“You’re in the mafia…”

He studies me closely, and for the first time since he collected Poppy and me, I feel a wave of darkness hover over him and touch me. “I’m from Palermo, Sicily, son. Do you know what that means?” I don’t shake my head. He picks out tobacco from his tongue, flicking it onto the floor. “Means I don’t talk to anyone who isn’t a made man about my business, until he’s a made man.” I know he’s not going to continue, so I say the first thing that comes to my head.

“I’m not Italian. I can’t be a made man…”

His mouth curves upward as he presses the door farther open with one hand, gesturing inside with his other. “Actually, son, you are…”

Chapter Five

It has been two weeks since I’ve seen my father, or Wicked, for that matter. It’s like he fucked me, licked me better, made me feel some type of way about him, and then left. I don’t want to ask my mom where he is because I never have before and I don’t want to make it obvious that I’m mainly asking for Wicked. I could use Poppy, but, well, everyone with a set of eyes can see she’s having the best time of her life without her brother hovering over her. Sometimes, Dad would be gone for weeks on end, even months. And like Poppy, it never bothered me because I had freedom when he wasn’t here… but this is different. I’m afraid.

Afraid because I know that when Wicked comes back, he won’t be the same boy who left. Because the dirty claws of my father will be well deep in his skin.

“So,” Poppy says, pushing herself off the edge of the pool and floating toward where I’m sitting on a floating bed. “How are you a virgin? You literally have hot guys around you all the time. At school, and at home.” I know she isn’t talking about her brother, but I still flinch. “Is it the whole dad being a mafia boss thing?”

I smile tensely at her. Sunrays burn my skin, so I cup water from the pool and spill it over my tanned belly. “I’ve just never been interested, and trust me, the guys around the house are not hot.”

She turns her head to the side, pushing the glasses down the rim of her nose. The day Wicked and my dad left, my mom told me to take Poppy shopping. She had good taste. Different to mine with all her quirky, hippie-type patterns, but good. “What about him? Revio?”

I choke on a cough, reaching for my margarita that’s probably melted from the sun before leaning back in my sunbed. “No. Definitely not.”

“But he is who you are going to be with?”