, I never used to swear. Now the cuss words want to flow like a river right out of my mouth and it's liberating.

"I thought I paid. I did pay, for everything." He sinks his face into his hands, and now he sobs.

"Did you pay in cash?"

He doesn't answer and for a long moment he just sits, shoulders shaking. Hiding. "What happened, Dad? All I understand is there was a deal that went wrong or something, that you blew the whistle on them and Scalera's son died."

"Alex. He was only twenty years old." He looks up at me, his eyes red-rimmed. "Natasha, understand that I was only trying to get ahead, but by the time I realized where the deal was going, it was too late to pull out. Il Consiglio had invested a lot of money to get illegal goods into the country, and… and I smoothed their way with the paperwork. They promised me a cut, a significant influx of cash, but then—" He pauses and wipes at his face.

"But then?" I prompt, needing to get everything out of him now.

"I realized how narrow the tightrope was, how deep the crevasse. I'd just been elected senator, and suddenly all eyes were on me. I couldn't risk it and had to get out. I thought the deal still offered an opportunity for me to make my mark. For the better of the state, and the city."

Suppressed hate finally bubbles up in me. Him, it's all about him and his career. "What did you do?"

"An anonymous tip off to the police department."

"That backfired? Alex and Matteo were there, in a shootout?—"

"If I'd known Scalera's boys were going to be at the warehouse, I wouldn't have tipped off the police."

His gaze locks with mine as if he is forcing himself to look me in the eye, that sign of honesty, but suddenly I'm not so sure. My dad's a politician, and what they say about politicians is true: they're all self-serving liars. This one is no different. He would have tipped off the police, regardless of who was in that warehouse… even if it were me.

He swallows and puts a fist to his mouth. "Turns out the tip-off wasn't so anonymous. Scalera somehow found out and… and?—"

I bite my lip, unable to face the truth. "Two for one. Mom and Kevin?—"

"No! The two for one is just a rumor, Natasha. There's no truth in that at all."

I jump from my seat, too agitated to sit still. Tears are flowing soundlessly because I wept and mourned my mom and brother for years. These are tears for something else. "How could you be such an idiot? They're the fucking Mafia!"

"I was out of my depth. As soon as I realized it, I did what I could to cut ties. Mom and Kevin's car wreck was an accident."

"And yet it happened a month after Alex Scalera got killed, at your hand, if indirectly." This morning, as I raided Matteo's closet, looking for anything to connect me to the outside world, I had time to look at the photo in his closet. Of him and his brother, in that special frame that had Alex's dates of birth and death engraved on the back. A month. It took a month for them to plan and act out their revenge.

When I did that math, that's the moment when I really panicked.

"You have never wanted for anything," he says. "How exactly do you think that happened? Spoiled brat."

I close my eyes and turn my back on him, anger ripping through me. Material goods mean nothing. This hollow house is an empty shell of the place it used to be, the laughter and love gone for twelve long years. "I wanted—I needed—my mom. And Kevin was only fifteen!"

"You're not the only one who lost them," he bites back.

I can't be in the same room as him anymore, unable to digest his idiotic stance that their deaths weren't related to his shady dealings with Il Consiglio.

But then the truth of the whole situation flares up in my face. "You didn't fight for me that day when Matteo kidnapped me," I croak out as I turn to face him. "You didn't bother to send anybody after me. You sat this out, waiting, like a freaking coward. Too scared for the rest of the world to see what a criminal piece of shit you are. You're so freaking weak, you'd rather let me die than face the music." I need to deal with the new reality that my dad is a self-serving, narcissistic idiot and I'm not safe with him at all.

"Watch your tongue." My dad stands and steps toward me, wanting to grab my arm, but I sidestep him and make for the door. I stall mid-step, a dark shadow I know too well blocking my way.

"Nobody calls my wife a spoiled brat, puts a hand on her, or tells her to watch her tongue. Least of all the scum who raised her."