Acrobat (16 page)

L
ATER
, as I was walking from the platform where the L let me off, my phone rang.

“Hi.” I smiled into my phone.

“I, uhm,” Michael hedged on the other end, “wanted to know where you are.”

“I’m almost home. Where are you?”

“I’m at Tony Strada’s house in Northbrook.”

“Okay.”

“How was your date with the doctor?”

“He got called away.”

“Did you reschedule?”

“What is this, twenty questions with my love life?”

“No, I just—I wanted to know is all.”

“Okay.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, why would I be mad at you?”

“I dunno.”

He was the one who sounded weird.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is it bad that I don’t feel like shit?”

I had to catch up. “You mean about Mr. Romelli and your uncle’s friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would it be bad?”

“Everybody keeps saying how sad it is.”

“But you didn’t really know them, right? I mean, even Dreo’s friends, you guys weren’t close.”

“No.”

I was suddenly sad, thinking about Frank’s mother, and that it was Friday, and that I was never going to get the forgotten carbonara we had talked about in my apartment. And it wasn’t the food, of course, but the man’s good intentions that would never be followed through on.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“How am I supposed to feel?”

“You can feel that it’s all terribly regrettable, but you’re not going to be torn up like Dreo is, or Sal. They were there. That’s the difference.”

“I would have been sad about Sal. He comes by sometimes, but he was the only one.”

It made sense. They had been Dreo’s friends. He had grown up with them, but they were not good enough influences, except Sal, apparently, for Dreo to allow them to be around Michael. There were double standards. It had been the same for me after Jared was born. People you never judged unworthy were suddenly not allowed near your kid or the life you shared with your child.

“I understand,” I assured him. “You’re not falling apart, and that’s what people are expecting, so you feel like you’re sticking out.”

“Yeah. Everybody’s looking at me like because Dreo’s all torn up that I should be too, and I’m like fuck you, I ain’t sad.”

But he was something, probably angry. “Are you thinking about your mother’s funeral?”

“No,” he snapped, which told me that of course he was.

“Are you thinking you don’t remember all those people being that upset when your mom died?”

“What?” His voice went way up. “Why would you even think that?”

Bravado. I understood. I had been sixteen a hundred years ago too. “I don’t know what I’m even talking about. Sorry.”

He was quiet on the other end, so I waited. After a long minute he cleared his throat. “What’re you gonna do now?”

“I’m going to the gym, then home and shower and change and meet friends out for drinks and dinner.”

“Oh.”

He sounded very disappointed. “Or I can come there if you want.”

“No, that’s not what I want.” He scoffed.

I was so glad I would never have to be sixteen again. Just thinking about it was exhausting. “Okay, then I’ll see you.”

“Sure,” he said and hung up.

I had just put my messenger bag down and unpacked my laptop when my phone rang again.

“Yes, Michael.”

“You don’t hafta say it like that.” He was so indignant.

“Sorry.” I chuckled. “Yes, Michael?”

“Dreo says he doesn’t want me to go home alone until we figure out who that guy was on your fire escape.”

It was like coming into the middle of a conversation with him sometimes. “Pardon?”

“The guy, on your fire escape.”

“Yes, that part I got, but the rest is muddy.”

“I wanna come home, but Dreo doesn’t want me to be by myself.”

“Well, I’m home, so you can come.”

“No, he doesn’t want you to be alone either.”

“Really, since when?”

“Since all of this.”

“I was alone last night.”

“Yeah, but Dreo said he had guys trailing you.”

“That sounds scary, not comforting.”

“I told him that’s what you’d say.”

I laughed, and I heard him sigh.

“But anyway, Dreo’s all worried, and he doesn’t want me outta his sight.”

“That will make school difficult.”

“I think he’s gonna talk to you about me maybe walking over there to you after school for a while. I mean for sure next week.”

“That’s not a problem.” I smiled into the phone. “But tell him I’m home now, so if someone wants to drive you—”

“Can you come get me?”

I knew it was coming. “Sure, where am I going?”

Deep exhale, and I knew he was happy for the first time since he started talking. All that work just to get to the crux of the matter, that he wanted me to pick him up.

“You ready for the directions?”

“I’m ready.”

I
LISTENED
to him after he gave me the address, but only vaguely, since once it was in the GPS on my phone, I wasn’t paying attention to “take this left” or “go until you see the blue house with the really ugly yard.” I called my friends to tell them I wouldn’t be joining them and then went to take a quick shower.

In the car, from where I was in Lincoln Park, I headed up to Northbrook, where Tony Strada lived. It was dark by the time I got there, around seven thirty, and the street was cluttered with cars. As I walked toward the house, I saw people sitting out on the porch, smoking, bundled up because it was cold.

“
A bello
!”

I heard the call but didn’t think it was directed at me.

“Hey, Qells!”

I turned to look for the voice, and I realized I was looking at Alla Strada, Tony Strada’s niece and my colleague.

“Hey.” I smiled, walking up the steps to reach her.

“You didn’t hear me call ‘hey, gorgeous’?”

I shook my head as she opened her arms and I filled them. When I pulled back, I squinted at the cigarette.

“Don’t tell Jen; she’ll kick my ass.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My family and the Romellis, we go way back. My uncle worked for Vince Romelli, but you know that, right? He said he met you the other day.”

“He did. He cooked for me.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No, why?”

“He just up and cooked for you.”

“Seemed like his thing.”

Her eyes were huge.

“I mean, it had to have been ready because I got it so fast. He didn’t just cook for—”

“The fact that he even offered is huge. What did you say to him?”

“We were just talking.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m so sorry about Mr. Romelli.”

“Yeah, we all are.” She sighed. “But what are you doing here?”

“I came to pick up Michael Fiore.”

“I know the Fiores.” She smiled. “And Michael, he’s Mona’s kid, yeah?”

“Yes,” I sighed, thinking of her, seeing her in my head from all the pictures Michael had shown me. “She died when he was twelve.”

“Yeah, I remember her. She was gorgeous and smart—she was a nurse.”

“Yes, she was.” I nodded, taking a breath. “So I’m here to pick him up.”

“Doesn’t he live with his uncle… Andreo, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, come on, I’ll help you find Michael.”

She opened the screen door and then the front door, and the heat and the smell of food was overwhelming. There were so many people, and it was loud and bright and chaotic, and hopefully what Mr. Romelli’s family needed and not the exact opposite.

When I met Mrs. Romelli, in the kitchen, surrounded by her brothers and their wives, she thanked me for coming, said it was nice to see me, and told me to eat. She held my hand the whole time we talked, and she held it tight, covered with her other, not letting me go.

“I’ll eat something,” I assured her.

“Good.” She coughed. “And you’ll be at the church, for Dreo and Michael?”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

She nodded, gave my hand a final squeeze, and told me that Michael was out back or downstairs in the basement.

“Nate.” Alla took my hand. “Let’s go look for—”

But she was stopped and questions were asked of her.

“
Come andiamo
?”

“
Tutto bene
?”

“
Come stai
?”

“
Bene grazie
,” she replied over and over, and I understood that these were just greetings from friends and family.

Sometimes the replies were longer, and I stood and waited, listening to her speak beautiful, lilting Italian until she could extricate herself and we began pushing through the crowd again. I stepped around people, and faces turned to me and then smiled. I did a lot of back patting, shoulder squeezing, and hand shaking. I drifted through the house toward the heavy sliding glass door but found the yard empty of life. It was too cold for people to linger out on the deck. Alla excused herself after that, said she had to find her father and uncle, and pointed toward the stairs that led to the basement.

“Try down there. That’s where the kids normally congregate.”

I took her advice, but once I was there, I realized that he was not in the huge room. I had no idea where he was. Turning to go back up, I pulled out my phone to try and call him in the sea of people.

“They said you were here.”

My head snapped up at the sound of the smoky voice, and there, above me, was Dreo.

“I can’t find your nephew,” I said while climbing the stairs.

He didn’t move, so when I reached the last step under him, I stilled, waiting. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at me.

“Are you going to let me up?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

I went to move by him but stopped. He looked tired. “You need to rest.” The man looked wiped out.

“Yeah, so?” the snide comment came back, like he was daring me to say something else.

I lifted my hand but thought better of touching him at the last minute. “You should go home and get some sleep.”

“I can’t.”

I shook my head and turned to leave him, but his hand was like a vise on my wrist. I wasn’t going anywhere. “Dreo?”

“It’s good you came. I need to talk to you.”

But he didn’t start, he just stared at me.

“Are you all right?”

He coughed softly. “You just came for Michael?”

“And to check on you,” I admitted.

He nodded. “So check on me, then.”

I was as clueless as the next guy until I wasn’t. When what people needed was actually brought to my attention, I could do something about it. At that moment, with no one else in the world caring how the hell Andreo Fiore was doing, he needed it to matter to me just a little.

Reaching out, I took hold of his arm, tugged gently, and led him up the stairs and down the hall, walking until I couldn’t hear talking and laughing, finally pulling him into the laundry room and turning to face him. He looked drugged.

“Jesus, you’re barely awake.”

“I need to talk to you,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

“About what?” I asked, putting my hand on the top of the washer.

“About what happened to Vincent Romelli.”

“Dreo, it’s not any of my business what—”

“The hell it’s not,” he growled. “You and Michael, you’re all I have.”

Me and Michael? I got Michael, but…. “Are you sure you’re awake? I think you—”

“It turns out,” he cut me off again, his hand joining mine on the washer, “that Frank Alberone from the Spinato family, he just took over Romelli’s territory.”

“I don’t know anything about the—”

“In Chicago, it’s either the Spinato family or the Cilione family, and everyone else either works for one of them or has ties to one of them.”

I nodded.

“Sometimes territories get traded around, some new guy is made and things change.”

“And that’s what happened with Mr. Romelli?”

“Yeah. Alberone’s new, and he’s somebody’s cousin in the Cilione family, and I guess they had a sit-down and things got swapped around.”

“No one told Mr. Romelli?”

“I guess they did. He just wasn’t listening.”

“So what does all that mean?”

He stepped closer, and his hand slid closer to mine. “It means that because Tony Strada is a smart man, he’s not gonna find himself getting shot at or fished out of Lake Michigan next week. He’s already working something out with everyone.”

“Jesus, Dreo.”

“
Non farci caso
.”

“Don’t tell me not to worry about it!”

He was grinning suddenly. “Since when do you speak Italian?”

But I didn’t, I just…. “I knew what you were going to say.”

His head tipped as he really looked at me. “You think you know me?”

“Are you safe?” I asked, ignoring his question.

There was a slight shudder that slid through him, so small a movement that unless you were looking you would never have seen it. The man was amazing at hiding his own feelings under layers of a smooth, polished surface.

“Dreo,” I said, not even thinking about it, stepping forward, close, my hands going to his face, sliding over his skin, holding him as I stared into his eyes. “Are you okay?”

He swallowed hard. “None of this matters to me or Sal because… like I told Mr. Romelli a couple days before he died… we’re out. We have plans, you know? Together. Tony knows, and now he gets it even more than he used to.”

“Of course,” I agreed, taking a breath, ready to let him go.

His hands closed over my wrists, keeping me there, making sure I wouldn’t move. “I talked to Tony.” He took a breath, content, it seemed, to have my hands on him. “And he’s gonna let us walk away. He’s gonna honor Mr. Romelli’s word.”

I was really trying to concentrate on something other than the man’s melting onyx eyes or the sensual shape of his mouth.

“So me and Sal,” he almost whispered, finally releasing my wrists, letting my hands fall away from him, “we’re both free and clear.”

“Are you happy?”

“I am. We both are.”

I cleared my throat. “You and Sal are going into business together?”