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“Sure she is.” London shakes her head. “Patagonia the researcher.”
“Youarejealous,” I drawl, regaining some control.
“Actually…” She takes a sip before she continues, weighing her words. “I hold a great amount of sympathy for her.”
I smirk, expecting more sass. “I’m going to regret this, but… do elaborate.”
She perks up. “Well, for starters, she’s spending time with you. But also… since my parents felt inspired by geography when naming us, I feel a strange connection.”
I chuckle. “That’s right, London and Paris.”
She rolls her eyes. “And you haven’t met Sydney or Brooklyn yet.”
“Wait a minute, I met Sydney last night. But is Brooklyn adopted?” I pick up my fork again.
London laughs. Not full laughter, more like an extended chuckle, but it’s so genuine. Probably without realizing, she let go of the control and allowed herself to express emotion. It’s a brief sound too, but God I enjoyed it.
“She would love you for pointing that out.” She bends her leg to her chest, her heel on the chair, and rests her chin on her knee.
Again, it’s a simple move, like the drawer closing with the sway of her hip, but what it does to me…
“Brooklyn decided that since our parents didn’t bother to name her after an international metropolis, she would fill the role of black sheep of the family.”
“What about your brothers?” I met one or two at the event last night.
“The Cassinettis are my stepbrothers. No geography in their names, if you don’t count the Italian heritage: Massimo, Giovanni, Andrea and Baldassare. Four boys on their side and four girls on ours. One large, mostly happy family. Do you have siblings?”
“I have a sister, but she doesn’t speak to me. Do you get along with all your siblings?” I want to dodge her questions, mostly because I’m disturbed by how much I want to share with her.
Nothing good would come out of it. Judgment? Yes. Understanding? Hardly.
“Eight kids thrown together in the aftermath of trauma after losing a parent? Considering all of that, we get along just fine. I’m closer to Syd and Gio. And Paris, of course. Massi had recently rediscovered his happily ever after and before that he was in a dark place, hating the world. Andrea doesn’t talk to me. And Baldo and Brooklyn, well, none of us have seen much of them in the last few years. Why doesn’t your sister talk to you?”
So much for avoiding the topic. “My family doesn’t approve of my work.”
“Defending criminals?” She snickers. “I don’t see why?”
“You don’t approve either.” I sigh. Not that I care. Who am I kidding? A tiny part of me wants her to validate my existence. An insignificant part.
“Why did you choose that path?” She looks at me, genuinely intrigued. Jesus.
“I didn’t choose it per se. My best friend was the son of a… He grew up in a family involved in the Mafia. At that point, I only cared about making money, becoming someone important, showing my father how capable I was.” I lean back and stretch my legs. “We were young, and ego was the only part of us that mattered. So we lived. Like fuckinglived. Selfishly. Fully. No regrets.”
“Still no regrets?” She tilts her head, resting her cheek on her perched-up knee. It might be the lighting or the silk of her skin without the makeup, but she looks so young and innocent. I should leave her alone. Not taint her with my life choices.
“I don’t know. Regrets won’t change much. I loved that life. Money, cars, parties, women, travel. Anything and everything one can desire. Until I didn’t. Until all of it meant nothing.”
I don’t particularly want to open up to her, but once I started every word seems like a release. Much-needed release I’ve been seeking for months now.
“Nothing mattered anymore,” I continue. “The more people I saw, met, got with, the lonelier I felt. I kept making money and spending it, but the void in my life grew bigger. So I buried myself in more work. Until I collapsed in the middle of the fucking courtroom.”
“Is that why you left Chicago? To hide from the embarrassment?” There is no judgment in her tone, just interest. She wants to understand. Or perhaps has some morbid need to know the entire story.
“Not embarrassment. More like survival. I needed a change of scenery. An opportunity to leave everything behind. Theoretically, that should uncover what I miss the most. The thing I should lean into once I return to my life.”
“You want to return to work for the Mafia?” Again, it’s an interest, not judgment I detect in her voice and body language as she leans forward, studying me.
“Don’t believe everything you read. I don’t work for the Mafia. I wouldn’t be on a sabbatical if I did. You can’t just take time off from such employment. Yes, they hire me as a defense attorney, and yes, I used to manage the legitimate business of the Da Bonno family. Someone has to defend the criminals. It’s part of our legal system. I won’t apologize for doing that or for being damn good at it. And ninety-five percent legit about it.” Shit, was there fucking truth serum in that food?
