My dad looked over his shoulder at Jimmy, who simply shook his head. I did notice though that neither one of them looked very surprised by my words.
“I’m sorry.” I whispered. “I don’t know what his part in any of this was or what his motive was…” I shook my head as my thoughts trailed off. I didn’t express to my father that I feared Rico had just used me to get to my dad because I didn’t understand any of it. There was a missing piece of the puzzle that linked Rico to my dad.
“I know you thought Rico was a good guy.” My father began taking a seat beside me he brushed away the contents of the envelope Mikey had poured onto the coffee table and picked up the newspaper. “You seemed happy enough so I tried to turn off my gut feeling telling myself I was just being an overprotective father but I should’ve known better. My experiences in life have trained me to see through a person’s exterior to see passed the fa?ade that they want you to see and uncover the grit of who they truly are. I turned my cheek because I didn’t want to lose you like I’ve lost Adrianna.” He said softly. “I failed you because I was too much of a coward.”
I shook my head putting my hand on his arm.
“No Daddy, it’s my fault. I should’ve seen through his charms and realized he was just like any other guy who has toyed with me to gain something from you.” I laughed sarcastically. “It’s a vicious cycle that I can’t escape. The shitty thing is I really cared about him at one point. I really thought he was different. I guess the joke’s on me.”
“Nikki…”
My eyes found his and I saw the struggle in them, he was keeping something from me. He was trying to protect me from something. His hands toyed with the newspaper in his lap.
“What is it?” I asked. “There is something you’re not telling me it’s written all over your face.” I chanced a glance at Jimmy who was staring down at the floor. “Dad?”
He took a deep breath, his gaze fixated on the newspaper. What was with that fucking paper? I snatched it from his hands forcing him to tear his attention from it and focus it on me. I don’t know what made me look down at the paper, but I did the headline causing me to gasp.
“The Night The Music Died”
Beneath the bold headline was a photo of Temptations the perimeter wrapped in yellow crime scene tape and there was an inset picture of Rico in the right hand corner. I diverted my eyes to the fine print below his picture not believing my own eyes.
“New York’s hottest disc jockey dead at 24. The young man well known for turning tables and mixing beats was discovered cutting drugs and peddling them in reputed mob boss Victor Pastore’s night club.”
I dropped the newspaper and looked at my father.
“Rico’s dead?” I choked. I hated myself for the tears that welled in my eyes. I shouldn’t have cared I should’ve been mad, I should hate him, but I felt none of that. I did care and so I let the tears fall cursing myself as they did. I told myself it was okay to cry it was okay to grieve the man I had called my boyfriend because I hadn’t yet had a chance to process him as the enemy. He was just the guy who used to tell me he loved me. The guy I once thought I was going to spend my whole life with. I mourned the Rico I had known and loved he may not have been real and it may have all been an act, but it was the only reality I had truly known. Until now.
My father wrapped his arms around me bringing my head to his chest, caressing my hair as I cried. I tried not to ever harp on the things my dad did for a living. It was none of my business, but at that moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if the man comforting me over the loss of Rico was the one who had actually murdered him. The thought that Rico’s blood was on my own father’s hands appalled me. It wasn’t rational and I had to remind myself that Rico was a bad guy that he was probably using me to get to my father. Rico never felt a goddamn thing for me that didn’t mean I wanted him dead. I definitely didn’t like the idea of my father being responsible for his death. I was torn between the right and wrong society set and the right and wrong the mob lived.
I pushed away from my father rising to my feet, wiping at my cheeks with the backs of my hands.
“Did you do it?” I asked, knowing I was disobeying a covert rule in asking my father to admit if he committed murder. You learn something as the daughter of a mob boss something drummed into your head from a very tender young age. Admit nothing. People legitimately connected to the mafia never proclaimed they were and they sure as hell didn’t confess to any of their crimes.