Acquaintances (A Mafia Romance)

Thirteen.

Rebecca Caruso

"Hey, sweetheart, are you asleep?" The unmistakable sound of my father's voice reached my ears even before I saw him at the car window. He had a way of speaking in that deep, resonant tone, always accompanied by his unyielding nickname for me.

"No..." I replied irritably, still reclining with my eyes shut. "We talked about not calling me that in public, remember?"

Nicknames can be endearing when you're three, or maybe five, and even at ten. But as you hit twenty-five, they take a turn for the creepy. Even the abbreviated versions of my name sound cringe-worthy: Beck, Becca, and worst of all, Becky—oh God, if I have to endure one more round of Sir Mix-a-Lot's 'Baby Got Back' roleplay, I might just disappear into a musical abyss.

I blame this fast-paced generation for its obsession with unnecessary acronyms and slang.

"What's that, sweetheart?" Robert seemed to intentionally push my buttons, raising his voice and repeating the nickname with greater frequency. "Oh, come on now, how can I resist? It takes me back to a good place, you know that."

"Yeah," I replied cautiously, opening my eyes to catch a glimpse of my father. His expression held a mix of nostalgia and guilt, all too familiar to me.

The infamous Caruso memory lane, fraught with pressure, always leads to unexpected actions. Why did I have to open my damn mouth?

"Valentine's Day 1993," he pressed on, swinging open the passenger door. "You and your mom swung by the precinct after preschool and handed out—"

"Sweetheart candy," we both declared in unison. 

"You never let me live it down," I replied, fully aware of how many times I'd heard this tale. Sadly, we both remember its true significance in vastly different ways...

While Robert only dwells on my actions, I delve into the memory of my late mother, Jennifer. Her distinctive hazel eyebrows framed the beauty of her round face, with naturally subtle mauve lips and deep hazel eyes passed down to Raphael—oh, and the scent of lilacs.

How could I ever forget? It was her signature fragrance. Even now, it transports me to a serene sanctuary.

"Even the criminals," Robert remarked, his gaze fixed on the foggy haze of the shipping containers ahead. "You squeezed those tiny arms of yours through the bars, always determined to offer a helping hand to those in need."

That particular day, I recalled my mother's fury toward Robert. A vague argument about one of the prisoners. I couldn't recall the specifics; I just remember feeling utterly helpless and profoundly sad. That's when I started distributing candy hearts to everyone around me.

The funny thing about being young and naïve—you live solely for the moment.

Stepping out of the car, I stood beside the impeccably dressed man who stood only a few inches taller. Where Raphael inherited my mother's traits, I stared into a mirror reflecting Robert's gender-swapped image—our sea-blue eyes, our broad noses. It was abundantly clear that I took after my father in more ways than one.

"I was three, and Mom was upset. I wanted to make her happy," I replied, fully aware of where this conversation was heading.

"Yeah..." he altered his demeanor, standing taller and more resolute. The moment Robert had been building up to was about to unfold. "But look at you now; still trying to offer hearts to the world. When will you realize that not everyone deserves it?"

BINGO.

"It was unjust—" I began, my voice filled with frustration.

"I suspended you for six months, not due to your actions, but to impart a lesson, Rebecca," he declared, leaning against the car. "I cannot allow my officers, especially my own daughter, to enable those who try to steal. The law simply does not work that way."

"But she was just a kid!" I exclaimed, my heart aching for the little girl who had only taken a canister of baby formula for her helpless sibling. How could anyone possess such a cold heart to intervene? Certainly not me.

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted, halting my thoughts in their tracks. "She stole, you lied. I merely did what was expected."

"What was expected?" I repeated, the words barely escaping my clenched teeth as I fought back the torrent of emotions and biting remarks that threatened to pour out.

I expected that Christopher wouldn't rat me out like a fucking grade-school kid. I didn't lie, I PAID FOR THAT DAMN FORMULA. I gave that little girl freedom, hope, and one less worry in life.

None of it mattered anyway, fucking clerk still pressed charges.

I never quite understood the day-to-day absolutes that we're forced to live with. Life isn't simplistic, how come everyone forcing it to be so?

I took a deep, calming, breath, "Please tell me you didn't come all this way to lecture me again." Because certainly, I didn't want to hear it any longer.

"No, actually," Robert joyfully acknowledged. "I'm here to take you home."

"Where's Chris? " I marveled aloud while attempting to glance behind Robert for a view. The majority of crowds have dissipated, solely abandoning the sound and electrical personnel who were simply occupied disassembling rented equipment.

"There's a dive bar nearby," my father mentioned, striding towards the main street. "Chico invited everyone to celebrate his promotion."

"Oh..." I mumbled, trailing behind him.

A promotion? I must not have paid enough attention during that press conference. It wasn't just about making a live statement or grabbing headlines. Christopher deliberately brought me here, sparing himself the trouble of dealing with my inevitable reaction.

But then again, why wasn't I included in the list of "everyone"?

Robert caught onto my perplexed expression. "Don't hold it against him," he reassured me. "Let the boy revel in his success. He deserves some happiness, don't you think?"

"Wow, that hurts," I retorted sarcastically, unable to ignore the sting behind his subtle jab—a clear disapproval of my rejected marriage proposal. "Tell me, did you give Chris the lead on this case for the constant updates or because he's dead set on being your future son-in-law?"

"Chico's earned it," he replied, his tone steady, almost defensive. "He's put in the hours, has a moral compass that doesn't waver, and—let's not forget—he's got the charm of his old man. He deserves to lead this case. He deserves happiness, don't you think?"

Robert halted as we reached his assigned patrol vehicle. "Besides," he continued, "maybe Chico's the one who'll finally crack this case, get the recognition he's worked for. Who knows? He could be the one to take my seat one day."

"So..." I cut in, moving toward the passenger side, "you'll be unofficially shadowing him, won't you?"

"Unofficially, yes," my father confirmed, opening the car door. "Christopher and I will go through every scrap of evidence, make sure the Montanari's get what's coming to them."

"You're so sure it's them," I pressed as we both got into the car. "Maybe, I dunno, someone from Milwaukee or Hammond's behind it?"

"You have to give people something to believe in," Robert said, sliding the keys into the ignition with a deliberate click. "The Montanari's may be the face of crime now, but taking down one monster doesn't mean the shadows aren't crawling with more. Sometimes, it just takes one to step into the light."

I glanced at Robert, a cold certainty settling in the pit of my stomach. There was something he wasn't saying, something darker lurking beneath his calm exterior.

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