Victoria can keep her information. She can burn it, give it to Norwood, or print it in the New York Times. It's not a threat to me anymore. I'm at peace. I still ache to avenge my mother, but not at the price of loosing Dante. Not if I lose the way I feel right now.
And right now, I feel happy.
Chapter 19
“Come to our house,” Aunt Sophia says on the phone. “Your uncle wants to see you. I want to see you. I made your favorite.”
“You made chicken parmigiana?” My mouth starts to water.
“From scratch,” Aunt Sophia tempts me.
“I'll be there,” I promise. There is little that I wouldn't do for real home cooked food. Especially food made by my aunt. That woman could have been a chef in a different life.
Ethan picks me up and drives me out to the burbs. My aunt and uncle have a comfortable house with a large backyard. They own a beach house out on Cape Cod, but other than some expensive trips, they keep the extent of their wealth to themselves.
Uncle Tony says that doing that and paying our fair share of taxes will keep the feds off our backs. Considering it's worked so well and that he has friends in the IRS now, I believe him.
“Dinner's almost ready,” Aunt Sophia says as I walk in. “Go wash your hands. You too, Ethan.”
Ethan nods a “yes, ma'am” and goes to the bathroom. He always eats with us if he drives me. Once he tried to sit out in the car while we ate and my aunt flipped her lid. If there's food, then everyone eats in her world. We don't leave people hungry.
I go to the kitchen and wash my hands there. “Can I help?”
My aunt points to the cutting board where salad things are waiting to be chopped. I smile. She's had that ready for me since I was a kid. Making the salad has always been my job. I pick up the knife and quickly begin chopping.
“I wanted to tell you that you did good the other day,” she says, opening the oven and checking on her chicken. “I heard Senator Grayson is very pleased with you.”
I smile a little. “Thank you, Aunt Sophia.”
She turns. Her dark hair is up in a bun, but I can see there is a lot more gray in it than there used to be. She has a stern face where I remember my mother's being softer.
“You look so like your mother,” she says softly. A sad smile crosses her face. “Sometimes, I see her in you. I see her energy. Her joy in things.”
“I miss her.” I stop cutting vegetables for a moment.
My aunt wraps her arms around me. “Me too. That evil man took her away from us too soon.”
I know she's talking about Norwood. When my mother died, my uncle tried everything to connect her death with Norwood. Nothing ever stuck. Yet, somehow, the coroner that ruled my mother's death an accident somehow was able to afford a brand new Porsche.
He covered it up, but we've never been able to prove it. My whole family knows. It's just something we've come to accept now. Well, except me.
She sighs and lets me go. “Your uncle will be hungry. Hurry up with that salad.”
I chuckle, but finish quickly. We always make a salad, but my uncle never eats it. He eats meat and potatoes only.
The table is just as I remember from my teenage years. It's a heavy wooden table with heavy wooden chairs. My uncle sits at the head of the table with my aunt next to him. Uncle Tony is discussing something with Ethan. They both have low voices, so I assume it's something to do with business.
My uncle smiles as I enter the room. “Cara.”
I go over and kiss his cheek. I still see him as the man who came to rescue me when I was twelve years old. He's twenty pounds heavier and lost most of his hair, but to me he is still tall and strong.
“Hi, Uncle Tony.”
“I'm so glad your aunt was able to convince you to come to dinner tonight,” he tells me. “It's been too long since you've come over.”
I help my aunt bring food to the table. Old gender traditions die hard.
“I know. I've been busy with work,” I reply, setting down the mashed potatoes down near Uncle Tony. They're his favorite.