Page 107 of Wounded King
Mom used to say she couldn't afford to get us haircuts, but hers was always styled. I thought maybe a friend did it for free. When I'd mentioned the odd exchange with the receptionist at the hair salon, she told me that she worked there informally, for tips, not wages. But they'd never even heard of her there.
And that prom dress... My throat tightens. I remember how hard I begged. Eighty dollars. It was all I wanted. But she'd said no, that we couldn't afford anything that extravagant. I wound up wearing a polyester gown fromGoodwillthat didn't fit right, and she'd said I looked beautiful, said I didn't need anything fancy to shine.
But now I wonder—where was she that day when I looked for her at the salon? Was she ever even there? Why was her phone off? Why did she come home late with fresh lipstick and a bag from Saks with things she claimedshe'd found on sale?
My heart screamsno, that's not who she is. That's not the mother who sat up with me all night when I had the flu, who cried when she thought we couldn't hear. That's not the woman who told me I was brave, that I could be anything.
But what if it is?
What if she's just... better at lying than I ever would have thought possible?
"Violet," Marcello's voice is low beside me. His hand tightens around mine like he knows. Like he can feel the storm gathering in my chest. I can't lift my head, I worry that if I do, if I lean into that comfort, it will mean admitting something I'm not ready to face. That the woman I idolized might not be the person I thought she was.
And I don't know what to do with that. She had another life, not just before, but in Manhattan, all along.
"I couldn't spend the money," Mom continues, "I was afraid. Every time I touched it, I imagined him finding us. I kept it hidden—untouched—for years."
"You could've brought us with you," I say, not sure where the words are coming from. But they flow out of my mouth, and they're filled with bitterness. "You didn't have to make us suffer while you played house in Manhattan."
Mom's voice breaks again. "But Ididsuffer, baby. You think I was happy, keeping secrets from you every day? Lying to my own children? Living in fear that one of you might ask the wrong question, might go digging? Ihatedmyself for it. But I couldn't go back. Icouldn't." She clasps her hands like she's begging. Her eyes dart from one of us to the other. "I did the best I could with what I had."
"I don't think I can hear anymore," Elaine says, standing and pointedly not looking at Mom. "Where do we go from here? What do we do now?"
Marcello rises as well, pulling me up with him, "Luciano will take you to a safe house; he'll give you phones and anything you may need. In the meantime, I'll make contact with Enzo and get this whole thing straightened out."
Elaine blinks like she's about to say something else, but then appears to change her mind. She comes over to us and takes me into her arms. "You look good, by the way. That color complements you."
"Thank you," I reply automatically.
Then my sister turns to Marcello, "I'm not sure who you really are or why you're helping us, but thank you."
"I'm your future brother-in-law, and that is what family is for," he replies, creating even more warm fuzzies in my stomach.
"Are you okay?" I ask Violet after her family leaves.
"I honestly don't know. But I will be," she replies.
"I'm sorry I didn't have time to prepare you." I pull her into my arms. Iamsorry for that. She's been through enough shit already; she didn't need to be steamrolled like that.
"It's okay, really. I'm just… tired. That was a lot."
"Yeah," I agree. I didn't have the greatest dad either growing up, but at least I knew where I stood with him. But Violet? In the blink of an eye, her entire life has been turned upside down. "I'm here if you need to talk."
The smile she gives me is tired. "Thank you. For everything."
I pull her into my chest. "You don't need to thank me. I'll do anything for you."
Her eyes shine brightly. "I'm starting to believe you."
"Okay, what do you want to do now? Watch one of your house renovation shows?" I ask. I have a shitload of things I need to take care of, but Violet is my number one priority. There is nothing that can't wait until I'm sure she's okay.
She laughs, and it sounds a little bit more like her. "Thank you. But I'm sure you have some big, bad mobster business you need to take care of. I'm fine, Marcello, I really am." She rises to her tiptoes and kisses me chastely on the lips, igniting a desire for more. "I'm going to lie down for a little bit, okay? Maybe later we can have dinner?"
I want to protest and go with her, but there is a knock on the door and my phone rings. She laughs and walks toward the bedroom.
"Dinner sounds good," I reply to her retreating form, watching her until she's out of sight, then I call, "Enter," hold up my hand for silence, and answer the phone.
Alejandro comes in and nods in my direction, followed by two other men carrying some god-awful-looking contraptions.
