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I want to thrash and fight and run away like a scared prey animal. I can’t believe this is happening. Mom and Dad are in my office, looking at it like this is the most pathetic place in the whole world, and now they’re telling me to give up on the one good thing I have going for me.
And I want to do it.
Not because I’m giving up on Nicolas and Carmine and Angelo, but because all my life I’ve done whatever my parents asked of me. It’s baked into me, burned deep into my bones. I worked hard, studied all the time, spent my days and nights in the library because that’s what Mom and Dad expected, and now they’re here telling me to get rid of a case I don’t want to stop working. It’s like I’m split in half—the Sara that’s always done what my parents said wars against the Sara that wants to be her own person, and I don’t know what to do.
“Really, darling, listen to your father. And honey, don’t show anybody this little room.” Mom shakes her head sadly. “It’s rather pathetic, don’t you think, dear?”
“I don’t care about the office,” Dad says sharply. “I care about you dropping the case and staying far away from Scavo.”
“Who warned you about this?” I ask and my voice is a soft whisper. “Who were you talking to at the Oak?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“Was it someone in the police department? Dad—”
“Enough,” he says through his teeth. “Drop the case, Sara. That’s all we came to say.” He turns and leaves, brushing past my mother.
“Really, dear, your father is very worked up about this. I’d do what he says if I were you. And for the love of god, please, straighten this little room up. It’s so cluttered and unbecoming. Really, Sara, honey, you know what I say about clutter and minds.”
“I know,” I whisper as Mom hurries after Dad and the pair of them disappear.
I slump back into my chair and stare at the floor.
I feel like someone came in here and bashed me in the face with a hammer. My ears are ringing and my head’s spinning, and all I want to do is chase after my parents and tell them that I’m going to do whatever they want if only they’ll be proud of me. I have to physically resist the urge because I’m not a child anymore, I’m not that little girl desperate for my absent father’s approval and terrified of my drunk mother’s scorn. I’m a grown woman with my own life, my own decisions—and my own baby coming.
Angelo appears in my office door. He looks at me for a long moment and I force myself not to stare back at him. He seems different to me now—rougher, harder, much more terrifying. I know that isn’t fair, but hearing my parents talk about him that way, it’s like they tainted whatever we had growing between us.
“You good?” he asks.
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine?”
His smile is tight. “Yeah, you seem fine.”
“Why are you even here, Angelo? You don’t need to be here, okay? I have work to do and I don’t need you hovering over my shoulder all the time.”
His face doesn’t change, but he seems to deflate slightly. “I can make myself scarce if that’s what you want.”
I want to tell him no, that’s not what I want, that’s what my parents want and all I ever do is obey all their fucking commands, but I can’t find the words.
“Thanks.” I flip open a file at random. “I’ll see you later.”
He lingers in the doorway. I feel him staring at me like a spotlight. I want lash out at him but finally, he turns away and disappears, leaving me alone in my little room.
Chapter 17
Angelo
The second Sara’s parents showed up, something changed.
I knew she had a complicated relationship with them, but I didn’t know she’d shut down the second they told her to. That sort of dynamic, I can’t really understand it—my parents were a couple of dead drunks while my grandmother was a fucking saint, but she was too old and too busy to really look after me. I raised myself, always on my own terms. I helped Grandma buy food and make rent, and we survived, but that’s all we ever had. Just survival.
I didn’t hear what was said in that room, but I saw the way they looked at me like I was scum. Her mother in particular couldn’t have been more disgusted, like I might infect her with my poverty, but her father was even worse—he could tell what I was the moment he stepped up close and shook my hand, and somehow that makes the whole thing that much more messed up.
The arrogant little fuckers.
