Chapter 14

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the radiator. Now it was just me, staring blankly at the glass of water on the nightstand, replaying Silvia's words over and over again.

"You used to play with him, Caterina. The Mangione boy. You don't remember?"

No, I didn't remember.

The memories of that time in Maryland were like flashes of sunlight through a cracked window bright, fleeting, and impossible to fully make out. I could remember snippets: Dad's laugh as he carried me on his shoulders, the taste of the ice cream we'd get on Sundays, the sound of church bells ringing in the distance.

But I had buried the rest. I had to. Thinking about Maryland inevitably led to thinking about Dad, and thinking about Dad was like trying to hold a shard of glass.

I turned over onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me, but sleep wasn't coming.

The next morning, I woke up groggy and with a faint headache, probably from the bottle of wine Mom insisted I share with her before bed. The apartment was alive with the sounds of breakfast my nephews chasing each other around the living room, my mom singing to herself in the kitchen, and the clatter of Silvia's obnoxiously large jewelry as she gestured wildly about something.

I made my way to the table, trying to act like I wasn't still replaying last night's conversation in my head.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Silvia teased, holding up a cup of coffee like a peace offering.

"Morning," I mumbled, taking the cup and sinking into a chair.

"So, what's the plan today?" Mom asked, flipping pancakes on the griddle.

I shrugged. "I'll probably head home in a bit. I have some things to take care of before my next shift."

Mom turned to look at me, spatula in hand. "You work too much. Stay another day."

"I can't, Mom. You know that."

Silvia, never one to stay quiet for long, jumped in. "You know, Caterina, I was thinking more about last night."

My stomach dropped. "Oh?"

"Yeah, about how you don't remember any of it. It's a shame, really. You and that Mangione boy were thick as thieves. He was such a sweet kid. Quiet, though. A little odd, maybe. But sweet."

I forced a laugh. "I think you're confusing me with someone else, Silvia. I barely remember Maryland at all."

"No, no," she insisted, leaning closer. "It was definitely you. I remember you two sitting in the grass behind the community center, playing with those toy cars. And your dad, God, your dad loved it there. He'd sit for hours talking to the other men about Italy and football."

I stared at her, the knot in my stomach tightening.

"Silvia, maybe we don't need to dig all this up right now," Mom said gently, glancing at me.

"No, it's fine," I said quickly. I didn't want to seem like I couldn't handle it.

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of the pancakes sizzling. Then Mom turned around, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"Wait a minute," she said, frowning slightly. "Mangione? As in... that guy? The one from the papers?"

I froze, my coffee cup halfway to my lips.

"You know," Mom continued, squinting like she was trying to piece something together. "The one who's all over the news. The... the shooter." She said the last word like it left a bad taste in her mouth.

I forced myself to act casual, lowering the cup slowly. "Yeah, him," I said, my voice even. "It's not like it's a common last name."

Mom looked at me, her forehead creasing in confusion. "But why would Silvia bring him up?"

Silvia, who had been scrolling through her phone, perked up at the sound of her name. "Oh, because Caterina used to play with him," she said nonchalantly.

Mom's jaw dropped. "What?"

"It's true," Silvia said, holding her phone up as if it would somehow prove her point. "Back when you lived in Maryland. You and Luigi Mangione—"

"Alright," I interrupted, standing up quickly. "I think we've had enough memory lane for one morning."

Mom was still staring at Silvia, her mouth slightly open, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. I grabbed my coffee and headed toward the living room, pretending not to notice.

alive with chaos. Kids were running circles around the living room like it was their personal racetrack, my grandma was perched on the couch, loudly commenting on every single thing the kids unwrapped

"Grandma, you don't have to comment on every piece of wrapping paper," Luca teased as he helped his wife, Francesca, scoop stray ribbons and bows into a trash bag.

"Well, someone has to appreciate it! Look at this one—it has glittery snowflakes," she said, holding up a crumpled piece like it was a work of art.

Francesca grinned. "To be fair, that one is pretty cute."

Luca rolled his eyes. "Sure, let's frame it."

"Caterina, come try this!" Mom called from the kitchen, holding up a plate with a fresh batch of pastries.

I shuffled over, still in pajamas and half-asleep, and grabbed one. The warm dough practically melted in my mouth, sweet and comforting.

"Okay," I said, mid-chew. "This might be your best yet."

"Of course it is," she said, beaming. "I'm your mother. It's what I do."

From her seat, Grandma chimed in, "She didn't say that about the cookies I made!"

"Because you used salt instead of sugar," I shot back, grinning.

"It was an honest mistake!"

Francesca tried to keep a straight face. "They weren't that bad, Grandma."

"They were awful," Luca said under his breath, dodging the swat she aimed at him with a rolled-up napkin.

The morning passed in a blur of teasing, gift wrapping, and the kids arguing over who got the better toy. At one point, someone knocked over a cup of coffee, Francesca spilled flour while trying to help Mom with dessert, and the dog tried to eat an ornament. It was chaos, but the good kind—the kind that made you feel at home.

By the afternoon, the energy began to settle, and people started heading out.

"I think that's everything," Francesca said, struggling with an armful of leftovers Mom had packed for them.

"Don't forget the pie!" Mom called, hurrying to add another container to the stack.

"Thank you, Mama," Francesca said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Grandma turned to me with her usual stern-yet-loving expression. "Don't forget to visit me soon. I don't want to wait until next Christmas."

"I'll come by, Grandma," I promised, bending down to hug her.

"You better," she said, patting my arm before shuffling toward the door where Luca was waiting.

Mom glanced over at me, wiping her hands on a towel. "You're heading out now?"

"Yeah," I said, pulling on my coat. "I think I'll head home and take it easy."

She nodded, looking like she wanted to say more, but instead just smiled.

I stepped outside into the crisp winter air, the last echoes of the family's laughter still ringing faintly in my ears. It was Christmas, but something about today felt heavier than usual.

When I got inside my apartment I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the couch, the silence of my apartment wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. I should've been relieved to be home, but all I could think about was what Silvia had said.

I reached for my phone, scrolling through my messages until I found Gloria's name.

"You free today, rightnow ?" I typed.

Her reply came almost immediately.

"For you? Always. What's up?"

"I need to talk. About something big."

"Big like "I got a promotion" or big like "I need you to help me bury a body"?"

I couldn't help but laugh, even as the weight in my chest pressed harder.

"Big like I might be losing my mind."

"Perfect. I'll bring coffee."

barely had time to process anything before Gloria arrived. The knock on the door came sharply at 3:00 PM, just as I finished tidying up the couch. She walked in with her usual flair, balancing two oversized coffees in one hand and a tote bag slung over her shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Cat !" she sang, handing me one of the cups. "Triple shot. You're welcome."

"You're a lifesaver," I said, taking it from her and collapsing onto the couch.

"Girl, you look like you've been through it." She plopped down beside me, kicking off her boots. "You better spill everything because I didn't skip my family's awkward game of charades just to sit here in silence."

I hesitated, staring into the lid of my coffee. The warmth seeped into my hands, but it didn't do much to calm me.

"I don't know if I should tell you," I said finally, glancing at her. "It's... it's a professional secret. I really shouldn't."

Gloria arched a brow and leaned back, sipping her coffee. "Oh, come on. Since when do you care about the rules? And is this about...him?"

I exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of the last few days pressing down on me. "Fine. But what I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room. Got it?"

She mimed zipping her lips. "Scout's honor. Now spill."

I took a deep breath, clutching the coffee cup like it was my lifeline. "Okay. So, you know about Luigi. You know he's the suspect for the CEO shooting. But what you don't know..." I paused, struggling to find the words. "What you don't know is that he's not just some random guy. I've—he and I—there's this... connection."

Gloria's eyes widened, and she nearly choked on her coffee. "Connection? What the hell do you mean, connection? Like, romantic?"

I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Not exactly. I mean, maybe? I don't know! But it's more than that. It's... complicated."

She set her cup down and turned to face me fully, her expression a mix of shock and curiosity. "Caterina, are you telling me you're into him?"

"It's not like that!" I snapped, though my voice wavered. "It's...he got under my skin, there was this weird moment where I thought we were gonna kiss I mean we hold hands going to the prison after trial..." I says all in one breath

Gloria's jaw dropped. "You WHAT?"

I stood up, pacing the living room. "He got inside my head okay? And the worst part is, I didn't stop him. I—" My voice cracked, and I turned away. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've spent my whole training keeping things professional, and now..."

She stared at me, speechless for once.

"And that's not even the craziest part," I continued, my voice shaking. "Last night, at dinner, my Aunt Silvia she said she recognized him. Not from the news. From when we were kids."

"What?" Gloria sat forward, her hands clutching the edge of the couch.

"She said his family used to be part of some Italian community in Maryland. Apparently, we used to visit. She said I used to play with him, Gloria. And I don't remember any of it!"

Gloria blinked, trying to process everything. "Okay, hold on. So, let me get this straight. You are super into him and you guys held hands And now you find out you two might've known each other as kids?"

I nodded, sitting back down and burying my face in my hands. "It sounds insane, doesn't it?"

"It sounds like you should calm down and for the second part well..." she said, throwing her hands up. "Cat, this is huge! Are you sure your aunt isn't just mixing things up?"

"I don't think so," I said quietly. "I'm so confused as well right now, plus I got this letter."

Gloria froze. "What letter?"

"I found this..." My voice trailed off as I reached into the drawer of the side table. I pulled out the crumpled note and handed it to her.

She unfolded it, reading the words aloud. "'Don't ask questions. Stay quiet.'" Her tone slowed as she hit the last two words. She turned the paper over, frowning when she realized there was nothing else. "What the actual hell? Where did this come from?"

"It was left at my door," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her head snapped up. "Someone left this at your door? Do you think this has something to do with Luigi?"

I froze at the sound of his name, the weight of it making my stomach twist. I didn't want to answer, but Gloria's sharp gaze wouldn't let me off the hook.

"I don't know," I admitted finally. "Why would it even be connected to him?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're literally his prison guard. The only one assigned to him. And let me remind you, the guy's the most talked-about suspect in the country right now. Of course it could be connected to him."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come. The timing, the cryptic warning—it all felt too calculated to be a coincidence.

"Listen," Gloria said, her tone softening. "If someone left this note for you, they knew what they were doing. This isn't random—it's personal. And if it's about Luigi..." She trailed off, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to piece together a puzzle.

"What?" I asked, suddenly defensive.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You don't think Luigi could've had anything to do with this, do you?"

The question sent a chill down my spine.

"He's in maximum security," I said, shaking my head. "He barely talks to anyone. How could he possibly—"

Gloria leaned back, shaking her head. "This is too much. You need to figure out what's going on."

I looked at her, my chest tightening. "I don't know, Gloria. I don't know what to do."

She grabbed my hands, her expression suddenly serious. "Then we're going to figure it out. Together. But first, you're going to sit down, drink your coffee, and breathe. Okay?"