C10
I wasn’t allowed to carry money with me. When it came to cash, most of it was managed by my mom. She said it was to protect me, but sometimes it felt more like a leash. Still, in moments like these, I appreciated their caution. Without easy access to money, I’d never been tempted by the kind of traps Vincent set for his other victims.
As we continued pressing Frankie for answers, he looked genuinely bewildered. His brow furrowed deeply as he scratched his head. “Boss, I don’t know how Vincent got involved with us. He always said it was through a mutual acquaintance, but when I asked who that was, he clammed up.”
I frowned, thoughts swirling in my head. Something didn’t add up. Vincent’s sudden connection to someone like Frankie–a well–known figure in the underworld–felt too convenient. Then, like a lightning bolt, a memory struck me.
Quickly, I pulled out my phone and opened Vincent’s social media account. Scrolling back through the posts, I searched for something–anything–that might give us a lead. My fingers trembled slightly as I scrolled past photos of us together, smiling, carefree, oblivious to the darkness beneath. Then, I found it–a photo Vincent had posted. long before we met.
In the picture stood a man I recognized instantly. His face, though slightly aged, was unmistakable. It was the same man in the faded photograph my parents had clung to for years–the man responsible for Antonia’s death. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at the screen, the edges of the photo blurring in my vision.
“That’s him…” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
I turned the phone toward my dad, who had been watching me intently. His eyes widened as he saw the photo, and in an instant, his expression hardened. The familiar warmth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by something cold and dangerous. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle twitched and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and menacing.
“Where is this Vincent?” he demanded, grabbing Frankie by the collar with a strength that belied his age. Frankie’s eyes darted nervously from my dad to me, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He shook his head rapidly, his voice shaking as he replied, “I–I don’t know where he is, boss. But… before, when I wired money to him, I checked the bank’s location for safety. He’s likely back in his hometown.”
Without hesitation, Frankie rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with an address scribbled hastily on it. My dad snatched it from his hand, his fingers crumpling the paper further. He turned
on his heel, ready to leave.
“Dad, wait-” I reached out instinctively, but he cut me off with a look.
“You’re not coming,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This is something I have to do
alone.”
Before I could protest further, Frankie stepped forward, blocking my dad’s path. “Boss, you’ve kept your hands clean for years. Don’t taint them now. Let me handle this. Consider it my way of making amends to Miss Lucia.”
For a long moment, my dad stood there, staring at Frankie with an unreadable expression. The room was so quiet I could hear the sound of my own breathing, shallow and uneven. Finally, my dad gave a reluctant nod.
A month later, word reached us that Vincent had fallen off a cliff during a scuffle and was now in a vegetative state. As for his father, he met his end in a sudden car accident not long after.
When my dad heard the news, he sat silently for a long time, his fists clenched tightly on the table. The faint sound of his knuckles cracking filled the room. “Death was too easy for him,” he muttered, his voice low and bitter. But there was no satisfaction in his tone–only the lingering weight of grief.
My mom visited Antonia’s grave shortly after, kneeling before the cold marble headstone as tears streamed down her face. She spoke softly to her, telling her that justice had finally been served and that her soul could rest
in nonoo
Watahina har from a distanon I folt a lumn rinn in muthrant Evan in vinton, thorn wan no trun in onlutha
in
peace. Watching her from a distance, I felt a lump rise in my throat. Even in victory, there was no true joy, only the quiet relief of closure.
Frankie, true to his word, completely legitimized his shady business. He worked tirelessly, pouring profits into repaying those he had wronged in the past. It wasn’t enough to erase his sins, but it was a start. For the sake of his efforts and because he had helped avenge my sister–I decided to forgive him.
A year passed quietly. Life began to take on a semblance of normalcy again. One bright spring morning,
I arranged for us to have a family portrait taken. It was something we hadn’t done in years and though it felt bittersweet, I knew it was time.
In the photo studio, my mom sat in the center, her expression calm but thoughtful. My dad stood behind her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. I stood beside them, holding a framed photo of my sister, Antonia. With her there, we were truly a family once more.
After the photo session, as we stepped outside into the crisp morning air, I turned to my mom. “Have you ever thought about remarrying Dad?” I asked gently, half–teasing.
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked up at the sky, a wistful smile playing on her lips. After a long pause, she finally said, “I don’t know.”
I smiled, not pressing the matter further. Whether they remarried or not didn’t matter. What mattered was that we were together again and for the first time in years, there was a sense of peace among us.
Later that evening, I surprised my parents with small gifts. For my mom, a set of luxurious skincare products she had been eyeing but never bought for herself. For my dad, a wool sweater in a deep shade of gray. He tried it on immediately and though it looked a little silly on him, he beamed with delight.
In that moment, the once–feared mob boss was gone. In his place was a father, his hair now streaked with gray, smiling like a child over a simple gift.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt that everything might just be okay.
(The End)
