Surrounded by people who lived their lives surviving on the street the best way they knew how, her father made it his life’s mission to make a better life for himself. Her parents didn’t share all the sordid details of his young life, but they told her just enough. Plus, she was a savvy woman in her own right. Things didn’t always add up with her father, and she’d put some pieces of the puzzle together on her own.
Now, you had Tristan Lucarelli, the nephew of Don Lucarelli, walking up to her father as if they were old friends. Both men speaking in code about his cousin, errands, and advance knowledge of things best left unsaid.
Glancing at her father, she saw him in a new light. So many things became more apparent. The gifts delivered every birthday and Christmas from a close childhood friend. Her father never said the name, only that it was someone she didn’t know, but who he called her Uncle Robert.
She didn’t have an Uncle Robert.
Realizing she’d lost track of the conversation again, she turned in surprise when her father tapped her arm. “Sorry. Yes, Dad?”
Giving her an odd look, he nodded in Tristan’s direction. “Tristan’s ride is here.”
Turning her head to look at the man standing in front of her, she couldn’t help but stare into his eyes. Mouth going dry, she swallowed roughly, then licked her lips. God, she really had it bad. What the hell was wrong with her?
“I-It was very nice to meet you,” she managed to stutter into the silence.
“The pleasure was all mine, Camille. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other around soon.” His gaze shifted to her father, and he slanted his head. “Raymond, if you need anything, please let me know. I’ll let my uncle know that I ran into you.”
“Yes. You do that. Take care of yourself, Tristan.”
“I will. You’ll do the same.” It wasn’t a request but a statement of fact.
“Always.”
And with those words, Tristan nodded again, turned away from them, and headed to a black SUV idling by the curb. Climbing inside, he turned his head towards the driver before they drove away.
“Camille?”
“Mmmm hmmm.” She was so distracted by what just happened, she couldn’t refocus on the matter at hand.
“Camille Maria Sperry! Girl, you better get your head right back where it should be, and off that boy.”
The snap in her father’s tone got her attention. Sitting back down in their chairs, she took a sip of water before speaking again. “Dad, was that who I thought it was?”
Sighing, he placed his elbows on the arms of the chair, his hands coming together as he pressed his fingertips together. “Baby girl, there are things about your father that we haven’t told you.”
“I know. I’ve put most of it together myself. Anyway, I already know who that man was. Although, I’m curious as to how he’s so comfortable with you. Not that I’m questioning you, Dad.”
She was quick to add that caveat. To her parents, it didn’t matter that she was a thirty-two-year-old woman. In their eyes, she was still a child. Respecting your parents did not include making accusatory statements about their past that may, or may not, involve criminal behavior and relationships with the local mafia family.
Nope, just wasn’t done.
A smile came over her father’s face, and she smiled back.
“You know, this is what happens when your child is smarter than you. She picks up things you never meant for her to know.” Taking a sip of his own water, he looked at her. “Do you know, the day I met your mother was the happiest day of my life. Until the morning you came into this world, screaming your head off at the injustice of it all.”
“I’m sure the doctor spanked me harder than necessary. I’m still waiting for the day to catch him on the streets. He’s got it coming.” It was a long-time running joke between the two of them. She swore her temper and the need to fight, run, jump, and roughhouse stemmed from long-held resentment of the doctor hitting her, and getting away with it.
Smiling as she thought of the hell she put her parents through, Camille was just glad she’d turned out normal. If one could call her that. As a child, running with the neighborhood boys, climbing trees, riding her BMX bike, and skinning her knees daily was her idea of fun.
Her mother would just shake her head while asking what type of battle she was in that day.
On the other hand, her father would laugh while asking her if she had fun, and if the other person looked worse.
They knew she hung around with some kids in the wrong crowd, but she never seemed to be in any danger. That’s not to say she wasn’t a shit starter, because she was all that, and a little bit more.
It got so bad when she was eight years old, her dad had a talk with one of the neighborhood boys. His name was Dwayne, but everyone called him “D.” He was two years older than her and Shandra, who lived two houses down from Camille. Before that day, they hadn’t been particularly close. She knew of him and knew both his brothers were locked up in the youth detention center. After the conversation her father had with D, things changed.
Where Camille and Shandra were, D was close behind. She wasn’t sure what her father said to him, but he became their shadow. Their protector. If anyone tried to start shit with them, he only had to raise an eyebrow. They quickly backed down and stepped back.