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“I need to use the restroom, do you mind?”
Cono glared at me for a brief second, then smiled. “You remember your way around, Nyla,” he joked, and I played along, jumping up and strolling from the living room.
I bumped into one of his guards.
“Excuse me,” I said, walking around him.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I took another glance behind me and quickly opened the bathroom door pretending to go inside. The guard looked back forward and I slowly shut the door, walking around the pillar of the stairs into his office. I ran quietly to the back of the bookshelf, remembering a fake Abraham Lincoln biography that opened his shelf. Waiting for a brief moment, nothing happened, and thinking quickly, I pushed more books forward, getting the same results. Staring up at a picture on the wall, I took a chance and felt around the sides of the frame, feeling a clasp opening to a safe.
“Bingo.”
Typing in his birthday, nothing happened. I tried the year next, then my year with the same results.
“Fuck. What is the code?”
After trying my dad’s birthday, I checked the handle. It didn’t move. An idea popped into my head, and I used the date of his death. Then it finally opened.
“Real asshole for using my father’s date of death.”
After seeing piles of money and a few documents, I snatched the documents from the safe, folded them up, and placed them in my bag. I shut the door to the safe and closed the painting. I slowly peeked out of the door, making sure that the guard was still looking forward, and then I snuck out, shutting the door and hearing loud voices from the living room. I tiptoed back to the bathroom, sighed, and smiled right as the guard turned back around. I walked back to the living room.
“Give me the evidence or you’ll regret it, Cono.”
“I told you: Once my niece gives you the money, it will be squared away.” Cono rose from his chair.
To block Vincenzo from choking my uncle, I jumped in front of him, pushing him backwards. “Are you two crazy?”
“He thinks because he’s a Calabresi I am supposed to be scared,” Uncle Cono argued
Vincenzo winked at me, and I caught on that he was just pretending to get him worked up. “Well, Uncle Cono, we are related now, so we need to try and have peace.”
“If he gives me a seat at the table.”
“Fuck you,” Vincenzo cursed.
Cono smirked, lit his cigar, and sat back down. “I can have the evidence shown all over the internet in a split-second. Nothing will be traced back to me,” Cono taunted.
“If it hurts me, then what?” I wanted to know.
“He doesn’t care anymore than Mark.” Vincenzo cuffed my hand.
“I saw Gianney.”
His face fell in surprise. “Gianney Greco?”
“Gianney Greco and Mark were friends,” I answered.
“Never knew that,” Cono replied.
“You're lying,” I hissed, getting in his face.
Vincenzo pulled me back.
“Nyla, I suggest you sit, be a dutiful wife, and be quiet,” Uncle Cono chastised.
“It’s more than clear you’ve hated me all my life. Now tell me who my real father is, Cono.”
“What?” Vincenzo dropped his hands from my arms, turned me to him.
