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where they stand with me.” He jabbed his finger at his chest then waved it at Lorenzo. “Your mother and Nick weren’t just friends. Ah, you guessed, did you?”
    “She should have left you.”
    His father laughed. “You wish he was your father.” His tone mocked in a sing-song. “That would be some revenge, eh? All these years pretending you’re mine, molding you, keeping you from your true family.”
    Lorenzo gripped the edge of the desk and stood. “Bastard.” Vincenzo patted his cheek, like Lorenzo’s mom used to. Lorenzo grabbed his hand.
    “You’re not.” Vincenzo wrenched away his hand. Sweat beaded across his forehead and dampened his upper lip. “I had a test when you turned twelve. You’re mine. They all tried to take you from me, but they can’t. You’ll never escape who you are. Ask Nick, Enzo, ask them the truth. They’re no better than we are. Take what you want, no apologies. So people get hurt. They’re adults. They know what they’re getting with us.”
    “I’m not you. I quit.”
    His father’s laugh turned to a barking cough. “And live on what? Your mother was too weak to make sure to leave anything to you. And you’re too weak to stand on your own.”
    Lorenzo strode to the door. “I quit. I know what I need.” He could get a job somewhere. He had a business degree, years of managerial experience. Once he proved himself worthy of her…
    “You need this!” His father shouted, waving his arm before he clutched it to his side. He crumpled against the desk. Another ploy. Lorenzo scowled.
    “Go to hell, old man.”
    His father slid to the floor. His head thumped against the desk. Vincenzo Calabra lay prone and unmoving. This was no act. Lorenzo ran and knelt beside his father. His throat closed. His father still had a pulse. Pulling his cell from his pocket, he dialed 911. As he spoke to the dispatcher, he grasped his father’s hand. Vincenzo squeezed Lorenzo’s palm but didn’t open his eyes.
    “You’ll never escape.” Vincenzo’s face paled, grey like the ash of a snuffed, smoldering fire.
    Lorenzo dropped the phone. No breath. He checked again before starting CPR. As he compressed his father’s chest, he gritted his teeth.
    “Not now. You won’t die now.”
    He was still trying to resuscitate his father when the paramedics arrived. Dead. His father was dead. At some point, Pete drove him to the hospital. His father already had everything arranged, like he knew.
    A few hours later, Lorenzo sat in his office at the club, the almost empty bottle of vodka still open on the desk. He drained his glass and stood. He should talk to someone, though why he wanted to talk about his father’s death puzzled him. He couldn’t possibly be sad about it. Probably it was the newness of it. Maybe he could find Lee, maybe Lita would be there too. Just to see her would help. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t seen her. A knock rapped loudly. He picked up the bottle and drained it as his cousin Pete came in, the noise following him. Always so much noise.
    “Please tell me you didn’t just drink all that.”
    “No, it was over half gone, mother dear.”
    “Shut up. You need me to drive you to Grandpa Enzo’s?”
    “No, my friend Lee’s.” He told Pete the directions as they got in the car. He rolled down the window to cleanse himself of the odors he’d walked through: sweat, booze, cheap cologne. The house wasn’t Lee’s home anymore, but he might be there with Lita. He hoped Jane wasn’t there.
    He knocked on the door, wondering if anyone was up. He needed to talk. He shook his head. He needed to see Lita. She opened the door. Low light glowed behind her, illuminating her fresh face, almost as pink as the light pajama bottoms and fine knit tee shirt she wore.
    His dreams about her flooded in on him. He stood still a moment, queasy. Lorenzo said hello and walked into the living room. He sat on the couch. The room was quiet. The old refrigerator buzzed in the kitchen and