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“You and I both know he has nothing to do with it.”
There’s a pause.
I’m confused. Dad always makes Connor run errands, even when he comes back bloody and bruised. I thought Connor would want to leave.
“When I become Don, Aimee, I’ll be able to protect you. Protect both of you.”
I can hear Aimee crying as she replies. “By then it’ll be too late. She needs us now.”
It feels like a dream. In a way, Iwasdreaming back then. It’s still so hard to tell the difference between my imagination and my reality.
But that… memory rises to the surface, becoming clearer and clearer with every passing second.
Was it true?
Has everyone been lying to me?
The grief hits me like a cannonball to the chest. Aimee never told me any of it. My father was an addict, my brother was a coward, and we left New York to get away from that toxic life.
But really, we were running away from the mafia.
The rain keeps pouring and my shelter keeps me half-dry as I weep, questioning everything that I know.
My childhood was different, I know that. I know normal kids don’t live in mansions that leak in the rainy season. I know normal kids don’t attend balls, and galas, and dinners with adults on the weekends. I know normal kids don’t have safe rooms and get woken up in the middle of the night for “earthquake drills”.
But when you trust the people around you, there’s no reason to suspect their explanation for these things is false.
Had my mother known? She’d died in a car accident, or at least that’s what they’d told me. I can barely remember her face; every time I try to picture it, it’s replaced with someone else. An older woman with a…
“Roisin?” A gentle voice breaks through the sound of the rain drumming against the awning.
The box slams shut.
I don’t bother looking up. My plan was ruined the moment I climbed out that window without a destination. Of course, he would find me.
It takes him a minute to climb up himself. I can feel him sit next to me, sharing what little space there is under the shelter.
For a while, we do nothing. The tears keep rolling down my cheeks and Arnie simply sits, rigidly, at my side.
Maybe it’s the tiny space we’re sharing. Maybe it’s the sound of the rain on the awning. But slowly something in him seems to relax. “This was the only place on the estate that I really liked as a kid.”
When I don’t respond, he just continues. “My uncle would have my family over in the summer. I would play here until it got dark, and Nanny or Angus would have to come find me.”
He chuckles lightly to himself.
“I liked to pretend I was Batman or something, hiding in the shadows. I’d see how long I could avoid them. One time, I managed to stay out so late Tony had to send the dogs after me.”
Slowly, I begin to uncurl and turn to look at him.
“The dogs were harder to avoid. Bred to attack first, ask questions later.” He rolls up his sleeve, revealing faint bite marks. “Learned my lesson though.”
“That’s cruel,” I whisper, not quite trusting my vocal cords.
“Yes and no,” he allows. “Because you know what I did the rest of that summer?”
“Call child protective services?”
Arnie offers me a tight smile, then shakes his head.
