“Do you know why I’m not going to talk you out of this? Because you have pep in your voice and you could use a distraction from thinking of Eva twenty-four hours a day. Peyton’s on it, and you know his genius ass will find something if there’s anything to be found,” Melody intoned.
“He told me he wasn’t a nice guy,” I tossed out.
They both made scoffing noises.
“Doll, he was raised by one of the vilest, foulest men of this era. He’s in the transition stage of taking over a clandestine empire and heading an elite society. He has a hand in kidnapping, trafficking, and drugs. There is no legal system to run a crime world.
“He’s had people kidnapped, tortured, decapitated, and then sent back individually to their families; of course, he isn’t a nice guy,” Peyton drawled.
“Playing devil’s advocate, most elite men around here don’t fit the definition of a ‘nice guy’. I mean, my father isn’t passing out heads as Hanukah gifts, but he’s a dirty lawyer who definitely has blood on his hands. He loves me and Mum though, so,” Melody mused. “Your own dad was, she sighed, trailing off. “The stories about him.”
“Mel’s right, your daddy was a cutthroat boss. And my dad hacks shit, I’m sure he’s gotten a family or two killed. All that depressing drama aside, I think you need to stop taking this so seriously. Let the man jackrabbit you into his mattress for the day,” Peyton said.
They were both so Zen about everything. Thinking about it, most of the people that were deep in our world were, and I understood it as clear as day. These were our families. My own parents had done god knows what.
It was hard to think of them as anything other than kind and loving when it came to me and my sister, but the truth of the matter was they were criminals. I wasn’t going to mention I’d been told plenty of times I was my mother’s daughter.
I hung up with them after setting up a day for us all to meet. I called my sister’s phone next, listening to it ring. I still paid for the service. I couldn’t bring myself to cut it off.
I had this miraculous hope that I’d find an answer to where she went every time I did this. The fact that it still rang meant it was being charged. Maybe she would answer, tell me she was sorry for being a selfish bitch, that she was sorry for leaving me. I just wanted to know she was okay.
I knew that even if she were to return, our relationship wouldn’t suddenly be healed. I loved Eva and I wanted what was best for her, but this wasn’t a film where the past was suddenly forgotten and slates were wiped clean because of an emotional reunion.
I couldn’t forgive her for bringing death to our doorstep. If running was her golden ticket to safety then so be it. I just needed to know she wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere––or going hungry––or god forbid enduring what our Aunt Molly did.
Feeling dejected, I made my way down the stairs to the dining room.
My uncle and grandmother insisted on this family ritual of eating lunch together. I went along with it, figuring I could at least try to make an effort, for my grandmother’s benefit at least. She and I had spoken often enough after my father’s death. She’d always given me advice and had been, well, a grandma.
Ten minutes later, I was scooting anti-pasti salad around on my plate, enjoying the afternoon silence that gave me time to think.
My uncle sat across from me, reading the news on his tablet and drinking what could have been his eleventh or twelfth glass of wine.
I’d picked up on his drinking habit very early on. My grandmother did the same, but with an actual newspaper, and minus the alcoholic issue. I peered at a small section of a story, and curled my lip in disgust.
A family camping in an RV had been shot execution style in their sleep and then dragged outside to bake in the sun. A little boy and his mom found the bodies when walking their dog.
Murder was such a natural occurrence around here it wasn’t shocking enough to have been the main story. Vice City was known for its thriving casinos, an infamous hot strip of nightlife– lavish penthouses, and oceanfront hotels. When Vice City lit up at night, it was in its darkest corners that people lost their lives. I’d recently read online that ninety-seven percent of murders here were never disclosed.
I wasn’t sure how much truth that held but it seemed accurate.
If a murder made the Local Tribune, it was a message being sent to someone directly from the criminal underground.
It could be said Vice City had a bad crime problem but that couldn’t be further from the truth. If that were the case it wouldn’t be such a goldmine for commercial real estate.
It had more of a: ‘you fucked with the wrong person problem’.
Even I had to admit that with the highly cruel and often sadistic punishments doled out those responsible for making sure the tourists were safe went above and beyond.
This was more than likely because if they didn’t, it would be their family left to rot in the sun––but that was beside the point.
My sister loved it there.
She loved it so much that she became blinded by its flashing lights, and just like dozens of other pretty girls who went there to have a good time, she lost herself.
She fell in love with little white lines that made her feel like she could fly. She’d been fully immersed in the underbelly of a clandestine empire I had yet to breach the entrance of. I had no desire to, but it was looking like my only option to finding answers. The only reason I hadn’t yet was because I’d wanted it to be my last resort.
Obtaining a relationship with said empires kingpin was a legitimate stall tactic but for how long? The only bonus was the man himself. Mateo was something different and that made him special to my heart.