“We’re definitely not nothing.”
His mother stares at us with a knowing smirk on her lips, behind her glass of wine. Her eyes cut to my mother’s, and they laugh about something only they’re privy to.
“Why didn’t Natalia and Nick come to the game?” I ask stabbing a roasted potato.
“I told them to stay at school. Natalia’s partying with her friends. And Nick.”
He stares at his plate for a beat. “He’s no fun anymore. Ever since he had to walk away from Kinsley, all he does is torture and kill,” he whispers.
“Dad is sick and shouldn’t be here. He said he wouldn’t miss my game.”
I consider reaching for his hand to comfort him. But I don’t.
“Will he get better?” I ask.
His somber eyes meet mine. “No.”
I grip his thigh under the table. “I’m so sorry.”
He jumps to his feet. “Another glass of wine?”
“No,” I whisper. “My dad will lose it.”
Nico strolls to the bar, anyway.
“The Pituccos are staying with us tonight,” Dad announces.
The tiny hairs stand on the back of my neck. My eyes move around the table, and I swallow around what feels like a glob of food in my throat.
“Will we be safe? You know having two businessmen under one roof?”
By businessmen, I mean mafia bosses.
“Yes, Serenity,” Dad assures.
I run my clammy hands down my cheer skirt.
“Hold it together,” Mom mouths across the table.
“Guards are walking the perimeter?” I ask.
The silence makes me uneasy.
Dad holds my gaze. “Yes, around the clock.”
I exhale. The second Nico sits down, I pick up his whiskey and take a healthy sip.
I’m holding on by a thread. Nico’s parents don’t look at me like they’re surprised, but like they feel sorry for me.
Would Azzura still think I’m good for her son if she knew what I did?
I place his drink down and count as I bring a slice of chicken parmesan to my lips. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.
I count in an effort to calm myself. To push down the images that plague my dreams from time to time.
I stand to my feet and the chair skids backwards.
“Serenity, what’s wrong?” Nico asks.
