MIA
Today was one of my stepmom’s bad days. She greeted me with her cane in hand—the one she hated using. She only reached for it when the muscle stiffness was particularly rough.
Normally, the three of us had breakfast together on Saturday mornings, but today, my dad had a meeting, which meant it was just Aris and me.
They lived in a beautiful prewar building on the Upper East Side, right across from the Met. Stepping into the lobby always felt like stepping back in time—black-and-white checkered floors, gold-plated elevator doors, the kind of place where the doormen knew every tenant’s name. Their apartment had three bedrooms, two baths, a small office, an even smaller kitchen, and an extravagantly large living room where my stepmom spent most of her days. She’d curl up on the sofa with a book or spend hours on the phone with one of her sisters in California.
For four years after boarding school, I reclaimed my childhood bedroom. But three years ago, I moved out.
I told them it was to be closer to my studio, because the real reason made me feel like a terrible daughter: I needed space from the oppressive weight of this place.
I made us breakfast, and we ate in silence at the dining table.
“Are you sure you don’t want some more eggs?” I nudged the dish toward Aris. “They’re good, aren’t they?”
She sat across from me, wrapped in the robe I bought her for Christmas last year—one of the few gifts from me she actually seemed to like.
“I’m full.”
“You barely ate anything.”
“I don’t need you to micromanage my meals for me, Mia. I said I’m done.” She pushed her plate away. “Get my iPad from the bedroom. I want to check my email.”
I bit on the inside of my cheek. I still didn’t know how to handle her bad moods. They made me feel like a little girl again. A little girl who secretly wondered if her dad and stepmom had sent her away to boarding school because she’d done something wrong.
When she got like this, it felt like I was drowning in guilt.
What happened to her wasn’t my fault. I knew that. But it never stopped me from feeling like I owed her something.
She and my dad got married two years after my mom died. They immediately started trying to have a baby, but nothing happened. After a year, they turned to IVF.
It was around the same time my dad sat me down and told me I was being sent abroad.
He never said it outright, but I know part of the reason was due to my stepmom. My dad worked late most nights, so she was the one who took care of school pickups and drop-offs. The one who shuttled me to my after-school activities. The one who filled the space my mom left behind.
But we never bonded. She wasn’t cruel, but I always had the sense that she tolerated my presence more than she enjoyed it.
Being sent off to Switzerland only strengthened that feeling.
The IVF journey ended years later when she had a stroke—triggered, apparently, by the years of hormone treatments. I was finishing high school when it happened. My dad missed my graduation. I didn’t blame him.
Afterward, he asked me to come back to New York for college instead of going to Milan, where I’d been accepted into Istituto Marangoni. He said he could use my help taking care of her.
I agreed without hesitation. I’d also gotten into FIT’s fashion styling program in New York, so I could still pursue my career goals while being closer to them.
A part of me had hoped it would allow us to bond. That it would make the three of us feel like a real family.
“Mia?” Her sharp voice cut through my thoughts. “Did you hear me?”
I met her dark-brown eyes. “Sorry. I’ll go get it, Aris.”
In the bedroom, her iPad sat on the nightstand next to a framed photo of her and my father. It was taken before the stroke, when she was still optimistic that she and my dad would have the big family they wanted.
But it never happened.
I was their only daughter. And there were no pictures of me in their room.
Oh, come on. Don’t you think you’re reading too much into it?
I rolled my lips and grabbed the iPad.
In the dining room, Aris was still in the same position, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the table. I handed her the tablet.
“Do you know what time your father will be home?” she asked.
I checked my watch. “Should be any minute now.”
I hoped he wouldn’t be late. I had plans.
Fabi, Nina, and Zo were already on their way to pick me up. It was Labor Day weekend, and we were going to spend it at the Hamptons. Fabi’s mom had a gorgeous house out there, and since she was in Italy for the summer, the place was empty. Fabi had suggested we take advantage of it—a girls’ weekend before fall really set in.
I hadn’t had a getaway all year. I needed this.
More than that, I needed to talk to Fabi some more about her engagement.
Romolo’s assessment of Cosimo was only mildly comforting. I didn’t know if I could trust him to tell me the truth about his brother.
I was starting to think I was in way over my head.
Even before he showed up at my studio three days ago, I’d been having second thoughts.
What was I thinking?
I wasn’t a match for Romolo Ferraro, and I knew it. That was why I’d ended our round of questioning before it had even really begun. I was afraid I’d slip. Afraid I’d say something I shouldn’t.
Especially when his presence alone made me feel so damn on edge.
“Didn’t you say you had plans this weekend?” my stepmom asked.
“Yeah, I’m just waiting for Dad to get in before I go.”
“You don’t need to wait. I don’t need you supervising me.”
“Aris…” I hesitated, unsure what to say.
She pressed her lips together and tapped her fingers against her iPad with barely restrained frustration.
I knew it wasn’t personal. She was just trying to hold on to whatever sliver of control she had left.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Exhaling quietly, I stood up and began clearing the table. The sound of the front door unlocking came right as I finished.
My dad smiled at me when I appeared in the hallway, my weekend bag slung over my shoulder.
“Mia, there you are.” He pressed a kiss to my cheek. “How was breakfast?”
“Good. We missed you.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here.” His gaze dropped to my bag. “Listen, something came up. Jenny was just about to call you.”
I stilled. A call from Jenny was rarely good news, especially when I’d booked the weekend off.
“What’s up?”
“Looks like my schedule’s changed.” He scrolled through his phone. “I have to meet a donor at her house at the Finger Lakes.”
I frowned. “That’s a long drive.”
“It means I won’t get back here tonight. Probably not until late tomorrow afternoon.” His gaze softened as it landed on me. “That’s a long time for Aris to be here alone.”
My stomach sank. “Dad, I’ve made plans.”
“I know, cariño. I’m sorry.”
“Who’s the donor?”
“An old acquaintance from college. No one you know.”
That struck me as odd. I knew all of my father’s major donors. I’d sat through countless dinners and events, schmoozing right alongside him. “What’s so important it can’t be a phone call?”
My father smiled. Did it seem a bit strained?
I felt a flicker of guilt. As crazy as my schedule was, my dad’s was even worse.
“She’s well-connected in the city,” he said. “I’d like her to take on an unofficial role with the transition team. I wish I could skip the trip, cariño, but it’s not possible. This is the only time she can meet in person for the next few weeks.”
The unspoken request hung in the air between us.
His trip was mandatory. Mine wasn’t. But I wanted to go. Badly.
Dad placed a hand on my shoulder. “Your friends will understand, I’m sure.”
Before I could answer, my stepmom’s voice cut across the hallway.
“Carlos, let her go. I’ll be fine.”
I turned to see her leaning against the doorframe, watching us with that familiar, tight-lipped expression she always wore when she was annoyed.
Dad stepped toward her. “Mi amor, the nurse is on vacation this week. There won’t be anyone nearby if you need something.”
“The fridge is full of food. All my medicine’s refilled. What’s there to worry about?”
“You know I don’t like you being alone for so long.”
“Reality TV will keep me better company than Mia sulking about missing her trip.”
Our eyes met. Was she trying to help me, or did she just not want me around? I couldn’t tell. I never could.
“I won’t sulk,” I said, forcing a lightness I didn’t feel.
She waved a dismissive hand. “If anything serious happens, I can call Jenny, can’t I?”
Dad exhaled through his nose, clearly reluctant. But then he sighed and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You get your way, mi amor. Just like always.”
I felt a guilty type of relief. My stepmom shot me another unreadable glance before turning and disappearing into the living room.
“I’ll walk you out,” Dad said, grabbing my bag.
I followed him to the elevator, my chest still tight.
“You’ve seemed distracted this week. Is it work?” he asked while we waited.
Distracted was putting it mildly.
For the past few days, I’d been debating whether or not to tell him about Romolo.
Would it help him to know that the Ferraros were questioning his motives?
I didn’t see how it could. Their suspicions were baseless. I would know if my dad had some other reason for going after them beyond getting justice and making this city a safer place.
If I told him Romolo was a client—even temporarily—he’d tell me to stop working with him right away. No doubt. The man brought a gun to my studio, and then showed up with bruised knuckles he must have gotten as a result of a fight. He was a bad idea wrapped in a tailored suit.
But what if I still could get something more from him?
We had one more meeting left. I could handle it. Couldn’t I? Yes, he almost kissed me last time. But that was because I’d let myself get caught off guard. Now, I knew better. Now, I’d be ready.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I said.
It wasn’t a lie. The last two nights, that mafioso hadn’t just occupied most of my waking thoughts. He’d also appeared in my dreams. Shirtless. Inked. Wearing that smirk.
In the dream, I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t tell him to let me go.
So he didn’t. His lips were hard against mine, and when I woke, my heart was still pounding.
I swallowed. “And work’s been a lot. There never seems to be enough time for everything.”
“We’re almost at the end,” Dad said as the elevator arrived. “Just a few more months. The polls are looking stronger with each week, and the transition planning is going better than expected. The attorney general is fully on board with prosecuting the crime families to the full extent of the law.”
My blood ran cold. “Wow. Is there a case?”
“It’ll come together,” Dad said, no uncertainty in his tone. “They’re looking at the Ferraros and their known associates. It’s a tangled web.”
Known associates. The Messeros had to fall into that category.
Could Fabi get swept up in this? She’d been gone from New York for many years, but now she was back and about to marry Cosimo. Even if she had no part to play in their business, was she really safe?
“You look worried.”
My gaze jumped to my dad. “I am, I guess.” About him. About Fabi. And maybe—God help me—even about Romolo, which made no sense.
Not everyone deserves to be taken care of.
That’s what he thought about himself. How did someone get to that conclusion?
I was curious about him. About why he reacted so strongly to me offering him just a bit of help. Beneath all that cocky armor, there was something vulnerable. Something he tried hard to hide.
Dad squeezed my shoulder. “We’ll get them, cariño. We just have to win first.”
The elevator dinged and opened to the first floor.
He handed me my bag when we stepped outside. “Enjoy your trip.”
“Thanks, I will.”
As I waited for Fabi to pick me up, the words we’ll get them echoed in my mind.
If my dad got his way, Romolo Ferraro wouldn’t just be a dangerous enigma.
He’d be behind bars, along with his family.
