Page 36 of Because I Need You
“The address?” I asked, eyes wide. Giovanni shrugged. “I’ll text it to you. I don’t know it by heart.”
“Okay.” Will sighed. “I wish I could be there for you. I’m sure packing up his place is not the easiest thing to do.”
“Yeah.” I sank into my seat, thinking about the boxes I packed before I’d been attacked. “It sucks. It’s like I don’t even know who he was, you know?”
“That’s not your fault,” Will said, “He only let you see what he wanted you to see, and he showed up too late.”
“Yeah.” I bit my lip and let it go as I agreed.
“Call me at nine, okay?” he said, his voice lowering, and I knew exactly what for. My cheeks heated.
“Yep. I’ll talk to you then.” I smiled.
I hung up before either of us said goodbye.
“You’re not keeping your phone,” Giovanni said.
My eyes snapped to him. I gripped it tighter on my lap. “Why the hell not?”
“It’s not safe.”
“It’s perfectly safe. You just saw me speak to two different people and I never wavered. You have to trust that I won’t snitch.” I shot him a look. “Snitches get stitches. I’m not an idiot.”
“Snitches get stiches,” he repeated, his lips tugging. “Maybe you should try to keep the seat, after all.”
“What is this seat you keep discussing?” I asked. It sounded illegal. “I don’t want any seat unless it’s one of those cozy massage chairs.”
“Cozy massage chair?” he laughed. “The seat is supposed to go to his next of kin. Most people would kill to get this seat. People will kill to get this seat.”
“Isn’t it a man’s world?” I couldn’t believe I was even pretending to entertain this.
“It is.”
“Are there any women in these seats?”
“Nope.” He looked pleased with himself when he said that. “But it’s yours.”
“But it’s a man’s world, and there are no women currently in whatever this is,” I repeated slowly.
“It’s the twenty-twenties. The world is your oyster, baby.” His eyes twinkled when he said that, and at the sound of the word baby coming out of his lips, something inside me trembled.
“I don’t want it.” I swallowed. “I want a divorce.”
“For what? So, you can be free to marry that fucking clown?”
I laughed, despite myself. “He’s not a clown. He’s a good man.”
“He’s a politician.” He shot me a look.
“But he’s one of the good ones. A stand-up guy.”
He scowled. “And that’s what you like? Stand-up guys?”
I pursed my lips and glanced away to think about it, because I hadn’t really given it much thought. Was that what I liked about Will? That he was straight-laced and a stand-up guy? The complete opposite of the guys I’d grown up with. The complete opposite of my father, apparently. Maybe that was why I liked him.
“I guess I like the stability.” I looked at Giovanni again.
“You deserve that. Stability,” he said, understanding. It shocked me. Then he added, “I’m not sure how much stability there is in politics, though.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. That was something I was thinking about a lot lately, well, before I found out my father, who I thought was a stand-up, blue collar worker, was involved in this. It bothered me, though. I’d met his employees. I frowned up at Giovanni. “Can I ask you something? Did my father really paint houses or was that all a façade?”
At this, he laughed. It was a loud laugh, with abandon, like the one he’d gifted me with when I met him in his office that night. When I met the charming Giovanni, the playboy who could have anyone’s panties on the floor with a wink. He couldn’t seem to stop laughing, and I found myself smiling because it was contagious, but then he took a breath and got serious again and my smile slowly vanished.
“You’ve never heard the term ‘paint houses’?”
I shook my head.
“Your father.” He smiled, shaking his head, “He was a funny man, I’ll give him that. With his legit painting company.”
“What does it mean?”
“Yes, he owned a real painting company, but your father was a murderer, Isabel. That’s how he made his money,” he said, no-nonsense, no sugarcoating. “To paint houses, in this line of work, means to murder people. He was a damn good one, too.”
The phone fell from my hands, landing on the hardwood floors with a loud thump. I didn’t care. It felt like the walls were closing in on me slowly, my vision tunneling. A murderer? I knew he was into something bad. I thought maybe drug dealing or stealing or I don’t know, money laundering? Gambling? But a murderer? My dad? My funny, witty, caring, bear hugging dad? I wiped my tears quickly and looked down, staring at the phone, which was face down. Giovanni moved from his chair and sat in the seat right beside mine, his knees bumping mine. He picked up the phone and set it on the table before lifting my chin with his finger. For a long moment, we just looked at each other. Through my hazy vision, I couldn’t see the exact expression on his face, but it looked like concern.
