Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
And she’s abused. I can’t start blaming the girl for Tommy’s behavior. Yeah, she’s an addict, but that doesn’t mean she deserves to get her ass beat, and it’s not like she’s got great options otherwise. I’d bet a lung she’s financially dependent on Tommy on top of needing him for her regular fix. There’s no way she can just turn around and walk away from him, not until she understands that there are better options.
I have to figure out a way to make her understand that I can help her.
Claudia’s curled up in her room, looking like her world’s crumbling around her. She won’t say much of anything and I can only guess at what’s going on inside her head.
It only pisses me off even more. Fuck distractions, fuck anything but taking care of Claudia. Tommy was always going to suffer for what happened five years ago, but now he’s going to suffer for what he’s putting Claudia through, too.
I call one of the on-duty Bianco guards and have him go grocery shopping. It’s a little outside of his normal duties but he won’t mind when he’s got fresh cash in his hand. When the young guy shows up a little while later, I give him a big tip and make sure he sticks around the apartment, just in case we need anything else.
Then I get to work. First, it’s the pasta sauce, a simple recipe I learned working in the prison kitchen. The incarcerated men I met during my time were resourceful bastards, in particular the ones working on food prep. They weren’t given much, and usually it was the worst quality of everything, but some of those guys were geniuses when it came to stretching ingredients and making everything taste good. I made some friends with those crazy bastards and now I put some of those skills to good use.
Once the sauce is going, I pound the chicken flat, bread it, and cook it in butter and lemon. Cnce that’s done, I put the pasta in water so salty it’s like fucking ocean brine.
The smell must get to Claudia, because she finally pokes her head out of her room. She’s in shorts and a tank top, looking small and vulnerable. Her eyes puffy and red from crying. All I do is give her a glass of wine and make her sit down at the table while I keep working. She doesn’t say anything, but I feel her watching, and that’s good enough. Maybe I can distract her for a little while.
“I learned this from a Cuban guy,” I tell her as I plate the finished dishes. “His name was Mendo, big guy, never fucking smiled once and pretended like he didn’t know English. Smart as a whip and definitely a murderer. But he taught me how to make this.”
She stares at me. “You learned how to make an Italian dish from a Cuban murderer?”
“That’s prison for you. It’s a real melting pot of nationalities and crimes.” I sit down and start digging in. “Go ahead, eat something.”
She doesn’t move. I can tell she wants to talk but I don’t push it. That’s something else I learned in prison. How to be quiet, how to be patient.
Claudia’s going through something right now. She’s trying her hardest to help her sister, but I think she’s starting to realize that her sister doesn’t want to be helped. It’s up to Serena whether she gets away or not—and maybe I can nudge her in the right direction, maybe I can make her understand that there’s another path available, but in the end neither of us can make Serena take those first steps. She’s got to do it herself.
“I’m still going to Cage,” she says very softly and I can tell she expects me to react poorly.
I only nod my head and take a drink of wine. “I figured.”
“You figured?” Her eyebrows raise. “You’re not going to talk me out of it?”
“No, I’m not.” I lean back in my chair and watch her carefully. “Do you want me to?”
“Not at all. I just—” She laughs lightly. “I was really worried about this conversation.”
“You’re not helpless, baby. You’re not stupid, either. You can make your own decisions, and I trust that you understand the consequences.”
“Even if you don’t agree?”
“Especially if I don’t agree.” I lean forward and reach out, grabbing her hand. She looks surprised, but I hold on tight. “I admire you. Fuck, I probably shouldn’t say this, but the way you’ve dedicated yourself to your sister long after most rational people would’ve given up—” I stroke my thumb across the heel of her palm. “It’s incredible.”
“Thanks. I think. I mean, I’m just doing what she’d do for me, that’s all.”
“Before I went to prison, my father pulled every string he could to make sure it wasn’t a life sentence. Honestly, I’m lucky I only got five years, considering what the cops had on me. But once I was gone, it really felt like I was gone.”