Page 17 of Devil's Thirst
When Tommyand I first arrived in Sicily, we were forced to sleep in my uncle’s barn for an entire month. If you’re picturing a cozy hay loft inside a sturdy red building used to store tractors and equipment, try again. This time, think rotting wood, dirt floor, and six huge pigs for roommates.
Uncle Lazaro owns an enormous estate—technically, he’s a distant cousin, but I use the term uncle out of respect. And I do respect him despite what he put us through. He could have welcomed us into his home from day one, but no matter how bitter and furious I was at the time about our accommodations, I needed that month in the barn and everything that came after to shift my perspective. I respect Uncle Lazarobecauseof what he put us through. I wouldn’t be who I am now without his unorthodox teachings.
According to Lazaro, you can’t truly appreciate what you have unless you know what it’s like to have nothing. He was right.
I’d been dealt a shit hand when it came to my father, but that was only one facet of my life. It was also in the past. At the time, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity to see anything besides what I’d lost and the ways I’d failed. I was stuck in a negativefeedback loop. But when I lay awake at night on the cold ground, I found myself wishing for the creature comforts of home, which morphed into imagining how I wanted my life to look. I thought about the ways I’d be different from my father and the things I wanted to change about myself. I started to get excited about the opportunity to redeem myself. About the future. I realized that I wasn’t a passenger in my life. I was the fucking pilot. If I wanted things to be different, I had to get off my ass and make it happen.
From that point on, I honed my ability to get what I wanted out of life. I refused to ever feel as inept and clueless as I felt when I learned my father had killed my mother and tried to do the same to my sister, all right under my nose.
My growth was a process. I had setbacks, and the Sicilian way of life wasn’t forgiving, but it made me stronger. One of the most important lessons I learned was to listen to my intuition. Uncle Lazaro’s zero-tolerance governing style gave me a wealth of opportunities to practice—identifying, interpreting, and honing my ability to read a situation so that I could anticipate potential consequences of my actions. Once I figured out that intuition was life’s little cheat sheet, I made that skill my top priority.
At twenty-two, I’d say my ability to pick up on the subtle nuances in people’s demeanor is exceptional for someone my age. My radar is always on.
Therefore, when something strikes me as odd, such as Amelie not calling the cops, I pay attention.
My alarm sounding doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a problem. The reason behind her unexpected reaction could be totally benign—her brother-in-law is Irish mafia, after all. Maybe they’ve told her to steer clear of the cops. But until I sort out why, I can’t know if the ping on my intuition radar is relevant or not. That makes it a new priority.
I take out my phone and press the first name on my favorites list. There are only three names on the list. Tommy, UncleLazaro, and the third is a number I haven’t dialed in ages but can’t seem to remove. The instant Amelie reaches out, and I know she will, hers will be the fourth.
“I thought you said tonight was for show,” Tommy barks at me in lieu of a greeting.
“It was.”
“Then there was no need to put your full strength in that punch. You could have broken my jaw, asshole.”
I bite back a grin, glad we’re not having this conversation face-to-face. “I had to make it convincing. And besides, you can take a hit better than anyone I know.”
“Just because I can doesn’t mean I should have to.” His tone is even, but I hear it for the pout that it is and I smirk.
“Told you I’d owe you.”
A heavy sigh crosses the line. “I don’t understand why any of it’s needed in the first place. Why all the smoke and mirrors? She’s just a woman like any of the others who fall at your feet.”
Tommy’s lucky I have more patience for him than anyone else in this world. Implying Amelie is anything less than exceptional has my muscles coiling in outrage.
“Amelie is different.” My tone is clipped, but that means little to him. Tommy doesn’t pick up on inflection and nuance like most people do. His intuition never fully matured, so I have to have enough for us both. The flip side of that coin means that no one will ever be as honest and loyal as my cousin Tommy. Those qualities are worth their weight in gold.
“Different how?” he asks.
“She’smine.” Or she will be soon enough.
I give him a minute to process.
“We aren’t going back, are we?”
“You’re free to do what you want, Tommy. Always have been.” Which is why it was so fascinating to me that he chose to follow me to Sicily in the first place. I’d been sent away, buthe didn’t have to go. He valued our friendship enough that he’d rather suffer with me than let me go it alone.
How many people do you know would do that sort of thing for you? Not fucking many.
Tommy wasn’t big on the idea of coming back to the city. To be honest, I wasn’t either. I liked the new life I’d forged for myself. I liked that the only version of myself anyone in Sicily knew was the new version. Everyone except Uncle Lazaro, but he was the one behind my transformation, so he doesn’t count.
I’d rather not upend Tommy’s life again for me, but Amelie isn’t up for debate. That means I’m staying in Manhattan for the foreseeable future, which means so is Tommy.
“You know that’s bullshit, right? That I’m not going to abandon ship after all we’ve been through.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say with a grin. “I love you for it, if it’s any consolation.”
“Fuck you,” he grumbles.