"The damage was done the moment our eyes collided."
~Xavier De Luca
***
One life-altering night ignites a soul-scorching passion between a gangster and a good girl...One that could burn everyone they know and love to ashes.
Loyalties and legacies...
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After a quick shower, I descended our carpeted stairs into a heavy bouquet of lotus, hyacinth, peony, and freesia. Our sitting room looked like a pollen bomb had gone off, littering every surface.
There in the middle of our shabby chic furniture and the dreamy field of petals, was an easel. It held a massive picture of me hugging my favorite person in the whole wide world, Gannon. His crooked smile sparkled back at me as if I could still reach out and touch him.
Cillian had taken that photo a few months ago on the beach. We were fraternal twins, but we shared eyes the same color as a golden honeycomb (according to our Mamo).
My brother's coffin was waiting for us at our family's church.
That thought had me running for the front door. Gizmo, my mamo's spunky Pomeranian, scooted on my heels, yipping like mad to get my attention.
Outside was no better. Just as Cillian had warned, the front porch was covered in even more flowers. I scooped up Gizmo and stumbled through the pretty vases filled with cloud-like blooms and stunning blossoms that looked incredibly expensive.
I figured a quick walk down the block would clear my head and help dry my tears. Plus, Gizmo was squirming like she needed to pee.
It was a lovely mid-summer day with a temperate breeze rolling off the ocean ten blocks west of our subdivision.
I set Gizmo down to keep her from manically licking my forearm like it was some sort of human-doggie treat.
"Grace Baker?" An unfamiliar, but pleasant voice startled the hairs on the back of my neck to stand at attention.
"Yes?" I looked up into a clean-shaven face housing a pair of watchful green eyes.
He was in his late thirties, but he wore it well, like the clean-cut coach of a TV drama about a high school football team.
"I'm Detective Brian Nowak," he held up a badge for me to read and stepped closer than I was comfortable with. He wore the same cologne as my Uncle Rob, Old Spice, but it was tinted with something unfamiliar. "I had a few follow-up questions about your brother, Gannon, if you have a minute?"
I stood up slowly, still clutching Gizmo while she lost her ever-loving mind.
"Cute dog," the detective shifted his weight to lean in even further. Gizmo's pint-sized snarls were millimeters from his nose. It didn't seem to faze him in the slightest, though, like he was silently daring her to bite. "What's its name?"
"Her name is Gizmo," I replied, convinced he could hear my heart rattling my ribcage.
To give my sweaty hand something to do, I scratched Gizmo's favorite spot, which quieted her to a non-threatening growl.
I already gave my statement to the police and answered their useless questions about Gannon's last known whereabouts. My Mamo said that it was obvious the detective had already concluded that my brother's murder was his own fault.
