The next day was December 24th and I went to work as if it was a day like any other. I’d tried to call the rehab center, but hadn’t reached anyone. And Dad hadn’t left his room before I had to leave the bar. Merry Christmas to me. Not that I had any intention of celebrating. The bar was deserted, only a few lonely souls crouched over their drinks. “Why don’t you go early?” Cheryl asked around eight. “I can handle our two customers.”
I shook my head. “Don’t you have family to celebrate with?”
Her lips tightened. “No. Roger will pick me up around midnight for a Christmas quickie though.”
I tried to hide my pity. I knew how it infuriated me when people send me pitying looks. And it wasn’t as if my Christmas was much better. “Where is he anyway? This is the first time he isn’t in the bar.”
“He’s at home, celebrating Christmas with his daughter.”
“Daughter?” I echoed in disbelief.
Cheryl nodded. “His wife died a few years ago and he’s raising her alone.”
“Oh.” For some reason I had thought Roger didn’t have a life aside from the bar.
“Just go, Chick.”
I sighed. Dad probably wasn’t home. He’d mentioned an important race he had to watch. I grabbed my backpack, then took out the mobile Fabiano had given me yesterday so I could contact him. The only person I could think of calling was Fabiano but would he even want to spend Christmas Eve with me? He had been busy yesterday and only dropped me off at home after work without mentioning Christmas at all. I clicked his name and quickly typed a message.
Got off early. You don’t have to pick me up if you’re busy. It’s not too late for me to walk home.
I wasn’t even out of the bar when Fabiano replied.
Wait for me.
I couldn’t help the smile.
Cheryl watched me from across the room, shaking her head, and I quickly walked out into the parking lot. I knew she wouldn’t be happy if she knew how much time I was spending with Fabiano. But I was happy, despite everything.
Ten minutes later his Mercedes pulled to a stop beside me.
I got in and took my seat beside him as if it had always been like this. He didn’t move to kiss me, never had while we could be watched, but he put a hand on my knee.
“I didn’t think you’d really go through with driving me home every night,” I said, trying to ignore the way my body was warming at his touch.
Fabiano steered the car with one hand. “I’m a man of honor. I keep my promises.”
Honor. A word that had played little to no role in my life so far. My parents were unfamiliar with the concept. Honor would have gotten in the way of their addiction.
My eyes traveled down to the tattoo of the Camorra again. It scared people. Fabiano scared people. I hadn’t realized it at first, but now that I looked for the little details in people’s demeanor around him, it was impossible to miss.
Perhaps I didn’t know enough about the Camorra and Fabiano to be scared, perhaps I was foolish not to be scared.
“I thought perhaps tonight you wanted to celebrate Christmas Eve with the Falcones.” They were like his family after all.
His fingers on my knee tightened. “Remo and his brothers don’t celebrate Christmas Eve.”
“But what about your real family? You never mention them.”
Fabiano’s lips thinned out for the briefest instant before he schooled his expression into one of usual calm. “The Camorra is my family. Remo is like my brother. I don’t need any other family than that.”
I’d hoped he’d tell me more about his real family. I hesitated, unsure if I should mention that I’d found articles about them. I didn’t want to appear as if I’d stalked him, even though that was the case.
“Ask,” Fabiano said with a shrug, as usual able to read my face and the questions there.
“I found something about your family on the internet. There was a picture of you with them, and a few articles about your sisters. One of them called you the renegade son.”
His lips pulled into a sardonic smile. “Interesting twist on events they construed in that article,” he said.
“So, you didn’t leave for Las Vegas because you wanted to become Capo here?”
“I would have been happy becoming Consigliere for Dante Cavallaro and the Outfit. Back when I didn’t know anything, I’d thought it would be the ultimate honor to follow in my father’s footsteps. Now I know that there’s no honor in inheriting your position. The only way to deserve a position of power is if you’ve fought for it, if you’ve bled and suffered for it.”
“And you did,” I said. I’d seen the scars. And even without them. You didn’t become like Fabiano if life hadn’t forged you.