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“I agree,” Emilio said.
There was no denying that Cage had been spoiled rotten. That he grew up knowing how important he was, and therefore used that to his advantage. Mom tried to punish him? He threatened to tell Frank that she was being mean. And, what’s more, Frank would believe him and scold my mom.
It was a lot of walking on eggshells back then. Never wanting to piss off Cage who would tattle to his father, and then we would suffer consequences.
God, the amount of time I spent grounded for things I’d never done was insane.
Still, though, it had been hammered into me that it was my job to look after Cage, to protect him, to make sure he was always safe and happy.
“You were a kid too,” Emilio said, shaking his head.
I was.
But it didn’t matter.
Cage grew up and… tattled less. Mostly because he was practically blackmailing me into doing what he wanted. Cover for him while he did something he wasn’t supposed to do, or he would tell Frank that I was the one who dented his car. Even though it had been Cage, swinging his bat all willy-nilly.
And, of course, because I was covering for him, and because in the eyes of Frank, my brother was my responsibility, I worried myself sick about his whereabouts, having to track him down, keep an eye on him, get him out of trouble.
“Then?” Emilio asked.
“Well, then Frank got arrested,” I said, remembering that day vividly. The stares and whispers at school while I had no idea what was going on. Not until my mom came and pulled me out early.
I knew immediately something was wrong.
Her red-rimmed eyes, her shaking hands, her refusal to talk to me about what was going on.
I found out from the TV when we walked in the door of the apartment.
“I probably sound like a monster to admit this, but I remember just feeling… relief.”
“I get that,” Emilio said, shrugging. “What about Cage?”
Cage had been a fucking nightmare.
There was no other way to put it.
Especially after the charges came down, and he knew he wasn’t going to be seeing his father again, except with thick plexiglass between them.
“Cage spiraled,” I told him.
That was putting it lightly.
He’d been so young at the time.
But he had access to a lot of money and a lot of shady characters, thanks to his father’s reputation and connections.
Which meant he very easily got his hands on alcohol and drugs. He got into fights. He stole. He was just a mess.
And any efforts on mine or my mom’s part to try to rein him in, only made him get ugly toward us.
Screaming, throwing shit, punching the walls.
It seemed like every week, my mom had to have someone in to fix broken glass or a hole in the wall.
If mom tried to cut him off financially, he just stole shit. Or, worse yet, he told his father. Who, despite Cage being a literal child and in a downward spiral, insisted my mother give him anything he wanted.
“That’s his money, not yours,” was a favorite saying of his. Even though, technically, legally, the money did belong to my mother.
The problem was, there was no way for her to stand by that. Not with the whole Lombardi Family around to enforce my step-father’s wishes. Especially after he’d taken his time and kept his mouth shut like so few did in those days.
So Cage ran wild.
Then mom died.
“That was right around the time that Paulie Lombardi got killed,” I explained to Emilio.
It had been a hectic time for the Lombardis with no real heir lined up. There was so much fighting and backstabbing in those days that everyone just… forgot about me and Cage and everything having to do with us.
Wherever the money had been coming from after Frank got arrested, well, it stopped coming.
Then I was on my own.
With a rebellious little brother who was completely out of control, and the weight of all the adult responsibilities suddenly on my back.
I had to drop out of the community college I’d been attending to keep down a full-time job and several side gigs. None of which made it possible to live comfortably. I was always borrowing from the phone bill to pay the light bill.
The number of times we had to move because I couldn’t make rent those first few years was, frankly, humiliating.
And, of course, the more I worked, the less time I had to watch over my brother. Who spiraled uncontrollably. Drinking, drugging, fighting, stealing shit. From me, sure. Despite having next to nothing to begin with. But from other places too. I never quite had the balls to ask if the nice TVs and the gaming systems were jacked from stores or someone’s apartment.
“The Family wouldn’t help?” Emilio asked, knowing that his would have.
