Never Truth

26

She sat utterly motionless as my heart pounded in my ears, making each second seem to stretch out interminably. Had I not been so hyper focused on her, I might have missed her tiny nod against my chest. Jesus f*****g Christ. How had I not known? She’d been wrecked as a child after her brother’s death, but I had always assumed it was her way of grieving. I had no clue she’d been subjected to the trauma of watching her brother die. I tried to remember how it had happened, but I’d been too young, and the incident was rarely discussed. Then it hit me—she said they killed him. Had she meant Preacher and Dutch? The kid had died years ago, but it was entirely possible. I hated to push for more information, but I had no choice. I had to know what she’d seen. If she could identify the killers, Enzo needed to know. Had she been unable to describe them as a child? Surely, Enzo knows she witnessed the incident. “Sofia, those two men I spoke with … did they kill Marco?” She gave a small shake of her head. I thought that was all I was going to get from her, but then she spoke in a shaking, childlike voice. “Not them— men like them. Men in vests. Scary men,” she whispered. “We’d gone to the movies, and I fell asleep in the car. I woke up and saw Marco get … shot. My dad … he … beat them to death, I think. He thought I was asleep. I never told them. I never told anyone. Watching you with those men—it was just like that night. I woke up in the car and saw you walking over to the two men in vests. It was like I was living that night all over again.” She pulled back and peered up at me as tears streamed down her pale cheeks. “I was so scared they would kill you too.” I was floored. Absolutely stunned. Not only had she seen the entire thing, but she’d never told a soul. All those years we were so close, and she’d never even told me. I buried the small pang of hurt, knowing her inability to tell me about the incident was more about her own trauma than a testament of her trust in me. My heart shattered for her, splintering into a thousand pieces at the horror she’d had to endure all alone. “I’m okay, Ladybug,” I reassured her, wiping her cheeks dry just as more tears overflowed. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I had no idea.” “Nobody does—and you can’t tell them. Promise me, Nico. Promise me you won’t tell my dad.” Her words were suddenly hurried and urgent, making me wonder what on earth she was afraid of. “Your parents need to know, Sof. Why would you want to keep that from them?” Her eyes darted around in panic, and she tried to climb from my lap, but I held her firmly in place. “You don’t understand,” she pled, wringing her hands. “Help me understand. Why can’t your parents know that you were a witness?” “Because they’d ask questions, just like you’re doing now.” I narrowed my eyes, suspicion tensing the muscles in my neck. “What else don’t you want them to know? What secrets have you been keeping?” Her lips pursed tightly together in staunch refusal to speak. “Goddammit, Sofia! How do you expect me to stay quiet about something like this unless you give me a good f*****g reason?” I lost the tightly held grip I’d had over my emotions. She didn’t know just how difficult a position she was putting me in, but that didn’t make it any easier. “Is it not enough that I’m begging you?” she asked quietly, eyes pleading in earnest. When she examined the harsh lines of my face and realized I wouldn’t give, she dropped her head back in defeat. “My father is a dangerous man. He doesn’t know that I know. If you tell him, it will open a whole can of worms that will change everything.” My lungs ceased all movement. Air lodged itself in my throat, and my stomach roiled as if I’d been on an ocean liner in turbulent seas. She knew. Had she always known? All those years we’d lost because I didn’t want her to know—didn’t want that darkness to touch her—had it all been for nothing? Rage like the liquid magma within a volcano surged up from deep inside me, demanding to be freed. It wasn’t directed at her, but it was there, nonetheless. Fury at the hand fate had dealt us—at no one and everyone all at once. With steel-infused control, I forced my anger deep down inside to be let out at a later time when it wouldn’t f**k up all the progress I’d made with Sofia. “Okay.” It was the only word I could force from my clenched jaw. She peered up at me through her lashes, a hint of confusion crossing her face as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Thank you, Nico.” Unable to resist her sweetness, I pressed my mouth to her forehead, inhaling her delicious scent, using it to help settle the caged beast inside me. “It’s time to get you home.” I helped her back into her seat, and I could feel the questions filling up the growing space between us. She had to wonder why I’d gone so distant—why I hadn’t asked more questions about her father—but she didn’t press for answers. Suddenly, the tables were turned, and I was glad for the quiet. We made the drive back to Staten Island in total silence. I tried not to delve into the abyss of what-ifs—the infinite number of possible futures we could have had. All I could do was live in the here and now, but even that was a mystery. I was no closer to a solution when we pulled up at her parents’ house than I was when we left Jersey. I walked Sofia to the front door. She didn’t have a key with her, so we knocked and were greeted by a stoic Enzo moments after. “I wondered if you two were coming back tonight,” commented Enzo as we stepped inside. “Sorry, Dad. We had a lot to talk about. I’m really tired now, so I think I’m going to head to bed.”