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My father’s blood. Spilled by someone who either wanted him dead, or wanted to teach him a lesson.
Someone who, all these days later, is still a mystery.
Behind me, someone clears their throat. I turn to see one of the servants enters the living room. “The guard house just called. Antony D’Agostino is driving up.”
I thank her and sink down on the couch to wait. A minute later, Antony’s car pulls into the driveway. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds. His door opening, then closing. The front door opening. His footsteps nearing.
“Serafina?”
“In here!”
“What, not in your father’s office?” he jokes as he walks in. “Can it be that you’re actually relaxing?”
“I just got back. I’m taking a break.”
Antony’s smile fades as he nears the couch. “You don’t look so good. What’s wrong?”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, I mean it.” He sits down next to me. “Did something happen?”
“I’m just… tired, I guess. Maybe too much work, like you said.”
He gives me a long look. His eyes travel to the carpet, coming to rest on the faded stain. Then suddenly, he stands. “Come on,” he says, reaching out his hand to me.
“What?” I ask. But I reach up and take it.
“You need to get out of here,” he says firmly, pulling me to my feet. “You’re coming with me.”
17
SERA
It’s a beautiful day. How did I not notice before that it’s a beautiful day?
Of course, maybe any day would be beautiful from the passenger seat of a late-model Maserati, with the sunroof open and a handsome, charming man driving me all around the sites of Cleveland.
If you’re not from around here, maybe you’d be surprised to find out that Cleveland is actually beautiful. It used to be called “the mistake on the lake,” but those days are long gone. Antony drives me southwest, along Lake Erie, a playlist of great beats on his car’s impressive sound system. The music is just loud enough to make conversation difficult, so I am free to just take in the scenery, breathing in deep lungfuls of air and letting them out in sighs of happiness. All the cares of the day have somehow washed away like magic. I’m so relaxed that I barely pay any attention to where he’s going or how long we’re in the car. We just drive and drive.
Eventually we end up at Lakewood Park. We park the car and get out to stroll along the promenade. For once, we don’t talk about business, or thefamiglia, or anything in particular. Noone here knows who we are. For a wonderful, stolen moment, we’re just free to be ourselves, with no other baggage. It makes me wonder if I’ve ever really gotten to be just Sera in my entire life. Not Serafina Mucci, the Mucci capo’s eldest daughter. Just…me.
After we leave Lakewood Park, Antony takes me to Pier W, where he gets us a window table with a view of downtown. We share fresh seafood appetizers and drinks, and he makes me laugh with funny stories and corny jokes. When we leave the restaurant, I’m full, happy, and slightly buzzed. I’m fully expecting Antony to drive me back to the house, but instead he heads downtown.
“Where are you taking me, Mr. D’Agostino?” I tease him.
“My place.”
“Yourplace?”
“It’s about time my fiancée sees where I live, don’t you think?” he asks, winking. “Come on, I’m just not ready for the afternoon to end. You finally got some color back in your cheeks, sweetheart. I’m not about to take you back to the Mucci Manor to be encased by silence and solitude.”
Well, when he puts it that way, I can’t say I really want to argue with him.
He pulls into the underground parking garage of a gleaming new high-rise, and parks in a designated spot next to a private elevator. He pulls out a key card and sticks it into a slot, and we shoot upwards to the top-floor penthouse. Antony opens the door to his place, and with a sweeping gesture, says, “After you.”
I walk into a gorgeous and sleekly designed living room, where I let out a little yelp of surprise when I see a man sitting on Antony’s couch, a bowl of potato chips sitting next to him.
“Marco, what the fuck are you doing in here,stronzo?” Antony demands, striding around me. “Don’t you ever knock?”
