For Luca (Chicago Syndicate Book 2) (21 page)

By Friday, a week after my attack, I’m home alone because Wade has a life too. And although he doesn’t mention it to me, I’m sure he has issues at work. I’m crying uncontrollably while watching Phoebe and her sisters vanquish Cole when the loud ring of the buzzer jars me off the couch. Wade isn’t supposed to stop by until tonight, and we agreed that in order to reduce my nervousness, he would always call me before showing up. Staring at the buzzer, I shiver when it rings again and cautiously push the button but don’t speak.

“Fallon?” a female voice asks. “Fallon, it’s Camilla. Open up, please.”

Unlocking my door, I race downstairs to make sure that she’s alone, and we both smile sadly when we spot one another. It’s been almost five months since we met, and the last time we saw each other was that night we tried to escape the Syndicate’s headquarters. Her auburn bob has grown out, and she looks tired but still beautiful.

As soon as I open the front entrance, she jumps into my arms. “How are you?”

“How did you find me?” I return her genuine embrace, and we break to give each other a once-over.

She frowns at my disheveled state. My eyes are red and swollen from crying, not only from the show I was watching, but from random times throughout the day when memories plague me.

“It wasn’t easy,” she replies as we head up to my apartment.

“Sit.” I motion to the sofa and slide onto the coffee table opposite her. “I’ve thought about you often, and I didn’t have a clue how I could find you.”

Camilla twists her hands together in unease. “They’re looking for me.”

“Syndicate?” I counter with a gasp.

“Yes, and I don’t know why.”

“What happened with Adriano after you two left Luca’s room that night?” Luca never divulged anything about Camilla. “It’s surreal to have you here in my apartment.” I feel connected to this woman because she’s the only person who knows what I went through in that house, except for Luca.

“Are you still with Luca?”

I shake my head and get up to get some tea. “No. You want some tea?”

“Yes, please.”

She follows me into the kitchen and relays her story while I switch on the electric kettle and grab mugs and Lady Grey tea.

“Adriano was furious that night, and I don’t think he really knew what to do because he was pacing and ranting, but he did stay with me. The next day, he dropped me off at my house and told me to disappear. I didn’t know if it was a threat or a warning, so I did as he advised and got the hell out of Chicago. My neighbor, who’s my friend, contacted me a week later and told me that an Italian man – Adriano – came looking for me, and he was fuming that no one could give him information. I disconnected my phone, and I have some important contacts in Chicago who are helping me stay under the radar.”

“Where did you stay?”

“Iowa.”

I dip my chin in question. “How did you end up there?” Taking the steaming mugs, I lead us back to the couch and sit down Indian style.

Camilla takes the mug and warms her hands. “A friend of mine has a secluded place there, and she said I could use it.”

“Why did you come back to The Loop?”

“Because about three months ago, I discovered that James Calderone has been searching for me.”

My eyes enlarge in shock. “Oh crap.”

“Yes, the
Capo crimine,
also known as the Godfather, is looking for me. I’m scared shitless, and I don’t know what he wants from me. I’m sick of hiding, so my friend found you for me. I was wondering if you also disappeared, and then I was told you’re continuing on with your life as always. I thought they were looking for me because of what we did at the house.”

I snort because my life has changed just as much as hers. “Uhm…I’m not continuing on with my life as before. You have no idea what happened.”

“So tell me,” she urges in a soft voice.

I bite my lip and release a deep breath. “Where do I start? Luca brought me home a day after we tried to escape, and I ended it with him immediately because I was so confused and angry and scared also. Then my boss died, and I was framed for his death.” I still can’t believe what’s happened to my life. “Well, not exactly framed, but I was linked to the case.”

She’s about to take a sip of her tea but places the mug on the table and stares at me in amazement.

“Yeah, my life has changed completely too, Camilla. Our affiliation with these guys is dangerous, yet we are still drawn to them. The detective on my boss’ case has been helping me, and Luca also helped me when I was attacked by a cop who wanted to frame me last week – it’s all Syndicate related. Long story short, I did see Luca a couple of times, but our encounters never ended well. There’s too much animosity between us. Before last week, I hadn’t talked to him for almost two months. I was even arrested last week, but the entire precinct is corrupt, and thankfully, the one good guy has come to my aid.” I can’t talk about the rape to her yet; those wounds are still too fresh.

“Jesus Christ!”

A disturbing thought crosses my mind. “Shit, Camilla, Luca has been having me trailed for a long time. I don’t know if I’m still being watched. If I am, they’ll know you’re back in The Loop.”

“Fuck!” She jumps up. “I need to leave then.”

“How do we contact each other? I still want to finish our talk.”

She gives me her phone from her purse. “Put your number in, I’ll call you.”

While entering my contact information, I state, “Call me the first chance you get. Maybe Wade – he’s my friend – can help you, okay? No, wait! Don’t call me because I’m sure my phone records are being checked too. The Syndicate is everywhere and extremely powerful; I realize that now.” I clutch her phone while wondering how we can contact one another. “Okay, meet me in Lake Forest next week at my parents’ house.” I type in my parents’ address. “What day can you be there?”

“Uhm… Tuesday,” she retorts with fearful eyes, and we wrap our arms around each other tightly.

“Okay, Tuesday at noon,” I confirm before she runs out.

I can’t believe how both our lives have been turned upside down.

***

On Monday, Wade drops me off at the office of a therapist that’s situated in an upscale, old brownstone building on the east end of town. I climb the stairs to the second floor, and she welcomes me as I push open the glass doors to enter the deserted waiting room.

She stands in the doorway of her office and motions for me to enter. “Miss Michaels, I’m Sylvia Lenter. You’re right on time,” she greets with a strong handshake and a friendly smile.

And the first thing I notice is how her hairstyle is the same perfect pixie cut, styled sleek and soft, as my mother’s. Her office is impressive with high ceilings and a huge window overlooking the busy street, decorated in aged wood with a soft beige seating area set up as a living room.

“Please sit.” She gestures to the sofa and the recliner, giving me a choice. “Anything to drink, Miss Michaels?”

“Yes, a tea.” I choose the beige recliner because the upholstery looks much softer. “And please, call me Fallon.”

Her lips curl up as she pours hot water into an elegantly tiny teacup and slides onto her chair opposite me with her notepad and pen in hand. “Let’s get to know each other.”

After relaying my life story in ten minutes, she picks up the hint that I want to talk about the abuse when I reach that point quickly. I avoid mentioning the Syndicate and leave out those six days I was held at their headquarters.

“Let’s discuss why you’re here.”

“I want to feel normal again.”

“In what way do you feel abnormal?”

“I’m afraid and on edge all the time. I tend be a loner. Without my friends pushing me to stop closing myself off, I would sit at home alone all day long.”

“Those are all normal human reactions, Fallon. There’s nothing not normal about any of the things you just mentioned. Have you told your family and friends what you’ve been through?”

“No. Only one friend knows.”

She scribbles something down. “Why?”

“I’m afraid of their reaction.”

“Stop worrying about what others will think, about what your family will think. Don’t concern yourself with their thoughts and reactions but with your own healing process. That’s what we’re going to focus on in these sessions. I want you to know that you are not to blame at all, do you understand that?”

I nod slowly. “I do. But it does cross my mind how I could’ve prevented it.”

“Again, a normal reaction that will fade with time. Are you apprehensive to have sex?”

I shrug while gazing at a children’s boutique across the street. “I don’t think so, but I haven’t been in a situation where I’ve had the opportunity to have sex after…it. I do have a….uhm…this need to feel that I’m still desirable.”

“That’s not uncommon. It affects everyone in a different way. There’s no right or wrong here. Remember that.”

“What bothers me most is that sense of dirtiness, of filthiness that I can’t shed.”

Her tender eyes hold mine sympathetically. “You’re not dirty and deep down you realize that.”

The tears that have been pooling flow over, and she hands me the softest tissues that smell like flowers, allowing me time to let it out. Sniffing and wiping my nose, I meet her eyes to convey that I’m ready to continue.

“Can you explain in what way you feel dirty?”

“Dirty might not be the right word… No, it is. The violation of my body makes me feel dirty.”

“All the time?” she probes.

“No, and honestly the feeling has weakened slightly. The day after was when I was at my worst, when I couldn’t believe it happened. And that entire day I lived under a dark, black cloud. At random moments, I feel like I’m under that black cloud again.”

“Look at how much you’ve relayed to me. You’ve confided in me and talk quite eloquently about your feelings. You’re much stronger than you think. You’re not weak because you cry. Crying is a necessary step in the healing process. The human psyche is much stronger than we give ourselves credit for, Fallon. I see how you fight to not have this define your life, which is admirable. You’re very self-aware already, and I can offer you methods and tools to break the ‘dark cloud’ cycle you mentioned.”

Tucking my legs under my behind, I seek a more comfortable position. “But I think it’s easy to tell my story here because I’m not afraid of your reaction.”

“Whose reaction are you specifically afraid of?”

“My parents. It will hurt them.”

“It might hurt them more if you keep it from them. Parents always want to nurture their children, no matter what age. Give them a chance to help you.”

Silence stretches around us.

“And who else’s?”

“Luca’s.”

“Tell me about Luca.” She turns back one page of her notebook. “You’ve mentioned him several times.”

I twist my teacup and expel a loaded breath. “What do you want to know?”

“Who is he?”

Sucking in my lower lip, I wonder how to answer that. “He’s… It’s complicated, but he’s my ex-boyfriend. He’s the love of my life. The one that got away.” I fought my feelings and pushed so hard that I allowed him to get away. In reality, I still don’t know if I could ever accept his line of work, but I’ve definitely entered grey territory, and I’m beginning to understand that he’s certainly not the bad guy in all of this. Law enforcement has let me down, and I let Luca down, and now he shut the door on us for good.

“But you still talk to him?”

“No, not really. I pushed him away after the rape.” This is the first time I actually mention the word ‘rape’.

“Why are you surprised?”

“What?” I ask with a frown.

“You had a surprised look after you said that you pushed him away.”

“Oh, I was shocked that I said the word ‘rape’; that’s the first time I’ve stated the word out loud.”

“How do you feel now that you’ve said it?”

“The same. I don’t feel any different.”

“Exactly. The word itself won’t hurt you. Neither will confiding in people.”

“I know.”

“Do you feel anxious lately?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay, I want you to start writing down your feelings daily. We don’t have to discuss everything you write down if you don’t want to, but it could help you to organize your thoughts. Do you exercise?”

“I run, that’s it.”

“Ever thought about attending yoga classes? Yoga calms people and releases stress and anxiety.”

“I have actually, and I will. There are classes at the gym near my apartment.”

She closes her notebook and places it gently on the table next to her chair. “Great. I would like to see you once a week, unless you want to increase the frequency?”

Time went fast. “No, once a week is fine.”

She hands me her business card. “If you ever feel like you need to talk to me and can’t wait until our session, I want you to call me. Do you have any other questions?”

That’s nice. I would’ve thought she wouldn’t want to be bothered outside of office hours. “Thank you. No questions at the moment.”