Since I didn't know how much time I had left, I quickly went through the rest of his office. I knew there was a safe around. I didn't know the code, but if I found the safe, I was going to try to get in there to see what he felt was important enough to keep locked away. And what I knew about safes was that 99% of the time they were behind a picture. So, I looked behind the four works of art hanging on the walls, and of course, the fourth had the safe behind it.
I tried my father's birthday first, then my birthday, then my mother's birthday. I tried their anniversary date, our address, and then 6969 for the hell of it. None of them were the four-digit code, and I sat back down in his leather chair and stared at the safe, thinking. What other important numbers or dates could it be? I stood and tried 1234, then 1111, 0123, and 9876. Nothing.
I sat back down in the chair again and looked around the room as though it would give me a clue. Shockingly, it did. My gaze landed on a picture of my dad with his father and twin brother, and since he had the same birthdate as his best friend—my uncle—I decided I was going to try the date of his death. The only problem was that I didn't know the date it had happened.
With a little help from the internet, I searched for Dominic Russo's death and found the date he died. Shockingly, it was on numerous news websites. I'd assumed that I wasn't going to find anything because he died at the warehouse where they trafficked women and cops were on the Russo's payroll, but there it was in bold letters:
Ten Slain in Warehouse Shooting
There was a picture of the warehouse with bodies covered by white sheets, and as I read the article, I wondered how my father had pulled off getting the women out of there because there was no mention of sex trafficking or missing women. In fact, it didn't mention that my father had been there at all, or what the warehouse was used for. It only said that Dominic was the son of Giovani Russo, who was a generous benefactor to multiple police organizations in New York City. And then, of course, I had my answer: my family paid off cops.
I scrolled back up to the top of the article, noted the date it was written, and then tried the day before that date as the code for the safe.
It opened.
Inside were the usual stacks of cash that one would see inside a safe—at least on TV—and a box of cigars. There was my parents' marriage license, my birth certificate, the deed to our apartment, the one for the penthouse, and another deed for a property in Roxbury, New York. I had no idea what property that would be, so I grabbed my phone and searched the address. It brought up land in the Catskills Mountains, and when I used the satellite view, I saw a tiny house or cabin at the location. There was nothing for miles and miles surrounding the cabin, and it struck me as odd that my father would have a property so far from civilization when his entire operation was dealing with people. Was that where he was now since I couldn't track his phone? It made sense that cell reception would be poor that far from the main road, but why would he be there?
I made a note of the address in case I ever needed to know it.
He was keeping it a secret for a reason.
I lay in the bed for several minutes after Frankie left. The feel of his lips was still prominent on mine, and I was savoring the moment. That was until I heard the clicking of Madam's heels coming down the hall. I hurried and got out of the bed, grabbed the black dress from the floor, and slipped it on, not caring that I had no bra or panties on under it. As the clicking got louder and louder and louder, I started to strip the bed of the sheets.
The clicking stopped, and I looked up, seeing Madam in the doorway. "You didn't have sex," she stated.
My heart sank, and my mouth opened. "I …"
"Why not?"
"He—"
"He what?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "He didn't want to?" I nodded, not saying anything. Madam gave an evil laugh in response. "Oh, Zell. He's an eighteen-year-old boy. Of course, he wanted to. It was you that didn't."
"No!" I shouted and shook my head. "I swear."
She narrowed her dark gaze. "Don't lie to me, girl."
"I'm not," I pleaded. "He just wanted to kiss."
"You better hope so. If I hear otherwise from his father, there will be hell to pay."
I swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."
Madam stared at me for a few more seconds before she turned and walked off. I didn't move as I listened to the sound of her heels become fainter and fainter until I couldn't hear them anymore. I waited an extra minute to make sure that she was gone before I moved and finished cleaning the room.
Just as I was leaving to go up to my room, I heard the clicking of her heels again. I ran for the back stairs, not wanting to encounter Madam again. I wasn't fast enough.
"Zell!"
I stopped in my tracks just inches from the doorway to the stairs and slowly turned, looking down at the floor. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You're not going to see that boy anymore," she stated.
My gaze snapped up to hers. "Why not?"
"Something fishy is going on, and I don't like it."
"I don't understand."
She rolled her black eyes. "I reviewed the last hour on the tape, and I'm certain something is going on."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't argue with me, girl. I'm your mother, and I forbid you to see him again."
"But you already let me. Twice," I reminded her.
"I know that, Zell," she snapped, "but now that I've seen what goes on behind closed doors, I don't like it. You're up to something."
"I'm not," I whined.
"No boy comes to a whorehouse only to kiss." She placed her hands on her hips.
"Frankie did!"
Madam's head ticked slightly. "Frankie? You call him Frankie?"
I sucked in a breath. Was calling him Frankie wrong? He told me that was his name. "Yes," I whispered.
"It's Mr. Russo, not Frankie," she spat.
"But he said—"
"Don't talk back to me, young lady. You do as I say."
"Yes, ma'am." Did that mean I was going to get to see him again because I was to call him Mr. Russo? I didn't want to argue with her any longer. "Is that all?"
Her gaze narrowed. "For now."
I turned and ran up the stairs. I should have known that Madam was going to ruin the high that I was on.
She was such a witch.
After crying myself to sleep, I dreamed about Frankie. I dreamed that he came back and rescued me from my tower, and we rode off into the sunset, and I never saw Madam again. I didn't care that she was my mother. I hated her. I hated her so much.
A knock sounded on my door and then cracked open. "Just checking to make sure you're awake," Erin stated. She checked on me every morning to make sure I was up for breakfast and school.
"I am," I whispered, not turning over to look at her. I was already awake, the sun shining in my face, but I didn't move or get out of the bed.
"Are you okay? I thought you'd be dancing around the room this morning since Frankie came to see you."
"I was happy until Madam said I can't see him anymore."