Chapter Three

Camilla

I hovered at the top of the stairs, listening to my father yell at someone. I didn't know who it was or what he was even talking about. The door to his office was shut, but he was clearly angry. I was only fourteen at the time, and a freshman in high school. Alot of boys avoided me at school, I had always assumed it was because Michael threatened them to leave me alone. As I strained to hear what my father was saying, I caught a few words and a name or two being tossed out. He was yelling about Thomas Cain. That was a boy at my school. He was the same age as Michael. They hated each other with a passion. Michael had gotten into several fights with Thomas, the last one at football practice. The coach had to break it up.

I took a few more steps down the stairs to try to listen better. Sitting down on the step, my ears intent on hearing the conversation. Just then, his office door opened, and Michael walked out. He paused for a moment, looking back in the office towards my dad. It was just long enough for me to hear my dad yell, "Keep my daughter out of this. She will never be part of that life." Michael shut the door and then turned and looked up, catching me sitting on the stairs.

"Camilla, what are you doing? You shouldn't be trying to eavesdrop on Dad's calls. Go back to your room." I didn't say a word, just nodded my head and ran back to my room.

It was early in the morning, and this scene had played over in my dreams last night. It was on repeat. It was something I would dream about any time a strange or uncomfortable situation would stress my mind. As I lay on my bed, I stared at my clock and wondered why I was awake at six in the morning considering the girls and I got back from the club at nearly three. The dream had woken me.

As I lay there, I didn't even notice the tears that streamed down my cheeks until I tasted the salt of my tears. I wiped them quickly with the back of my hand and turned onto my side. I missed my family and now I wondered the significance of that dream. What had my father been talking about? Why on earth was Thomas Cain being discussed in the same conversation as me? I had never spoken to that guy once. I remember he tried to sit at my table for lunch one day, and my brother walked over and stood next to me, staring the guy down. Thomas had smirked at him, picked up his lunch tray and walked off. That had been the extent of my interaction with Thomas until my parents died. Thomas had walked up to me in the hall and said he was sorry to hear about my parents. One of his friends had snickered and then said that he was messed up. Then they walked off.

Suddenly I sat up in bed. Why had I not connected the dots in the past? I needed to speak to Michael. I looked at the clock again. I couldn't call Nonna now. It was five in the morning in Iowa. She was likely awake, but I didn't want to freak her out, so it would have to wait till a little later. I stood up and made my way to the bathroom, threw some cold water on my face and brushed my teeth. This was an odd habit of mine when I couldn't sleep. I'd always go right back to bed, but it made me feel better to do these little things. Things that at one point had been a struggle for me as I grieved my parents' deaths.

I walked up to the window in my room and pulled the curtain back. The darkness was beginning to fade as the sun started to rise. I looked down at the street and watched as our neighbor walked down the sidewalk and leaned his head into the window of a black sedan. He was clearly talking to whoever was inside. He glanced up towards my window and I closed the curtain quickly, just peeking through a narrow slit to watch what he was doing. A man climbed out of the driver's side of the car as  Daniel pointed at my window, which I found odd. The man was wearing a dark suit, his black hair slicked back. The gold of his watch caught the light from the lamp post as he made a gesture towards our building. Daniel nodded and then stood from the window and walked back to his apartment. I noticed he quickly glanced up as he went down the stairs to his apartment door. The man from the black sedan stood there for a minute and then climbed into the car, pulled away from the curb and slowly rolled down the street. As the car passed by, I saw the passenger window was down halfway and I could tell there was someone sitting in the passenger seat. And then they were gone. I shook this whole weird scenario off and went back to bed.

Three hours later I woke up in a puddle of sweat. I had the dream again, only this time I remembered more details. My father had been talking to a man named Vince. I clearly recall him saying his name when he said to leave his daughter out of it. He had said "Vince, leave my daughter out of this."

I climbed out of bed, my head pounding. I wasn't sure if my headache was from dreams or the alcohol from the night before. I didn't have a headache when I woke up at six. I went and climbed in the shower, the entire time thinking of the dream. I don't know how long I was in there but the water had gotten cold. I climbed out, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself. As I crossed the hall back to my room, wrapped just in a towel, I heard voices from the living room. It was Natalia and she was talking to someone. It sounded like she was standing at the door. "Sorry but we aren't in the mood to go to breakfast, we had a late night. Thanks for asking though."

"Anytime Natalia. Maybe we could get together soon, if you'd be interested." It was Daniel. Our neighbor from downstairs. I froze in my spot.

"That would be great. Here, let me see your phone." I heard Natalia say and then after a few seconds she must have handed his phone back to him as she said, "Now you have my number. Call me." The door shut after that.

Natalia's footsteps came towards the hall as I tried to make a mad dash into my room. She saw me though. "Camilla did you hear that?"

I poked my head out the door. "Yep."

"Strangest thing. Our neighbor just invited us to breakfast. He was persistent that we both come. I told him you were still asleep."

"Oh?" I didn't know what to say. After what I saw earlier, I thought the guy was creepy.

"Yeah, it was out of the blue. Don't you think?" she asked.

"Was it? I mean he ran into you and basically called you beautiful."

Natalia smiled. She was used to men hitting on her, to the point that she didn't even notice half the time when they were doing it. "Oh well, I guess you are right. So do you want to maybe meet up with him soon?" Something about her question made me uncomfortable. I didn't want to tell her about what I saw earlier because, what if it was nothing and he really liked her. Maybe she really liked him? It was hard for Natalia to date. She was a very strong women and men were often intimidated by her outgoing personality. I didn't want to make something of nothing.

"I think the point of a date is for it to be two people. I don't need to be your third wheel," I told her.

"Maybe he has a cute friend," Natalia gave me a wink.

"Right. I'm going to get dressed. I want to call my Nonna." I ducked into my room and shut my door. I leaned against it, pressing my forehead to the door as I listened to Natalia walk to her room, humming a song to herself. Yes, I definitely don't want to burst her bubble.

I threw on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. I walked out to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. I wolfed down a bowl of Grape-Nuts cereal, rinsed my bowl, placed it in the dishwasher, and then took my coffee back to my room.

Walking over to the nightstand, I grabbed my cell phone off the charger. Propping myself up against my headboard, I dialed my Nonna. She answered on the second ring. "Ciao nipote. Come stai?" (Hello Granddaughter, how are you?)

Nonna often spoke to me in Italian. I rarely responded back in Italian though. I understood everything she said, but I found it was easier for me to respond in English. Translating made my brain hurt and Italian was not my first language, English was. Nonna had taught me when I was living with her. My mother didn't speak Italian, but my father did. He rarely spoke around me in Italian. Thinking back though, Michael had learned Italian. It's strange thinking about it now, how different my father had treated us. I was his princess that he kept locked in the tower basically.

"Hello Nonna. I am doing fine, just busy with school. I was thinking about you."

"Oh? You should not bother thinking of your Nonna dear. You have school to worry about. I am fine." She replied to me in her heavily accented English.

"Nonna, I always worry about you." I told her.

"What's on your mind Piccolo (little one)?"

"Actually, Michael."