Dinner on Friday

42. Carla

MISSING HIM LIKE CRAZY

The days following Dante's arrest seemed to drag on forever as I found myself lost in a hazy fog of grief and uncertainty. A week passed, and Doctor Sandoval decided it was time for me to go home.

Being back in my bed didn't help at all with the insomnia. Whenever I closed my eyes, I had disturbing dreams about Eva and Madeleine. I felt like I had somehow failed them.

On the day of Eva's funeral, I woke up, determined to get my life back together, but as soon as I entered the kitchen using my crutches, the hollowness that Dante's absence had left in our once lively home was quite apparent.

Everywhere I looked, there were reminders of him - his favorite mug left untouched on the kitchen counter, his favorite chair sitting empty in the living room. I longed for him like a phantom limb, his absence a constant ache in my heart that I couldn't ignore. I found myself going through the motions of daily life, but everything felt off-kilter without him there. Nothing seemed to have meaning anymore, and the silence in our home was deafening.

With Dante gone, I was under the protection of Sergio, Bruce, and Vlad, who guarded me day and night. Although I felt safe, their presence was a constant reminder of the potential dangers that lurked beyond the safety of our walls.

As I got dressed in a black suit, I was plagued by an underlying sense of unease that I couldn't shake off.

Last minute, I decided to visit my mother and Schipper in the hospital. Sergio opened the car door for me, but before getting in, I stopped my wheelchair to look at him.

"Any news from Dante?" I asked.

The solemn shake of his head only deepened the ache in my chest. "No, Carla. Nothing yet. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry my father did that to you. To your mother. To your friends."

"Who? Your father, as in Schipper?"

Sergio shook his head. "No, Mathias is my biological father."

"No shit." I studied his eyes, recognizing how familiar they looked. They reminded me a lot of Dante's cousin, Mateo.

Sergio licked his lips. "I just want you to know that I'm on your side. I will stand by you and Dante as long as you need me."

"I appreciate that, Sergio. Thank you."

The hospital corridors stretched out before me, a labyrinth of sterile white walls, but I kept pushing my wheelchair until I was in my mother's room.

My hand trembled slightly as I reached out to push the door open. The sight that greeted me was both heart-wrenching and familiar—a figure shrouded in white, her face drawn with exhaustion as she stared at the ceiling.

"Mom," I whispered, choking with emotion as I crossed the threshold to her bedside.

Her eyes lit up with recognition as she turned to greet me, a weak smile gracing her lips.

"Carla, cherie," she murmured, her voice soft. "It's good to see you."

"How are you feeling?" I asked, reaching out to touch her hand.

She squeezed my hand, her grip stronger than expected. "I'm hanging in there."

"Are you still in a lot of pain?"

"No, not anymore." She pressed a button on her bed, and the upper half slowly lifted until she was sitting up to face me. "But enough about me. How are you holding up?"

I forced a smile, not seeing the need to tell her about all the side effects of my paralysis. A part of me was holding on to hope that this whole ordeal was temporary.

"I'm okay, Mom. I miss him like crazy, but I'm trying to take things one day at a time."

She nodded. "That's all we can do."

For the first time, I felt like I didn't have to walk on eggshells around my mother. She'd changed for the better, yet I hesitated to burden her with my troubles. "I'm going to Eva's funeral. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Carla?"

"Yes?"

"I want to come clean about something."

"I already know what you're going to tell me." When she didn't elaborate, I continued. "Mathias came after you for the thirty million dollars that went missing under Dad's watch, didn't he?"

She nodded. "I was in charge of all our accounts, and the second that money landed on his business account, I knew something was off, so I wiped all of our accounts clean. There was twenty-nine million euros on the account, and when I asked about the money, he lied and said it had to be a mistake, saying he would look into it. Before he could do anything, I moved the money to an offshore account in the Bahamas. When you turn thirty, it's all yours. I figured enough time would have passed, and if no one came looking, you could just keep the money. It's what your father would have wanted."

"He stole that money. From dangerous people."

"You have to understand, things were tough back then. Although your father was a lawyer, he rarely had clients. People couldn't afford to hire him, so he turned to drastic measures."

"So he decided to steal thirty million in drug money? That's a huge amount of money. Did he think no one would notice all that money missing?" I shook my head at the stupidity. The greed. "I mean, what was the plan?"

"The men he took the money from were arrested, and the clan hired your father to represent them. A couple of days later, The two men were murdered in jail, but not before one of them told him where to find the cash. If he had been more careful, he might have gotten away with it, but he unfortunately deposited everything on his account."

My fingers curled around the armrest of my wheelchair as I listened intently. "And then the clan came looking."

"Yes, and that's when I started traveling around the world. Running, really, trying to stay one step ahead. The account I sent the money to was untraceable, but they knew the cash had been deposited in his account, and when he couldn't tell them what happened to the money, they murdered him."

I tried to picture my father, the big happy man who was always so lovely and gentle stealing from the mafia, but I couldn't.

"I've forgotten what his voice sounds like. Do you remember it?" I wondered softly.

"I still have our wedding video. The quality is terrible, but his voice is clear. I can show it to you one day."

"I would like that."

We both smiled, taking in this shared moment of peace and acceptance of one another. The thing about trauma was that it could strip away the walls we built around ourselves, leaving us vulnerable and exposed until we found the strength to acknowledge our pain and confront our demons.

"You said there was twenty-nine million dollars on the account. What happened to the remaining million?"

My mother looked toward the door where Sergio and Bruce were stood guarding the door before motioning for me to come forward. I moved my wheelchair closer to the bed, and she lowered her head to whisper near my ear.

"Your father hired a dangerous Haitian gang to look after you in case you or someone you loved ever needed help. I never made use of it, but I think with everything going on, we need to give them a call. Mathias murdered your friends for no reason at all. He needs to go."

"Mom, why do I have a feeling you already called them?" I narrowed my eyes at her.

She lifted her head haughtily. "Dante is going to need all the help he can get."

+|+