Page 12 of The Bonventi War
The first bite of food turns to mush in my mouth. I push the tray away, my appetite completely gone.
I glance around the apartment, and it feels different now. What was once a sophisticated space where my dad entertained and housed wealthy clients from out of town now feels like a cage. Paintings line the walls, pieces waiting to be sold, their subjects watching me with judging eyes. The small kitchen table, where I sit alone, used to host lavish wine tastings. Now it holds only mypathetic frozen dinner and a glass of wine I'm too nauseous to drink.
My wrist throbs where Gio grabbed me. The memory of his touch burns like a brand on my skin.
"Dammit, Mom, what the hell am I supposed to do now?" I ask softly.
I reach for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find my dad's number. My thumb hovers over the call button. What if he answers? What would I even say?
What if he doesn't?
The thought makes my chest tighten. I drop the phone on the table, burying my face in my hands. The tears I've been holding back all day finally break free, hot and stinging against my palms.
"Fuck, Dad," I whisper, looking at my phone. "Where are you?" I ask and toss my phone on the table. I stand and make my way over to the couch.
Suddenly, a loud bang from downstairs makes me jump, my heart leaping into my throat. I freeze, straining to hear any other sounds. Nothing. Just the usual creaks and groans of the building.
Still, my nerves are on edge. I move to the window, peering down at the street below. No sign of Gio or his men. Just the usual crowds of people stumbling between bars during happy hour.
My phone buzzes on the table, making me flinch. I approach it, and oddly, I'm half-expecting to see Gio's name on the screen. Instead, it's a text from Morgan:
Steven filled me in. Everything okay? Should I be worried?
I stare at the message, unsure how to respond. How can I explain something I don't even understand myself?
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I think of a reply. Before I can type anything, another text comes through:
Also, that missing shipment? Just got an update. It's been rerouted to a warehouse on the outskirts of town. Weird, right?
That is weird. Everything always came directly to the gallery, at least that's what the invoices showed. Another piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit.
I type back quickly,
Thanks for the heads up. I'll look into it tomorrow. And don't worry about those guys. Just some entitled collectors throwing their weight around.
It's a lie, but what else can I say? Hey Morgan, turns out my dead brother might have been involved in some bullshit, and now I'm being "protected" by the guy who killed him?
Yeah, that would go over well.
I walk back over to the couch and sit down. The note Johnny left flashes through my mind.
"Protect my sister."
What the hell did it mean? What kind of mess did my brother and dad get themselves into? More importantly, what am I supposed to be protected from? Am I in real danger?
I lean back and cover my face with my hands.
Shit. I have so many questions and no answers in sight.
For a brief moment, a traitorous thought slips through my defenses—maybe having Gio around wouldn't be the worst thing. The memory of his towering presence, the way he effortlessly dealt with that asshole at the gallery. If I am in any real danger, maybe he…
No. I shake my head, banishing the thought. I don't need someone else to defend me. I've survived this long on my own, haven't I? Rebuilt myself from the ashes of my family's dysfunction after my mom's death. I sure as hell don't need some tattooed mafia thug swooping in to play hero.
Yeah, I learned about that too. That night, after his first appearance in the gallery, I looked him up online. Him, his brothers—they're all mobsters, allegedly, but he sure as hell looks like one, and I don't need that in my life.
But even as I try to convince myself, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers doubts. What if this is bigger than anything I've faced before? What if?—
Another loud thud, this time from the hallway, interrupts my spiraling thoughts. I make my way to the door and peer through the peephole.
