CHAPTER ONE
Teresa
Airports.
Some people find them romantic. Others think they’re a nasty business. I fall somewhere in the middle. Crowded from all sides by limousine drivers holding signs and loved ones cradling stuffed bears, I watch in fascination as a man and woman race toward one another. What they must be feeling is so foreign to me, I might as well be watching two manatees mating on the Discovery Channel.
The closest I’ve ever come to falling in love is sliding on the red Ferragamo pumps I’m wearing—and that isn’t changing any time soon. Unless they release the same style in pink. Then we’ll talk.
No, there is only one male alive on this planet who could get me to LAX on a busy Saturday afternoon, holding a fistful of balloons. My baby brother, Nicky. I can already picture his reaction when he exits baggage claim, duffel thrown over his shoulder, sunglasses perched on his nose to hide the inevitable hangover. He’s going to pretend he doesn’t know me, the adorable scumbag.
There’s a tight pinch deep inside my chest. I’ve missed torturing Nicky. We both dealt with the death of our parents this year in different ways. He went for a visit to Staten Island to revisit his roots—and, I’m guessing, ex-girlfriends.
Me? I hustled.
The money our parents left us isn’t going to last forever. Nicky still has a couple years left until he finishes college, rent in Los Angeles isn’t cheap and I have a weakness for Italian leather. My film school pipe dream is definitely last on the necessities list, which is good, because it’s such a long shot, I refuse to even hope for an acceptance letter.
Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I glance up to check the Arrivals screen. Nicky’s flight landed forty minutes ago. On time. Baggage claim at LAX is notoriously snail-paced, but my brother should be out by now.
“Relax,” I mutter, ignoring a look from the limo driver to my right. “He’s coming home. He promised.”
Nicky is all I’ve got. Our parents chiseled the word family on our souls, but they needn’t have bothered. I was only three years old when he was born, but I’ve loved my brother from the moment I laid eyes on him. Even when he grew up, developed a chip on his shoulder and started behaving like a prick on occasion, that love only manifested deeper. He’s my blood. And he belongs in Los Angeles with his often broke, overprotective sister. Not in New York.
Our parents moved us across the country nine years ago for a damn good reason. They’re not here anymore. And that makes Nicky my responsibility.
Swallowing hard, my gaze travels to the clock again. Forty-five minutes. In a desperate attempt to make myself feel better, I replay the conversation I had with Nicky four weeks ago, when I dropped him off in this very spot.
Chill, Teresa. I’m just going to see some friends. I’ll be back in time for school. You’ll live without someone to boss around for a month.
You love it. She’d ruffled his dark, unkempt mop of hair. Don’t come back smelling like the old neighborhood. You know what I mean.
I know you worry too much. His attention had strayed toward the security line. All right, I’m out. Don’t get used to having the toilet seat down.
Nicky. We’d traded a heavy look. Please. Be careful.
When the phone rings in my pocket, playing the old classic “Lean on Me,” my fingers go instantly numb. I let go of the balloons, watching them float to the ceiling. Intuition buzzes in my middle like a mosquito hitting a bug zapper. That’s Nicky’s ringtone. He’s been hard to reach all month, flippant when I finally pinned him down to get his flight information. Where is he? I won’t believe the worst yet. He’s not stupid enough to get sucked into the very situation we left behind. No way.
But if that’s true, why isn’t he here yet?
The buzz stops, starts again, and I stumble backward—clumsy in my high heels for once—out of the crowd. For the first time, I notice the faces in that sea of loved ones have changed since arriving. Been replaced with new features.
Horror scales the insides of my throat, and finally, I start fumbling for my phone. Cursing my skinny jeans, I manage to pry the bright pink, squalling device from my pocket. It’s Nicky. With the acrylic point of my index fingernail, I punch talk and press the cool glass to my ear. “You, uh…” I have to stop for a stuttered breath. “You tie one on last night and miss your plane, dickhead?” No answer. The airport starts to close in around me. “Typical, b-but that’s fine. It’s fine. I can go home and do laundry and watch Game of Thrones or whatever. Book another flight on the emergency credit card. I’ll be here when you land—”
“You’re rambling, Resa. You’re always doing that when you get nervous.”
His voice fills me with relief and escalating fear, all at once. If he’s calm, he’s not worried or pissed about missing his plane. “You’ve got some nerve sounding bored.” I steel myself. “Where are you, Nicky?”
Silence.
“Tell me you’re trying to sneak out of a girl’s hotel room in Atlantic City.” I start to pace, one high heel click for every ten pounds of my heart. “Hell, tell me you’re in the tombs waiting to make bail. Anything.”
A shaky sigh floats down the line. “I didn’t come home knowing this would happen. Okay? I…everyone we used to know is wrapped up in the game now. I couldn’t get away from it. It just sucked me in.”
I fixate on the first thing he said. “New York isn’t your home.”
“Yes, it is. And it’s yours, Resa.” His hardened tone makes my free hand lift, press to my throat. “It was theirs, too. Mom and Dad’s. We were living in Los Angeles, but we never really left Staten Island. You can’t.”
“You have school here. Friends.” I clear the wobble from my voice. “I’m here. We’re good together, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, Resa. We were good. You’ve always made sure of it.” A second later, his momentary warmth fades. Gone like a whistle in the breeze. Were good, he’d said. Past tense. “Go home. Watch Thrones and work on that application for film school. I’ll come visit as soon as I get a chance.”
“I already sent in the application,” I say, sounding numb. Someone bumps my elbow and I don’t even have the energy to flash them a middle finger.
“Good for you, sis.” A pause. “I’m proud of you.”
“I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to be the one who’s proud.” My mouth is dry as dust, making it impossible to swallow. I’m afraid to ask him my next question. Terrified I already know the answer. “You went to work for Silas Case. Didn’t you?”
No response.
I find a pillar and use it for support, waving off a man who asks if I need help. “Dad is spinning in his grave right now, Nicky,” I rasp. I’m seeing none of my surroundings. Just blurring colors and flashes of the past. “You know what he had to do to get out of that life? How dare you run straight back into it. How dare you throw away the new life he gave us.”
“Me? I’m throwing it away?” My brother’s voice deepens, so different from the boy I helped raise. The boy I have a bone-deep responsibility to protect at any cost. “Let’s be real, Resa. You’re not at the library at night, studying film craft. You’re not doing extra work on some Hollywood lot, either, even though that’s what you tell me. Neither of those things makes the kind of cash you bring home.”
Lies spring to my lips, but I don’t give them a voice. So my brother knows about my job. If not the specifics, then at least the illegal nature. I swallow the shame and focus on the matter at hand. “What I do, Nicky, is not in Silas Case’s league. It’s a million miles from it.” Grasping for a new tactic, I soften my tone. “Don’t you remember Dad when he worked for Silas? He was a ghost. Scared his job would get us killed. Mom was a wreck.” He makes a wounded sound and I experience a flare of hope. “You’ll have no life. It will be expendable. Everyone is expendable to that man. Nicky, please. Please. Get your shit and get on a plane.” I can no longer keep the desperation out of my voice. “If you’ve already done something, don’t say it. Don’t tell me now. Just know that I’ll be ready to move once you land. It’s not too late.”
His laughter is sad. Scared. So unlike my swaggering, gum-snapping, snort-chuckling brother. “I-I…think it’s too late, Resa.”
There it is. There’s my little brother. I can hear him beaming out through the cracks, making a plea for help. The way he spoke to me before was just a tactic. A strategy. He’s twenty years old, but with those five words, he’s gone back to being the kid who cried for three days when he found out Santa wasn’t real. My brother. The only family I have left.
The nearby ticket counter comes into focus. “I’m coming to get you.”
“No!” His shout hurts my ear. “It’s not like how I remember it when we were kids, all right? When it was just strange men coming over to speak with Dad. Or reading about shit that happened overnight in Staten Island and wondering if Dad and his friends were involved. I’m in it. It’s real. We’re not kids with only half a clue anymore. That means—”
“No sympathy. I understand the risk.”
“Then stay the hell in Los Angeles.”
“Nicky, when people give me an order, what do I do?”
His curse is creative. “The opposite.”
“Correct.” Having a course of action gets me jogging for the airport exit. “I’m going to take care of this. Try and have a smidgen of faith in me.”
“I should’ve lied.” Misery oozes down the line. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have called you at all.”
Picking up speed at the crosswalk, I brush off the hurt. “You know why you did call me with the truth, little bro?”
“Why?”
“Because you need me. That’s why. Because we’re family. We don’t just embarrass each other in public, we have one another’s backs. It’s part of the deal.” I reach the parking lot and hit the alarm on my keychain, a little trick I use to locate my car faster. “Hang tight. I’m going to take care of everything. And maybe someday I’ll forgive you for sending me to LAX on a Saturday for fuck all.”
“I love you, Resa. Dammit. I’m sorry I messed up.” His voice cracks on the last word, telling me I was right. My little brother is scared. Which is only good for one thing. Making me angry—and about four thousand times as determined to go to New York and pluck my brother out of Silas Case’s blood-covered hands.
“Hang tight, kiddo.” When I reach my car, I notice a group of Marines in uniform checking me out, so I throw them a pinky wave. “And don’t tell anyone I’m coming. I like to make an entrance.”