Chapter 5 5

Marco stood at the living room window, peering through the gap in the curtains for the third time in ten minutes. His father's absence had stretched to seventy-two hours now. No calls. No messages. Nothing but his mother's growing anxiety that filled the house like a toxic gas.

"Mom, we need to call the police," Marco said, turning to face her. She sat perched on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

"No police," she said, the same answer she'd given since yesterday. "Your father would never-"

The doorbell cut through the tension. His mother jumped to her feet, pressing a hand to her chest.

"Stay here," she whispered, but Marco followed a few steps behind as she approached the door. She checked the peephole, and her shoulders sagged-not with disappointment, Marco realized, but with a strange mixture of relief and dread.

She opened the door to reveal a stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. "Uncle" Sal-though Marco had never been entirely clear on how he was related to them. He'd been at every birthday party, every Christmas dinner, every family celebration for as long as Marco could remember.

"Rosa," Sal nodded to Marco's mother, then glanced past her. "Marco. Good. You're both here."

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, checking the street before closing the door behind him. Marco noticed he locked it-deadbolt, chain, and all.

"Any contact?" Sal asked.

Marco's mother shook her head. "Nothing since he left."

Sal's expression darkened. "They've got him. It's all over the news, but they're not releasing his name to the press yet."

"Got him? Who's got him?" Marco demanded, stepping forward. "What are you talking about?"

Sal and his mother exchanged a look that made Marco's stomach twist. It was the look of two people deciding how much truth to share.

"Your father's been arrested," Sal finally said, moving to the windows and checking through the blinds. "The Donato family set him up. They've been wanting to move in on our territory for years."

"Our territory?" Marco repeated," The words felt foreign on his tongue, disconnected from any reality he understood.

Sal turned to him, his weathered face grave. "Your father is the underboss of the Ricci family. Has been since before you were born."

The revelation hit Marco like a physical blow. He took a step back, his mind racing to process what he'd just heard. "That's-that's crazy. Dad sells insurance. He-"

"Insurance is just the cover," his mother interrupted softly. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "We always wanted to keep you out of this life, Marco. We thought we could."

"What life? The mob? You're telling me Dad's in the mafia?" The words sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth, like he was reciting lines from a bad movie.

But Sal wasn't laughing. "The Ricci family has controlled this part of the state for three generations. Your grandfather, Don Vittorio, handed operations to your father fifteen years ago while keeping the title. It's complicated. And right now, it's dangerous."

Marco looked to his mother, hoping desperately for her to contradict Sal, to laugh and tell him this was some elaborate joke. But she only nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

"With your father in custody, the Donatos see an opportunity," Sal continued, pulling out his phone. "They'll be coming for the Riccis, all of them. Including you."

"This is insane," Marco said, running his hands through his hair. "I need to-I need to talk to Dad, or-"

"There's no time," Sal cut him off. "I'm sending you to stay with some of our people upstate. Pack only what you need. We leave in thirty minutes."

"I'm not going anywhere until someone explains what's happening!" Marco shouted, his voice cracking.

His mother crossed the room and took his hands in hers. "Marco, everything is about to change. I know this is a shock-"

"A shock? Finding out my entire life has been a lie? Yeah, I'd call that a shock, Mom!"

"Your father wanted to protect you from this," she said. "We both did. But now we need to protect you in a different way."

Marco pulled his hands away. "By running? By leaving Dad to rot in jail?"

"By keeping you alive," Sal interjected. "The Donatos are old-school. They'll target family members, especially the heir."

"The heir? I'm not-"

"You're Vittorio Ricci's grandson," Sal said simply, as though that explained everything. "Now go pack. Clothes, toiletries, and any medications. Nothing electronic that can be traced."

Marco looked to his mother again. "What about you?"

"She's coming with us," Sal answered for her.

"Twenty minutes," Sal repeated, his tone making it clear this wasn't a negotiation.

Marco turned and walked woodenly toward his bedroom. Behind him, he heard Sal murmur to his mother, "Does he know about the gun?"

"He found it," she whispered back. "That's why he was asking questions."

In his room, Marco pulled a duffel bag from his closet and began mechanically stuffing clothes inside. His mind raced through disjointed thoughts and memories-his father's late-night phone calls, the visitors who sometimes came to the house speaking in hushed tones, the way certain people in town treated them with a deference that had always seemed strange.

His entire life had been built on a foundation of lies. The designer clothes, the luxury car, the sprawling house in the hills-none of it had come from selling insurance policies.

As Marco stuffed clothes into the duffel bag, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He picked it up to see a text from Ellie Lia.

Just checking if you're ok. Missed you in bio today.

He stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. How could he possibly explain what was happening? What would Ellie-smart, ambitious Ellie with her perfect GPA and early admission to Princeton-think if she knew the truth about his family?

Marco looked around the home he'd grown up in-the family photos on the mantel, his academic trophies lining the bookshelf, the scuff on the wall from when he'd crashed his remote-control car three birthdays ago. How could any of this be real?

"Pack only what you need," Sal said, checking his watch. "We leave in ten minutes."

As Marco stumbled toward the stairs, his legs feeling like they belonged to someone else, his mother caught his arm. Her eyes were red but dry now, her expression resolute.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "We never wanted this for you."

Marco pulled away without answering. What could he possibly say? He took the stairs two at a time, his mind racing faster than his feet. The Ricci family. His family. A name he'd carried his entire life without understanding its weight.