“I’m merely a grieving son looking for the perpetrator who did this heinous act.” I could hear the sarcasm in Michael’s voice.
There was another silence before the officer cleared his throat. “That’s good to hear and I’ll make note of that in my report. I’m going to put some feelers out, see what I can find. If you think of anything, let me know.”
“Oh, I will.”
I heard another round of footsteps and raced into the room, closing the door with a soft click. It was at least ten minutes before Michael came for me. He seemed haggard, more troubled than before.
“Is everything all right?”
“Maybe. We can resume where we left off.” He waited for me, following me down the stairs. His mood had shifted once again, now all business.
Exhaustion was settling in. I wasn’t ready for additional questions that I couldn’t answer.
He refilled our wine, taking several sips before resuming working on the food.
And stayed quiet the remainder of the time.
“You’re really not going back to the movies?” I asked, hopeful of starting any kind of normal conversation.
“Not a chance. There is no joy in that any longer.”
I still felt a moment of sadness for him, but everything changed. The kind of life we’d led meant we weren’t supposed to get used to what others called normal because there was no such thing.
Dinner was prepared and positioned beautifully on the plates. We carried everything into the dining room, a stunning spot allowing a perfect view of the crystal clear pool. Unfortunately, the blinds were drawn, just like they all were on the first floor. He was overly cautious.
And I couldn’t blame him.
I eased into the chair to his right, uncertain of my feelings in every manner. This was far too… realistic, a couple eating dinner. Not a boy and a girl from two distinct mafia families.
We were two minutes into dinner when his phone rang again. This time, he ignored the interruption, but his annoyance was very high, his fist slamming on the dining room table.
“Everything is wonderful,” I half whispered. He’d fallen into another vacuum, completely in another zone, one filled with anxiety.
He didn’t answer, merely tore at his food with his knife, stabbing the rare beef over and over again.
When the phone rang a second time, he growled, tossing back his chair and answering it with me still in the room. “What?”
I continued eating, pretending I didn’t give a shit about the call.
“I’m sorry? What did you say?”
I finally looked up. His face was pinched, his mouth twisted in hatred and fury.
“I will fucking kill them. Do you hear me?” He backed away, his chest heaving. “No, you listen to me.”
I eased back from the table, moving to a standing position. Whatever was wrong was brutal.
“You’re certain.” His voice was much softer. “Why? Jesus. Fucking. Christ.”
The silence was terrifying.
“Fine. Make certain everyone is there tomorrow. I don’t give a fuck what they think they have going on. Period. Do you understand me, Grinder?”
Seconds later he ended the call, tossing the phone.
I swallowed, waiting for him to say something. Anything. “Your father?”
He slapped both hands on the table, the force enough to jar the dishes, sloshing the wine. “Go to your room.”
“What? Why?”
“I said… Go. To. Your. Room. Now!”
The vehemence of his tone initially pissed me off, the thought of being banished ridiculous. When he lifted his head, his eyes shimmering with the kind of rage that I’d only seen once, I immediately walked to the door. Trembling, I moved into the kitchen then hesitated, glancing back at him. His shoulders were slumped, his breathing difficult.
Without any warning, he swept his arm across the table, pitching the dishes and glasses against the wall and shattering what little care I’d had for him.
The man was a ticking time bomb.
One day, he’d use his anger on me. I wasn’t going to stick around and allow that to happen.
I raced to my room, slamming the door and taking several deep breaths in order to calm my nerves. As if that was going to happen. What the hell had he just been told if not about his father’s condition?
I turned on the single light, easing onto the bed. I was shaking from adrenaline, trying to put the pieces together. Whatever was going on had rattled him to an unstable point.
Minutes passed.
Ten.