Page 35 of Pocketful of Us

I didn’t want to acknowledge anything I'd learned these past few weeks.

I just wanted to continue believing that my brother was dead and my parents were cold.

Hurtful as that existence was, the other prospect, the one where I watched my mother burn to death, was too bitter a pill to swallow.

But I knew that blaming and shaming wasn't going to help me. It wouldn’t make a damn thing better.

I needed Romi.

Just Romi.

The rest of the world could go to hell. They could all burn in their world of sin. I was getting my girl and getting the fuck out of here. I would survive just as long as I had her.

"So, where to next?" I asked, pulling out of the parking lot of the cemetery.

"I think it's time to make a bold statement," Seth mused. "I think it's time for you to go home, Giacobbe." Smirking, he added, "I wouldlovea tour."

Well shit. "For real?" A shiver rolled through me. "You really want to do this right now?"

"No. Tonight, we plan. Tomorrow, we finish this," he replied, expression darkening. "Once and for all."

Aw hell.

14

Romi

"Well?" Raffaele demanded, as he paced the floor of his office like a caged animal.

"Nothing," Mr. Capaldi replied, tossing his phone down on the huge oval table in the middle of the room. Slumping forward, he placed his elbows on the table and dropped his head in his hands. "Straight to voicemail."

"Then try again!" Raffaele roared, shoving a hand through his tousled dark hair. "And keep trying until he answers the fucking telephone, Christopher!"

"What do you want me to do?" Mr. Capaldi hissed back at him, swiping his phone back up. "I can't fucking teleport into the boy's mind and make him pick up the damn phone, Raff!"

Eyes bulging in his head, Raffaele threw his hands up in the air, looking about two seconds away from bursting into flames. "I should have killed you the moment you stepped foot back in my home."

It was in that moment that I recognized the uncanny behavioral traits he shared with his son. Sketch was a loose cannon, he always had been, and it looked like Raffaele wasn't much different.

"What are you doing now?" I asked, wary, as I watched Mr. Capaldi place his cell in the middle of the table and switch on the speakerphone.

"Calling your father," was all he replied.

"Are you completelyinsane?" Raffaele demanded.

"We have to do something, Raff."

"You cannot negotiate with terrorists, cousin," he hissed. "It's a trap. You do realize this?"

"I don’t care," Mr. Capaldi replied stubbornly. "He's my son."

"No," Raffaele seethed. "He'smyson – my son you took from me!"

"I didn’t want this life!" Mr. Capaldi roared then. "I haveneverwanted any part ofCosa Nostra– not for me, and not for my son! But you dragged me in, Raff. You sucked me into this hell. I have done everything in my power to be loyal to you. To honor my vow. I buried my own son because I was protecting yours!" Blowing out a ragged breath, Mr. Capaldi's shoulders sagged in defeat. "I need to see this through. I need tohelphim."

Raffaele was quiet for a long pause before finally speaking. "I will find a way to save my son, make no mistake about it. Butyouare playing right into that bastard's hands. If Seth is working with him, then your phone call is exactly what Cal will want – what he will expect. Donotgive it to him, cousin."

"Christopher," my father's cheerful voice boomed from the speaker of Mr. Capaldi's phone and all of the air left my lungs in a rush.

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