What We Left in the Dark

Twenty Six

The alcohol had worked its way into my bloodstream, dulling my senses and loosening my tongue in ways I hadn't anticipated. Hours had passed in a blur of drinks, laughter, and aimless conversation. Laia had reached the point of ridiculousness, stumbling through her words as she flagged down a cab outside the bar. She gave me a sloppy hug, squeezing me tightly before stumbling into the backseat and heading back to Brooklyn.

I watched her cab pull away, the cold night air doing little to sober me up. The Village was alive with people, but all I felt was an overwhelming urge to go home. I fumbled for my phone, pulling it out to order an Uber back to Jersey, but my fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating.

My eyes landed on the contacts list, where the Ricci brothers' names were side by side. Luca Ricci. Giancarlo Ricci. I stared at their names for what felt like an eternity, my finger drifting between them as the familiar surge of conflicted emotions welled up inside me.

I should go home. I should forget about both of them.

But the drinks I'd had were doing all the thinking for me now, and before I could stop myself, my thumb pressed down on Giancarlo's name.

The phone rang only twice before his deep, gravelly voice reverberated through the line. "Cat?"

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest, but the alcohol-fueled anger and frustration bubbled to the surface before I could filter my thoughts.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm not thinking of you at all," I spat, my voice slurred but sharp. "I saw your attempts to reach out, but I won't let you loom over me when I'm trying to live a life free of your negativity."

Giancarlo started to say something, but I couldn't stop myself—the words poured out of me like a flood that had been held back for too long.

"I start to talk to someone for the first time after you leave me, and I didn't know you were related. Sue me," I hissed. "I am trying to be happy, Giancarlo. I had to drag myself to every finish line after you left me. Graduating from college, surviving law school and the bar—you weren't there for me for any of it. What makes you think you can have a say in my life now, when you left me at my most vulnerable?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the silence hanging heavy between us. I could hear his shallow breathing through the phone, but he said nothing.

So, I continued.

"You say you were made into a better man in Italy," I scoffed, the bitterness seeping into every word. "But all I've seen is a scared little boy who hardened his shell. Don't come crawling back now, trying to claim a share in my success because you miss me or because you think you have the right to me."

The words left my mouth, and for a moment, the only sound was the hum of traffic in the background and Giancarlo's breath on the other end of the line. The rush of adrenaline was starting to ebb, and I suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. I had thrown everything at him, laid it all bare.

And then, finally, his voice cut through the silence. "Where are you?"

His tone was different now, softer, yet laced with something I couldn't quite place. It wasn't anger. It was something else—something that made my heart lurch in my chest.

I blinked, taken aback by the question. "I'm at none of your business," I snapped, trying to regain the upper hand.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," he said, his voice calm, almost too calm.

"What? You don't even know where I am—" I started, but the line went dead before I could finish.

I stared at the phone in disbelief, my pulse racing as I stood there on the sidewalk, the weight of what had just happened sinking in. He didn't know where I was—he couldn't possibly know.

Could he?

The cold air hit me again, the reality of the situation creeping back in as I gripped the phone in my hand, my body buzzing with uncertainty and the lingering effects of the alcohol. I wasn't sure what to do next. Should I leave? Should I run?

But the truth was, a part of me wanted to stay. A part of me wanted to see if Giancarlo really would show up, if he would actually find me in the middle of New York City without knowing my exact location.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, waiting for whatever was about to happen next, my mind racing, my heart pounding, and my body betraying the fear—and excitement—flooding through me.