Page 145 of Fighting With Light
Romeo chuckles darkly. “I don’t give a shit about his tantrum. Our business is finished with him. We’re shutting down all the human trafficking, too. It’s too risky, and it’s a nasty business. I never liked that my father was doing it, but he loved the money. I will find other outlets for shipping and distribution.”
“So you’re keeping the drugs and guns, then?” I ask.
Romeo shrugs. “Liam, I don’t know you well, but you are clearly not an idiot. This is the business, you know that, and my product is guns and drugs.”
“I can respect it, but I don’t have to like it,” I say.
“No, you don’t. I don’t have to like it, either. When you are born into this world, you also die in it. I’m sure you can understand how that feels.”
If only he knew. I nod and look at Aelia.
“Let’s go, princess.”
She takes her mother to a chair and kneels in front of her. We watch her hold Mia’s hands and look up at the woman. “Mama, I’d like for you to come with us, please?” she asks.
Mia squeezes her hands within Aelia’s and shakes her head.
“Aelia, she will be well cared for, that’s a promise. All of us will do better,” Romeo says to her.
“Please?” she begs.
“Stellina,” she says, cupping Aelia’s non bruised cheek. “This is my home, your brothers are here. You are free now. I want you to live life like never before,” she says and glances up at me.
I smile despite the blood on my face. This isn’t how I wanted to meet the parents, but it’s hardly surprising. We are talking about me and Aelia here.
“Lo ami, cuore mia?”Do you love him,she asks Aelia in Italian.
I don’t know what she asked, but I caught the word love.
“Sì, mamma, lo faccio.”Yes, Mama, I do, she says, nodding and kissing her mother’s hand.
“Then go be happy, I’ll be here,” she says and drops Aelia’s hand.
Aelia hugs her frail mother and kisses her cheek. “Ti voglio bene, mamma,”I love you so much Mama,she says.
Her mother gives her a small smile, and Aelia looks up at me, taking my outstretched hand.
“Let’s go home.”
54
Liam
When we get onthe plane to go home, I can’t hold out anymore. I have to know what she found. I wait until we get in the air, and she’s settled. “Babe, what did you find?” I ask her.
She shifts around on the couch and reaches for her backpack. She ended up packing two suitcases big enough to stuff a grown man into, and I thought it was odd that she had to bring that backpack, it’s not her style of Chanel and Prada.
Aelia unzips a compartment and pulls out a small iPad. She holds the button, turning it on, and we all wait in tense silence for it to come up. When it does, she types in her code and opens up the picture app. She hands it over to me, and the pictures aren’t the best, but I can see what it is.
Emerson stands over my shoulder to see. It’s a text conversation printed out between Marco and Fred Coldwell. Fred even names Marco in the texts, asking for help with something that he can’t do himself. The text also demands that he doesn’t bring anyone else, this has to stay between them. The next is a picture of fingerprints that look like they were lifted from something. Then I swipe again, not prepared to see photos of a woman that was beaten to death.
Her face isn’t just bruised, it’s her entire body. There are cuts up and down her arms and legs and a long one across her cheek. Her clothes are in tatters and exposing her. It looks like her cause of death was strangulation based on the large hand-shaped bruises around her neck. There are also pictures of her nails where she was fighting back, but he was too strong for her.
There’s a report of drug-alcohol tests, and the next picture is a piece of shipping tape with what looks like hairs. I zoom in a little more and grimace,its pubic hair. The last picture is a small piece of paper with coordinates on it. My assumption is this poor woman was buried there.
My father did this.
Emerson curses and stomps to the other side of the plane. There is no doubt in my mind that Emerson sees this as his fault. I can’t blame him because I do, too. How many women has our father hurt because we weren’t there to take his fists?
