"I didn't come to see you," I say. "I figured you'd be at work already."

"So, what, you came for your mother?"

I can hear his anger in that question.

"No, I'm not going to bother her."

"So why are you here?"

I hesitate before deciding to go with honesty. "I don't know."

He nods, his harsh expression softening, like me not knowing makes perfect sense to him. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his khakis, stained from years of working in them. I gaze at him curiously, surprised he's lingering. I know it isn't because he enjoys my company. He's probably afraid I'll try to break in.

"Funny, seeing you out here, sneaking around in the dark, given you've always been scared of it."

The blunt way he says that makes me bristle. "I'm not afraid of the dark anymore."

"Of course not," he says. "It's not the darkness that's terrifying, it's what you might find in it. And it doesn't scare you anymore, Ignazio, because it is you. You're what's terrifying in the darkness."

He says it matter of fact, but he doesn't sound scared.

I don't terrify him.

To him, I'm just what's left of that little boy, the one who used a nightlight because he couldn't sleep in the dark. I'm a desecrated corpse.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask my father. He doesn't say anything, but his unchanged expression is as good as permission. "You ever talk to the police about me?"

"Yes."

No bullshit.

No denial.

I laugh bitterly to myself, shaking my head as I look away from him.

"They come around sometimes, asking questions," he says. "I tell them we don't know nothing. I know your reputation, Ignazio, but it's not my business to repeat what I hear. That's between you and your maker."

"You are my maker."

He scoffs. "You know what I mean."

"I know," I mutter, leaning back on my elbows. "So you never considered actually turning me in? You've threatened to a few times."

"I never threatened to turn you in," he counters. "I just protect what's mine. I'm not a coward, Ignazio. You won't harm what I love. But the rest is on you. Has nothing to do with me. I don't seek out trouble. I don't want it. That's why I ask you to stay away."

Nodding, I push off from the steps and get to my feet. "I probably shouldn't be here."

I step down, stopping in front of him.

"Is there a reason you're asking me that?"

I consider just walking away, but what the hell? I need to get it off my chest, and his opinion of me certainly can't get worse. My father won't hold back and maybe, I think, the brutal honesty is what I need.

"Karissa, the woman I was with that day..."

"Johnny and Carmela's kid?"

"Yes," I say. "She went to the police."

"She rat on you?"

"She swears she didn't."

"And you don't believe her?"

"I don't know."

He stands there for a moment before taking a seat exactly where I'd just vacated. "Now answer me something, Ignazio... you say this girl knows the kind of person you are? That she knows the history between you and her parents?"

"Yes."

"And she swears she didn't rat on you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

That question makes me stumble. "Why what?"

"Why didn't she rat on you?" he asks. "Seems to me she has all the reason in the world to. We protect what we love. So why didn't she rat on you?"

"That's a good question."

"Why'd she talk to them? What was her explanation?"

"She told them Carmela attacked me."

His eyes widen with surprise. "She ratted on her mother?"

"So she says," I respond. "Says she thought it was the perfect solution to keep us all safe, but she risked herself doing it. Who's going to protect her now?"

"You." He says it with no hesitation. "Like I said, we protect what we love."

"I'm not sure I can do it."

"Come on, Ignazio. You're a lot of things, things I don't like, but I was always proud of your courage. You didn't get my integrity, but you got my guts. Seems to me if anyone can protect her, it would be you."

"But Ray—"

He cuts me off with the bitterest laugh I've ever heard, the kind that tightens my chest.

"Raymond Angelo," he says, shaking his head. "Never liked that guy. Don't like who he is, don't like what he turned you into."

"He didn't turn me into anything."

"Didn't he?" he counters. "Way I see it, he created this demon... created it, and fears it, with the way he tries to keep you under his thumb. But you don't owe him anything. It doesn't matter what Angelo thinks or what he wants. You got that girl into this mess."

"I didn't—"

"You did," he says, a hard edge to his voice. "She wouldn't be in this situation if not for you. You carry some of the blame. And if something bad happens to her, you'll carry that blame, too. I raised you to be a man. A man. Not this."

He waves his hands my way to prove his point.

"But there are rules," I say, "rules we follow."