Last Year
December 18, 2016 

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"Cop killer!"
"Traitor!"
"Murderer!"

Even without windows, I remembered picturing the populated crowds in their winter coats, waterproof boots, and warm gear protesting in the December snow with signs and posters held up high. People chanting, praying, yelling at the publicized scapegoat withheld inside the moving FBI convoy vehicle—me.

In an over-exposed hospital gown, I was transferred immediately from the recovery room at Weiss Hospital to the Cook County Federal Court House, awaiting my sentence for the murder of Fourth Precinct Officers José Mendez and Raul De Rayas.

Clearly, I remembered, the laws of the city were only applied to those in the public's eye. The people wanted justice, regardless of the truth.

Rafael was the only one sitting beside me in the convoy. He was particularly dressed in a formal navy-colored suit under his FBI-issued thick winter jacket. I remembered feeling numb from the combination of cold weather and painkillers as I kept my head down, gazing upon the long silver chains that bound both my arms and ankles to the vehicle's floor.

"You said there would be no repercussions," I murmured to him. "You said, it would be a simple undercover case—that—and I'm paraphrasing here, my reputation as an officer would be safe. What the fuck?" 

 I was infuriated with my brother. The immutability he promised for my actions was a lie. Everything I reported on, the things I've done—all swept underneath the verbal rug of ignorance. All my hard work meant nothing.

"You killed two field officers Becca," he replied in a low disappointed tone. "What did you think was gonna happen?"

The profound chants of the population became clearer as the vehicle came to an abrupt halt.

"They were fucking dirty and you know it!" I snapped back with hopes of not going to prison. It was basic common knowledge. Why would two far West-side officers come to the North-side for a public disturbance call? The answer: They wouldn't. Unless they were sent there purposely. They were sent to kill. 

"The minute we walk out of this truck, you know I'm probably never coming back out," I pleaded once more, this time staring directly into his brown eyes. "Prove me right, bro. Tell 'em our system is broken. Tell 'em someone is buying off the whole department."

"With what, Becca?" He stood up from his seat, "You know I can't do shit without proof."

"Aren't I proof enough? Doesn't my testimony mean anything?"

"I love you," his eyes hesitantly glistened as tears began to form. "But with what you did, how you handled the situation, it—it compromised everything. All of it, it's all useless."

An answer, of which, I was not expecting. "Bobby, I understand, but you Rafie? C'mon, you're the one who dropped me into this mess. We've always had each other's back, I trusted you. You can't let me go to prison. You just...just can't."

"I know," he said as he crouched down to my level. "And I'm sorry." He leaned in and gave me a tight brotherly hug followed by a warm kiss on the forehead before removing a silver key from his right back pocket. 

"I'm so fucking sorry," he repeated. "But you gotta remember, sis, I love you. I promise I'll make it up one day. I will."

"Fuck promises," I said as Rafael moved back and crouched lower to unhook the chains from the vehicle floor.

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TODAY. 
June 12, 2017 | 9:40 AM
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That was the last time I spoke to Rafael...

It wasn't until watching my father's press conference, that the memory replayed and now I know why. Both Robert and Rafie knew the consequences of my actions—and yet, they both let me suffer through it.

"They never said how he died," I observed. Rafael's killer must have been someone in the political game. Someone who knew how to sacrifice their queen to make the right move. Very invasive, waiting for the right time to kill. "It must've been a messy scene."

But Robert made a move on his own. His message wasn't that of disregard, but of vengeance. He wanted the son-of-a-bitch as much as I do. Except, he couldn't do anything about it with the public eye constantly overhead...His message was for me to take the lead.

Marco broke his silence, alongside my verbal thoughts, that lingered in the air between us.

 "Alexa," he said standing up from the sofa. "Turn off the TV."

The chime once more echoed throughout the apartment as the television went blank. "They're probably keeping some things from the media private, ya know, for the family's sake."

"True," My eyes followed him as he stood up beside me at the end of the sofa. "Does that thing chime every time?" I reluctantly asked in hopes to change the subject.

"Normally, yes," he said while lending a helping hand outward. "But I can turn it off if you want."

I took his hand and assisted myself upright. "Whenever you can," I requested.

Marco quickly brought me into his embrace. His warm body quickly wrapped around me like a much-needed security blanket. 

"Don't worry, just a hug," he whispered in my ear. "I know you need it."

My arms immediately wrapped around his body with compliance. His message was clear—no matter what, he will be there for me. A rarity in most men I have known. 

"Thank you," I said.

My stomach followed, intervening the moment with a conversation on its own, "grugurgrpgurrghghghg."

We both laughed at the interrupting sound.

"Somebody's hungry. Did they not feed you this morning?"

I shook my head with embarrassment. With all the adrenaline built up regarding being released, seeing Marco, hearing about my brother, and then watching Robert. It didn't, until recently, occur to me that my last meal was at 4:00 pm yesterday. A plastic eight-ounce cup of cold, day-old, chicken noodle soup, two saltine crackers, and a six-ounce carton of milk.

"Well," he pulled out a mobile phone from his front sweatpant pocket; with a glance, Marco looked at the time. "We could make something here...or we can go and quickly grab something at McDonald's?"

I watched as he placed his phone quickly back to where it came from.

"What do you think?" I sarcastically asked with a selective smile. I didn't need to think this through, Marco knew me well. McDonald's was my kryptonite. My mouth was already salivating at the thought of anything but prison food.

"I think my girlfriend was starved in a shit-hold prison and deserves a good fucking meal for once." He got closer and gave me a pecked kiss on my right cheek. "Two le royales with cheese, it is."

After all this time and bullshit...I was still his girlfriend. My smile grew larger. It's still quite hard to believe that he and his family never gave up. Whereas mine cared too much about politics and opinions, the Montanari's were as they appeared—fearful and loved.

"Let's go," he stated as he grabbed my hand and led me to the door.

I looked down at the pair of contradictory shoes by the foyer. My winter Ugg boots next to his black Nike slip-on. A quick thought appeared in my head. 

"Why don't you go," I said as we both let go of each other's grip. "I could use a nice hot shower." The stench of my padded cell continued to linger under my nose. Plus, I desperately needed time to de-bare myself from the nasty overgrown winter fur.

Marco quickly slipped his shoes on before gently grabbing my face for a leaned-in kiss on the forehead. "Of course," he insisted. "You got fresh towels in the bathroom."

Marco opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, "I should be back in ten minutes." He quickly turned around, "Oh, and the bathroom is part of our on-suite bedroom—at the end of the hallway."

"Thank you, baby." I quickly responded.

"You'll thank me later." His voice trailed through the already-closing door. I could help but laugh a little—it was the first time, in a very long time, I felt a sense of normalcy.