Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“I think you underestimate how unstable it was for the Lombardis for a really long time. Until Renzo took over, really. And by then, everyone forgot the two of us existed.”
“But Frank…”
“Spends more time in the hole than in a cell with access to phone calls and letters,” I explained.
I’d only personally spoken to him once over the years. About a month after my mom had died. I was still red-eyed and zombie-like in my grief when I took the bus out to the prison.
In retrospect, I couldn’t even tell you why I’d gone.
Maybe a silly, girlish, naive part of me still saw him as the father figure in my life, thought I might get comfort or advice from him.
How wrong I’d been.
I remember how surprised I’d been by his appearance. His hair had gone grayer, his face more lined with wrinkles, his skin more sallow.
It was like, stripped of his trademark suit, and the influence of his Family, he was just any old prisoner.
Save for the hard look in his eye, I guess, as he took me in.
“You need to pull yourself together,” he’d barked at me by way of greeting. “That kid needs you right now.”
No condolences for my mother. No questions about how I was handling everything. Not even concern about where the money was going to come from with the upheaval going on in his Family.
Just, as always, an expectation that Cage got put first.
“I’m trying my best,” I’d said, fighting back tears. Because it didn’t matter that he wasn’t—as he always reminded me—my father, that I had been free of his influence for a while, that I was a goddamned adult. He still scared the hell out of me. He could cow me faster than anyone else ever could.
“Your best isn’t cutting it. It’s your job to watch after Cage. You won’t like the consequences if you don’t.”
With that little threat, he got up and walked out.
I left on numb legs and sobbed so hard on the bus ride back that complete strangers tried to comfort me.
Cage was in contact, I think, between visits to the hole.
I wondered at times over the years if my mom or I would have been able to reel in Cage if he had been completely free of his father’s influence.
But I guess it was useless to ponder what-ifs. All I had was the reality. And the reality was, I could barely keep my head above water financially. I barely slept. Because most of whatever free time I had, I spent literally walking the streets looking for my brother.
On the rare situations when I found him, I had to practically drag him home, sober him up, then try to reason with him in that vulnerable emotional state between highs, when he was more open to the idea of turning things around, getting help, cleaning up.
“It’s just been a blur,” I admitted.
“You deserved better,” Emilio said. “You were practically a kid yourself.”
“It is what it is,” I said, trying not to get too lost in the memories. There was enough bad shit in the present moment to be borrowing bad from the past.
“There’s only one bedroom here,” Emilio said.
“Yeah. I mean, we almost always only had one bedroom. This couch was my bed for years,” I told him, tapping it with my toes.
“It’s uncomfortable as fuck.”
“Yeah,” I agreed with an unexpected little laugh. “It is.”
“Cage doesn’t live here anymore?” Emilio asked.
“Cage… occasionally drops in and crashes. But it’s not often enough to let him have the bedroom anymore,” I said.
“I’m assuming he hasn’t cleaned up?”
“No,” I said, feeling an ache, but on top of that, a sad sort of resignation. It was all I knew when it came to Cage. The highs, the withdrawals, the anger, the entitlement.
I hated that the only ways I seemed capable of thinking about my brother, my own flesh and blood, was in such negative ways. But aside from his very early childhood, I couldn’t think of any good moments between us.
Part of that was due to the division Frank had fostered between us. Part, yeah, was probably due to some resentment at how my early adulthood had been nothing but pain and struggle and worry thanks to his decisions, especially as he got old and big enough that I had absolutely no control whatsoever.
“I don’t see him that much these days. Hear from him even less. He usually just shows up when he’s out of money and has nowhere to stay. But he’s gone almost as quickly because he knows I have nothing to steal, and will be on his case about rehab.”
“Thanks for telling me, babe. I get that’s… not an easy story.”
“Well, it’s also not the whole story. And it’s definitely not why you are here right now,” I said, exhaling hard. “Can I get another cup of coffee before this?” I asked, watching his eyes go soft before he nodded.