She could barely swallow her anger when Angelo recovered his stance and charged forward, not out of rage but obvious fear, and he took hold of her shoulders.
“Fine! I lied. But like I told you, it was better for Fiorenza to think that I was weak.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because… because I was in over my head with his crew. And I thought… I mean, the stroke was real. Maybe if I milked it, brought the Parisi boy in… then everything would be okay.”
Hardly believing what she was hearing, Michelle started to speak but had no words.
“Mich,” Angelo continued. “I’m not the bad guy here.”
“Aren’t you?” she asked.
“No!” he insisted. “Parisi should’ve kept the dogs at bay. And how was I to know that Joey Lupo would hear through his sources that there was no reason why I shouldn’t be back to full strength?”
Michelle fumed as she thought of all the times that she tried to accompany her father to his appointments. In lieu of that, she always arranged for his transportation. Little did he know that he could have handled it all on his own.
“Why was Joey Lupo even involved?” she asked.
“He’s involved in all of it,” Angelo said. “And he’s been on a tear since that thing with the college kid’s brother.”
She had heard the stories but never taken the time to question Enzo. Why should she? There was no way that her father would tell such a lie. And she was too consumed with the thought and feel of Lorenzo.
“I can’t think,” Michelle said.
“Then don’t,” Angelo urged. “Let’s just—”
He stopped speaking at the sound of a furious knock at the door. Now Michelle flinched, and Angelo tried to press his daughter behind his back.
“Don’t touch me!” she said, her voice a little louder than she had intended, and Angelo managed to clamp a hand over her mouth.
“Are you crazy?” he whispered. “That could be Lupo on the other side of the door.”
Michelle’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach at the idea of what that could mean, and she thought it might be best to stand still when a firm kick practically sent the door off its hinges. She cried out at the sight of a young man with a crew cut, stubble on his face, and the same blue eyes as Lorenzo.
“Hey,” he started. “Are you—?”
Before the carbon copy could finish his question, Enzo was on the scene with a gun in his hand. “Michelle?”
As soon as she saw him, Michelle’s first instinct was to fly to his side, but she stopped short of falling into his arms when she spied the gun in his hand.
“Enzo?” she asked.
His gaze lingered on hers for a slight second, and she thought she saw a wave of guilt wash over his face when it turned hard once again. He kept his finger near the trigger.
“Why are there suitcases packed?” he challenged. “You going somewhere?”
“I—”
“My daughter and I can go wherever the hell we please!” Angelo bellowed. “What is this? You were supposed to protect us! Not come in here waving that thing—”
“Pop, shut up!”
She felt as if she could strike him. But Michelle held her hand back and looked back to Enzo. He still held the gun in his hand, and she knew enough to raise her hands.
“My father’s been faking his poor health this whole time,” she said.
“Michelle, shut up!”
“Hey!” Frankie barked. “You talk to your daughter like that? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I can say whatever I want in my house,” Angelo shot back.
“Oh? And what did she mean when she said not to touch her?” Frankie asked. He kept his own gun poised as he made a show of searching the apartment, and Michelle glanced back to see him conclude his efforts with a shrug of his shoulders.
“No one else here,” Frankie said.
Michelle did not try to defend her father, looking back to Enzo once more. His gaze started to soften as Frankie carried on.
“See, cause from where I stand, it seems like you were thinking about hitting a woman. And that shit don’t fly.”
“Listen to you,” Angelo snapped. “What is it they call you? ‘Frankie Smiles?’ Nothing happy about you as far as I can see.”
Enzo finally lowered his gun and stepped closer to Michelle. She held her breath as he examined her face, obviously searching for any kind of injury.
“He didn’t hurt you?” Enzo asked.
“Not… not like you’re thinking,” she said. “But my heart… it’s broken.”
She saw Enzo’s face fall as his fingers nearly grazed her face, but Angelo piped up again.
“You mooks were supposed to keep Fiorenza out of my business,” he barked. “And now they’re back and looking for revenge.”
“And it’s all your fault, Pop!”
Michelle spied the cane that he never needed, and the half-empty glass of water meant for his pills on the end table. Kicking the lot over with no care, no need to worry about her father’s well-being, she let the glass fall and looked back to Enzo.
“He played sick to get out of his obligation,” she said.
“To Fiorenza?” Enzo asked.
“Yes. But he got caught, and now he wants to run away.”
Michelle watched Enzo process the information. His face hardened as he focused on the fallen suitcases once more.
“And you had no idea?” he asked.
“I… no! Of course not,” she insisted. “Why would you even think that?”
“Because Joey Lupo said that I had to keep an eye on you, too.”
Hearing Enzo’s words crushed Michelle’s soul. “Really?” she started. “Don’t you know me a little better than that?”
“I thought I did.”
And here she thought that they had shared something far more profound. “You… you kept coming around,” she said, biting back her tears. “And it wasn’t because you wanted to try your hand at cooking again.” Enzo appeared conflicted. Should she give him the benefit of the doubt? Was he as thunderstruck as she was?
“I want to believe you,” he started. “Just not sure if I can.”
There it was. The truth. He didn’t trust her. Suddenly, all that her father had done barely mattered. Enzo had driven the final, figurative blade into her heart, and Michelle wiped away any tears with the back of her sleeve and stood tall.
“Fuck you,” she said flatly.
Angelo laughed.
“And you too, Pop,” she said, whirling back around to face him. “Your hands are not clean. For the record?” she said to Enzo. “I had no idea what was going on,” she said. “Believe me. Or don’t. I’ll be far happier in my kitchen without either one of you.”
Only thinking of returning to her recipes, of the comfort of brining a chicken breast and dicing an onion, she started toward the door. Enzo nearly caught hold of her arm when Angelo’s voice pierced the air.
“No!”
“No?” Michelle echoed. “Why, Pop? Did you already sign the deed over to the place?”
“It’s something else.”