Page 9 of Legally Mine

"Yeah, but you said no to that already, didn't you?"

I squirmed uneasily. I had said no to a job at a big firm offered to me by my mentor, but I had done it in a rage. I had done it after discovering that not only had the love of my life been lying to me about being married, but he had also decided to go behind my back to deal with a local mobster after he had promised me he would stay out of it. Though it made our lives temporarily easier, Brandon's actions had the unintended effect of making my family even more of a target now that Victor Messina knew we had access to money.

So I had fled Boston, unable to stand my ground against a man I could never seem to say no to. I had taken a job five blocks from my family's house, telling myself I was doing it to protect my dad and keep him safe, even though the best thing I could do for him would be to make more money and try to convince my family that New York was not a safe place for them anymore. I'd taken the job in cowardice.

"I think I made a mistake," was all I said to Jane.

"Sellout."

Jane was studying for the bar in Chicago with the assumption that she would be working at the State's Attorney's office. It was a great gig, but public service didn't pay much in Chicago either. She had every right to her indignation.

"Have you talked about it with Zola?" she asked, changing the subject. "He was yummy. And the way he lobbied for you to work there, methinks he likes more than your resume."

I sighed again and closed my eyes. I tried to imagine the handsome face of the young attorney who had recruited me for the job at the Brooklyn DA's office, but still all I could see was a pair of blue eyes and an unruly mop of blond. I squeezed my eyelids shut and focused harder.

"Maybe I need to make a trip up there. Help you break the bad news to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Fuck-Me-Silly, huh?"

I rolled my eyes despite the fact that Jane couldn't see me.

"Maybe you should," I said lamely. "Even though you literally just left." My comeback game was incredibly weak.

"You never know..." she teased, but I could barely hear her anymore.

My eyelids drooped. I was exhausted, maybe more than I had ever been in my life. As if on call, Brandon's kind, concerned face appeared. I was too tired to fight it anyway. Too tired to fight that warm feeling I had when I imagined I hadn't pushed him away, when I imagined that I could still fall asleep in his arms.

"Janey?" I yawned into the phone.

"Yeah, babe?"

"Thanks for calling. I love you."

"I love you too, Sky. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks."

I yawned again. The nausea––all of it––was actually gone. I was looking forward to a real night of sleep. And, if I was being honest, the dreams of a certain set of big shoulders that usually came with them.

"Go to sleep, Sky. You sound like you need it. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I was already snoring.

~

I slept for another day, thanks to the last of the Percocet. I woke up the next morning to an unfamiliar woman's voice, high-pitched and muffled, filtering from the floor below my room. I pulled my head out from under my covers after a distinct squeal echoed up the stairs, followed by flirty protestations in one of the thickest Brooklyn accents I'd ever heard. That was saying something, considering I was a local.

"Danny! You are so bad! Eeee, that pinches!"

My dad's voice, normally mild and gentle, crooned in response. "You know you like it, Katie."

I slapped my blankets down and sat up, suddenly very, very awake. Katie?

Two months ago, Bubbe had informed me that my dad, a man who dated about as frequently as he visited country clubs (which was to say, pretty much never), was seeing a local girl name Katie Corleone. Less than a month later, he was back at the track, getting himself into the mess that put him in the hospital. I didn't have any hard proof that Katie Corleone was the one who got him back in the scene, and just because Corleone was an Italian name didn't mean she was wrapped up with the mob. But at the same time, the woman he'd supposedly been dating had basically vanished while he'd been recovering from his injuries.

Who the hell was this Katie, and why was my dad pinching any part of her just a few steps from where I was sleeping?

Another loud squeal and a bunch of giggles erupted from under my door. I huffed, tossed my covers aside, and made a big deal of stomping around my attic room until the squeals stopped. I threw on my robe and walked down the rickety stairs to the hallway, where the door to Dad's room was shut and more indeterminate noises were coming out.

With a glare at the door, I continued to the bathroom, and then downstairs to where Bubbe was busy wiping the kitchen counters. She was color-coordinated as always in a light blue summer shirt and matching slacks, her hair set in its helmet-like, tight gray curls. I collapsed in one of the dining chairs with a loud huff. Bubbe turned around with a jerk.

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