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I nod at him, working out one more part of his story. That explains why his emotions are so stunted and shut down. Showing them to a man like his foster father would have been interpreted as a sign of weakness.
“I grew up real fast in that environment,” he continues. “When he started getting interested in Imelda bad was when she started turning into a woman. I did my best to get his attention on me. If he was kicking the shit out of me, he wasn’t trying to touch her up and I could take the beatings, toughened me up some. Only Imelda comes to me when she’s sixteen and tells me he got to her while I was out stealing.”
He goes silent for a moment. “But that’s not my story to tell. Anyways, I snapped when she told me and the same night, while he was out drinking, I followed him, got the keys to his car, and took the bastard out.”
I reach across and take his hand in mine, saying nothing as he carries on talking.
“I got a reputation for violence after that. I was so angry at the world back then, the slightest insult and I went crazy. That kind of shit gets you noticed in certain circles. I got in a fight with a made man from the Felici famiglia and then they drag me to this Bistro and I think I’m going to be killed, but instead, I get offered work. So I start going in as backup on some of their calls. Kicking the shit out of anyone that needed it. Got promoted to Capo and you know what? For the first time in my life, I felt at home.
“I’d gotten myself made and that meant Imelda could live a decent life. I gave her enough money to do up this place and she’s been here ever since. She’s been under famiglia protection until now.”
He cracks his knuckles, turning to face me, his eyes shimmering slightly as if he’s holding back tears that have been waiting for decades to come out. “I ended up high up in the hierarchy because it turns out I’m very good at killing.”
He tenses up and I know why. He’s about to tell me the thing he doesn’t want to, the thing he’s been holding back ever since I first asked him. I wait in silence, not wanting to risk having him clam up again.
“I can’t leave this life,” he says. “The Don would never let a man like me retire. I know too much.” He falls silent, staring at the trees again.
“About what?” I ask a minute later.
He looks back at me like he forgot I was here, like he’s lost in his own memories. “The box I gave the Don wasn’t the right one,” he says. “The right one’s still here and it’s got negatives in it. He got the photos. I got the negatives.”
“Of what?”
“You sure you want to know? This is your last chance to say no, to use your safe word, to make me walk away from you.”
“Tell me.”
“So, your parents liked metal detecting in their spare time. They got unlucky at Chippewa Falls. Dug up the necklace your mom was trying on when that photo was taken. Dug up one of the boxes too. It had photos in it. Bad photos. They went to the nearest sheriff when they saw what they were photos of.
“Problem was Walter’s father was the sheriff back then. Jacob. He used to run with the Don when Umberto was just a low-level hoodlum. The two of them knew what the photos were of. Course they did. Jacob had taken them on orders of Umberto.”
“What were they photos of?”
“You ever heard of Tom Blizzard, the senator?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen enough of his ads to make me want to throw up my own lungs.”
“They’re photos of Blizzard doing stuff to a hooker that only a psychopath would even contemplate.”
“What kind of things?”
“You don’t need the details but she ends up chopped into pieces. Leave it at that.”
“And my parents found the photos?”
“Photos and negatives. Took the photos to the very man who snapped the things. How unlucky is that? If they’d gone to the Feds, they might still be alive today. But they went to the local sheriff and that’s what got them killed.”
“My parents are dead?” It hits me like a bullet to the gut. Of course, I’d always wondered, feared too, that they were gone but to find it out like this? I can’t breathe. My ears start ringing. I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff and as he tells me about my parents, I step off into the void.
30
CHLOE
* * *
The next thing I’m aware of is I’m breathing into a paper bag and Enzo’s got an arm around my shoulder. “Take it easy,” he says. “In and out, nice and steady.”
I lower the bag, letting the dizziness fade gradually from behind my eyes. “How do you know they’re dead?” I ask as soon as I can talk.
