Now, I'm living in the present.
And my new present includes a critical visit to the compound of Luca Ferraro, the Ferraro don. But the Ferraros are a lot different than how I remember before Dad moved us all to Japan when I was fourteen.
Back then, they'd been the Italians who demanded an envelope of cash every month from my Korean grandparents. I think maybe they had a nice house in Elizabeth or some middle-class burb like that.
But as this guy named Matti drives Byron and me up the winding driveway of Luca Ferraro's place in Alpine, New Jersey, I can see they've seriously stepped up their game. My hands itch for my sketch pad as I gape at their large multi-building stone and dark wood estate.
And that instinct to capture everything I’m seeing on paper only becomes worse when we go inside. A guard in a black suit escorts us through a two-story A-frame foyer into an open-plan great room, kitchen, and dining area space.
The entire downstairs is sparsely furnished, with only a wrap-around couch in the great room and a round table with chairs in the dining area. But my animator's eye is totally impressed with the dynamic walls.
Done up in dark grey textured tiles, they feature everything from bookshelves to several tactile wall art pieces, which keeps the living room from looking like a minimalist nightmare.
The floors are also dynamic. No carpets anywhere, but there are a couple of paths made out of pearly raised dots. They blend into the interior way more subtly than the neon yellow tactile flooring at the Rhode Island Design School.
Thanks to missing my MFA presentation, I'm no longer a grad student at RhIDS. And I only know enough about interior design to do rough background sketches for my dreamy animation work before handing that part of the project over to a specialist. But I've got enough real-world knowledge to guess someone commissioned a team of specialized designers to put together this living room. The space radiates with both power and strong intent.
I get the same sense that I got when I first entered Victor's apartment in Japan—that it's a reflection of the people who live here.
I glance over at my brother as the guard leads us into the living room. I still don't love that he's apparently on the Ferraro Family payroll, his dirty cop paycheck as steady as the one he gets from his department. It feels like he's walking in Dad's footsteps, though I'm still not clear on whether or not he's doing some kind of undercover work.
It feels like Byron’s playing a dangerous game. But maybe he was right about me coming here for help with my Victor problem. These are the only people I've ever met who floss as hard as he does.
About a minute after we sit down, a cute kid with long curly hair and light brown skin shows up. "My mom is getting ready. She said to tell you she'll be right out."
Then she drops her voice to say, "Today is the anniversary of the day my parents got married—the second time, not the first. Don't forget to tell her happy anniversary!"
Okay, that sounds like an interesting story.
"We for sure won't," my brother assures her. He sounds totally pleasant as if we've just stopped in for a Sunday visit. He really does take after our dad.
I want to smile at the little girl, too, but it curdles on my mouth.
If I'm reading the skin tone right, she's multiracial. Like Byron and me. Like the baby I'm carrying right now. She's almost the living embodiment of why I'm here. Unlike my brother, I can’t smile like there's absolutely nothing wrong.
I cast another look at Matti, the older Jewish guy who brought us here. Matti and my brother say this woman can help me, but I don't know. There may be no help, I think despondently, especially when it comes to Victor.
The woman we're here to see shows up just a few minutes later, and I immediately understand how she managed to Meghan Markle one of the oldest Mafia families in America. She's, like, stupid gorgeous. It's as if the words "ethereal" and "striking" decided to have a human baby. And for whatever reason, that baby was like, "you know what I'm going to do with all this beauty? Go into divorce law."
Byron stills beside me when she walks into the room, but Matti must be radiance immune. He just stands up with an "Amber, thanks for meeting with us."
She has a rock the size of Rhode Island on her wedding ring finger, and that makes me look down at my own finger. My ring of black onyx sandwiched between two raised bars of stainless steel is plain in comparison but way more ominous.
"This ring makes me your owner…I own you now."
