Chapter 2 2

As we walk to Tatiana’s room, our footsteps echoing on the polished floor, she answers my unspoken question about her father.

“He’s working. Always working,” she whispers. “He said he had important things to do tonight. I doubt he’s even home yet.”

He’s always working. After lunch, he mentioned he’d be home late, so Tatiana is probably right. Running a business like Rossetti Explosives, which appears legitimate but is deeply entwined with mob activities, must be exhausting. The layers of protection around the family’s dealings frustrate my father, who can only watch from the sidelines.

Once we reach the bedroom, I guide her into the bathroom and sit her on the closed toilet lid so I can remove her makeup. Her eyes are half-closed, but she gives me a grateful smile, likely relieved she won’t wake up with mascara smudged on her face. “I don’t deserve you, C.”

“Don’t say that,” I reply as I soak a cotton ball with makeup remover and gently wipe her eyes. “We’re friends, and that means being there for each other, even when it’s just holding your hair back while you’re sick.”

Her lips curl into a shy smile. “No sickness tonight.”

I return her smile as I finish cleaning her face. Then I help her change into pajamas and settle her into bed before changing into my own sleepwear.

“It would be wise to eat something before you...” I stop as I see her asleep, her soft snores filling the room. I place the granola bar and two Advil on the nightstand. I had hoped to find some relief from my frustration with my boyfriend through drinking tonight, but taking care of Tatiana, as she has taken care of me, kept me in check.

With Tatiana asleep, I use the restroom, wash my face, and brush out my long, brunette hair. The only light in the room comes from the moon shining through the windows, and I let out a deep sigh. I have a strange longing for the dark, a desire to escape the reality of what it hides.

When I climb into bed on my side, Tatiana stirs. “It’s just me,” I whisper.

“I know. I’m not that drunk,” she responds, turning to face me and fluffing a pillow under her head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, being drunk?”

“For giving you a hard time about Luciano. You’re right,” she admits with a sigh. “Christopher isn’t much better. Sometimes, I don’t even think he likes me.”

It’s unusual for her to be so vulnerable, and her admission reveals that it’s been bothering her for some time.

“I’m sure he does like you,” I reassure her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and patting her cheek. “What’s not to like about you?”

“You know what I mean. He’s so inconsistent. One minute he’s loving and sweet, and the next he acts like I’m a burden. It’s confusing and hurtful.”

I feel a pang of concern for her. “How long has this been happening?” Christopher has always seemed distant—quiet and reserved, almost perfect. But if he’s treating her poorly, that needs to be addressed.

She looks away, then meets my gaze again. “Not long. I’m worried he might be seeing someone else.”

“Someone else?” I’m taken aback. This is the first I’ve heard of this. “I don’t think he’s foolish enough to let go of someone like you. And if he is, maybe it’s for the best.”

“I’m hoping our trip to France will fix things,” she says, her eyes closing as sleep starts to take over. “A whole month together.”

“I’m sure things will work out,” I say softly, though I wonder if spending a month with a detached boyfriend is the best plan. I’d hate to see him abandon her in another country, and if he hurts her... I can only imagine the fallout from her father and Roger.

With that on my mind, I know sleep will be elusive. Plus, I’m still wired from the whirlwind of parties, socializing, and the fact that I graduated. I did it. I smile at the thought, feeling a deep sense of pride. But despite that achievement, I feel emptier and sadder than I expected.

I worked hard, earned good grades, applied for internships, and went through interviews. My father was beaming all day, bragging about my upcoming job.

“You’re very fortunate to have secured a job so quickly,” he said.

But I don’t feel fortunate. I feel trapped, like my life is on a track with only one direction. I chose a career in economics for its safety—safe job, safe boyfriend.

Safe. Safe. Safe.

I’m technically in control of my life, but it feels more like I’m performing a carefully rehearsed play. I can only adjust the speed, but the direction remains fixed—there’s no changing course or turning back.

With a sigh, I try to reason with my own frustration, knowing that overthinking will only make me more miserable. I push back the covers, getting out of bed slowly to avoid waking Tatiana. Maybe a cup of tea and a snack will help clear my mind.

As I step out of Tatiana’s room, my thoughts shift. I try not to dwell on Gianni—where he might be or who he might be with. The truth is, I’ve nursed a secret crush on him for years, but he’s unaware of it, and it’s unlikely anything will ever come of these unspoken feelings. He’s my best friend’s much older, captivatingly mysterious father, and that’s where it ends.

The stark reality hits me: Gianni will never know how I feel. I have Luciano and a secure job lined up. I should be content, but instead, I feel restless. Is it wrong to yearn for happiness when it seems so elusive? It can vanish as easily as cotton candy dissolves under a drop of water. I’ve always been taught to seek stability and security—a mantra my father has repeated for as long as I can remember.

“Happiness comes after securing the basics and more. It comes from feeling safe,” I can almost hear my father’s deep voice saying.

The kitchen is dim when I reach it, illuminated only by the patio lights filtering through the sliding glass door. I navigate to the fridge, trying to push aside thoughts of Gianni. He probably doesn’t even know I exist beyond being Tatiana’s friend.

I open the fridge to find it stocked with fresh produce. I consider making tea but am drawn instead to a pre-made yogurt smoothie.

Despite my mood, I grab the smoothie and settle onto a stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen. The space is sleek and elegant, with its gray and blue tones and dark wood accents. It’s a far cry from the cozy, two-story home my father owns.

As I twist off the cap and take a sip, my enjoyment is abruptly interrupted by a sound. Not a voice, but a series of moans, unmistakable and intense.