“A secret? As Tayler said, it’s all over the news! You do have the same surname as Frankie, you know? And it’s not like I never told them I’ve got a cousin who used to visit every summer. They would’ve riddled it out by themselves by now.”
Rick? Yes.
Tayler? Not so much.
“What have you told them?”
Jean shrugs, eyes fixed on the fire that’s slowly dying down. Rick takes the hint, adding wood to the pile.
“Nothing that isn’t readily available online. Only that your father was a mobster, and you dated his enemy, and that Frankie is,obviously, dead.” Jean huffs. “Oh, go on. Just spill it. Tell us what happened so we can tell you it’s not a big deal and take you out for a drink tomorrow night.”
I sip from the bottle, weighing my options. God, I want to tell them every last detail and hear an opinion. I want to know if they think there’s a chance Dante will ever forgive me. I trust Jean. Tayler’s unconditional, one-sided love for her means he’ll never breathe a word to a living soul as it’d risk him losing the slim chance he has with her. Rick is a different story, though. His defense walls are always up. I can’t read him, so there’s no guessing his reaction. But in the grand scheme of things... what difference does it make if they know? There isn’t much either can do with the truth other than inform Dante of my whereabouts. Deep down, I hope they will, even if all it’ll bring upon me is death.
“One thing you should know about my father is that he never should’ve had children,” I say, peeling the wine label off the bottle. “He wasn’t fit for the role. Maybe because he was too young when I was born, or maybe because he was a sociopath and a manipulator.”
“He was a cold, heartless bastard,” Jean cries, imitating her mother’s condescending tone as she fakes outrage. “He had no decency! He was a criminal!”
“I see Amanda wasn’t too fond of her brother.”
“She hated his guts. At some point, she had way too much to say about Frankie.”
I can imagine when. Amanda knew nothing about her brother’s profession until Frank killed Dino and the media showed his face all over the country as the prime suspect. Nothing came out of the accusations, but Amanda found out what profession Frank chose and broke off all contact.
“He was rotten to his core, but he was my father. The main point of this story is that I never had what most would deem a normal family.”
“I don’t understand,” Tayler mumbles, two vertical creases on his forehead. “You’re crying after someone you call a sociopath and a manipulator?”
“Who said my tears have anything to do with Frank?”
He bobs his head twice, gesturing for me to continue. And I do, starting with the poor relationship with my parents, Frankie’s hatred toward Dante, my fake boyfriends, and finally onto Frank’s master plan.
“He wanted to destroy Dante, but he didn’t want to just kill him. He wanted to inflict as much pain as possible and take away more than his life. He wanted to show Dante what it means to lose everything he cared about.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. My throat clogs with a new wave of tears that I’m desperately trying to hold in. “The problem was that Dante only cared about work. That’s where Frank wanted my help. He wanted me to give Dante something to care about.”
“Don’t tell me he asked you to seduce the guy!” Jean gasps, positively mortified. “I mean, seriously? What the hell?”
“That was my reaction...” I sigh, my heart aching, racing, and breaking all at once. “To make things even worse, Frankie told me my whole life was a part of his sick plan. He laid the groundwork for years, raising me to grow up into someone Dante couldn’t resist.”
Tayler exhales a heavy breath. “He wasn’t all there, huh?”
No, he wasn’t. Looking back now, I can’t believe my own naivety. I volunteered to be led into a trap. I allowed Frank to use me as a means of winning the war over half of Chicago. Justhalf.Frank wasn’t normal by any definition. Because of him, neither am I. Emotional instability, an ever-unsatisfied need for closeness, and a complete lack of common sense—not normal. Frankie raised me to follow him blindly. And I did. Hungry for love and acceptance even though a parent’s love should be unconditional.
Frank’s wasn’t. He was incapable of loving or caring. The one good decision he ever made was to send me on my way to meet the greatest strength in my life... Dante.
“What happened next?” Jean grows impatient, tapping her foot on the grass while Rick adds more wood to the fire. “Did you do it? Did you agree?” She’s halfway through the bottle, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide and glossy.
“There wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for Frank. If he’d tell me to jump, I’d ask how high. So yeah, I agreed, and...” I inhale deeply, and a small smile curls my lips. I’m torn between the joy associated with the enticing memories and the regret of hurting the only person who has ever loved me unconditionally. “...and then I met Dante. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. That wasn’t part of the plan, but I couldn’t help it. There aren’t many men like him walking the earth. He’s confident, ruthless, arrogant—”
“He sounds lovely,” Tayler mocks, elbowing Rick under his ribs hard enough to earn a scowl.
“He’s intense, protective, and caring, and he loved me with all he had.” The bottle of wine in my hand empties faster once I tell them about the night Delta was set on fire.
The look on Dante’s face when he understood my part in Frank’s plan haunts me every night. Fear writhes inside me, battling with hope. Fear of the man I love and hope that he’ll forgive me. With each passing day, both subside.
Amanda’s house isn’t the safest hiding place; informing Jess that I ran here wasn’t the smartest move, but safe or smart is not what I aim for. Dante would have no problem finding me here if he wanted to. It probably wouldn’t take more than a few phone calls. One visit to my mother’s house... but he’s not showing up. It hurts more than if he arrived with his men and put a gun to my head. At least then, I’d know my betrayal hurt him, that hefeltsomething. Now it seems he moved on without an issue.
“Frankie told me to kill Dante.” My hands start shaking at the memory of the heavy, cold pistol. “I held the gun. I aimed at his heart. I watched him cross the thin line between love and hate.” I wash down the dryness of my throat with more wine. “If Frank hadn’t shown his true colors that night, I would’ve killed him.”
“You would’ve killed Dante?” Jean echoes.