Brianna was pretty sure Tino’s brother just ruined her forever.
Tino pulled her out of the seat, and she followed, breathless, hot, sweaty, knowing she was drugged and not caring as much as she should.
They were on the platform before Tino stopped and pulled his backpack higher on his shoulder. Then he turned around and shouted, “Moretti! Andiamo!”
Carina and Nova jerked on instinct, because it was clear neither of them noticed the train had stopped. That was all it took to get everyone off the train, because when Morettis moved, others followed.
Brianna stared down at her hand in Tino’s, realizing she was the exact same, following him God knew where. She looked at the sign, seeing they were still in Harlem.
“Where are we going?”
“Our old apartment. We need to land somewhere. Fast.”
“Why?”
Tino just stood there, holding her hand, looking at the fluorescent lights hanging overhead, and whispered, “’Cause I’m rolling my ass off.”
* * * *
Okay, so the apartment was not in the greatest part of town.
It wasn’t like the rave location, where Brianna thought she could get shot at any moment, but she wouldn’t exactly call itsafeeither. The building was old—a brown-bricked walk-up from days gone past. Brianna found herself imagining what it was like seventy years ago, when this area was still Italian Harlem and organized crime blended into every corner of it, behind the colorful threads of first- and second-generation Italians who had packed into these buildings and banded together as a community to survive.
Now it seemed like there was just Tino and Nova left.
Echoes from the past, romantic in a way, but so very isolated too.
Left behind.
Forgotten.
That night, under the glow of the streetlights, Brianna could almost feel old Italian Harlem still humming around her. Like she could reach out and touch the ghosts.
Quite different from the building itself, the apartment was beautiful, smelling of fresh paint and new furniture. Carina and Bobby camped out in front of the television, scattering DVDs everywhere, complaining about how old the titles were. Brianna got the impression the movies were left over from a time before Tino’s and Nova’s lives here stopped.
Nova and his girlfriends disappeared into a bedroom down the hall.
So Brianna wandered into the other bedroom. The walls were lined with old trophies and Bruce Lee posters. It was mustier, as if this part of the small apartment was the least important, forgotten like Tino and Nova had been.
Then she spied mousetraps on the floor, and feeling as dazed as she was, she decided she didn’t want to be standing there. She crawled onto the bottom bunk bed that was bigger than the top, so she scooted back against the wall because it made her feel hidden. She drew her feet up and looked down at the trap, which was probably too big for a mouse.
She kept staring at it, feeling like she was seeing rat ghosts just like she was seeing Italian ghosts. Lost lives. Lost memories. Lost dreams. The reflections of light on the floor seemed to come alive. Living, breathing, begging to be remembered, and what if it was real?
Tino came into the room and pulled off his jacket. She stared at his back, with those hard, cut muscles decorated with the faint white lines like painful memories carved into his skin, and she felt unbelievably sad.
About all the stories that were lost in the walls.
And all of Tino’s pain that was still very visible.
He set his gun on the dresser. Then he pulled off his jeans, sliding his underwear down with them, and Brianna couldn’t help but look. Italians had such nice asses. At least Italians with the last name Moretti did. Carina was always getting comments on hers, but her brothers didn’t lack in that department either.
Firm, round, incredibly grabable.
It was only for a couple of seconds, and then Brianna must have made a sound. Tino jerked his jeans up and turned back to her. “I thought you were watching movies with Carina. What’re you doing?”
“I’m hiding from the ghosts.” She let her gaze run over Tino standing there shirtless. For some reason she remembered riding on the train with him that first time to Bed-Stuy when she wondered what he was going to look like in a few years. Nothing could have prepared her for how quickly he grew into himself, and she couldn’t taper the hitch of longing in her voice as she asked, “What are you doing?”
“I was gonna take a shower.” He frowned at her. “Ghosts? Are you freaking out?”
