By Virtue I Fall (Sins of the Fathers #3)(19)

“Santino and Clifford will recognize you, you moron. Then it’s only a matter of time before Dad knows too.”

“Ah ah,” Leonas drawled, wagging his finger before my face. I had the nauseating urge to bite it off. “We both know Sonny and Cliffy eat out of your hands, sis.”

I leaned against the doorframe across from him. “All right.”

“And Ricardo and RJ.”

“No way!” I growled and lunged at him once more, trying to finally wrangle the letter from his hand. I punched his stomach, which made him choke-laugh. He pushed me to the ground and sat on my stomach.

“Okay, okay. I’ll bring you three potheads to the party, but I won’t go down with you if you get caught. And I don’t want you to follow me like lost puppies.”

“Newsflash, sis, we can entertain ourselves without your help.”

As if I didn’t know it. Those three were the bane of my existence.

“Get off me.”

Leonas jumped to his feet and dropped the letter on my belly. I sat up and ripped it open with shaking hands then quickly read it, then another time to make sure I understood it right. My French was good, very good, but I was too nervous to trust my brain.

“Tell me what it says,” I pressed out, holding the letter out to Leonas with a trembling hand.

Leonas cocked an eyebrow and took the letter, then groaned. “French, really?”

“Read it!”

He scanned the letter, surprise spreading on his face.

My heart was racing.

“It says that you’re accepted in their undergraduate program for fashion design.”

I howled in excitement and stumbled to my feet, hugging Leonas. He gave me a worried look, as if he thought I was losing my mind.

“You want to study fashion in Paris?”

“Want? It’s been my dream for years!”

I hadn’t told anyone about my application, not even Luisa or Sofia. I’d felt insecure for even daring to dream about studying fashion in Paris. And now that my dream could actually become reality, a new fear set in, what if I wasn’t allowed to go?

Leonas handed me the letter back. “Dad won’t ever agree, Anna. He won’t let you move to another city, much less another country.”

I swallowed. Leonas was right. He voiced my fears. Getting accepted into the institute was only the first battle. The harder one was yet to come: convincing Dad to let me go. It was why I hadn’t told him or Mom about my plans to apply for the program. With me already being accepted into the program my chances of convincing Mom and Dad had grown exponentially because now they would be taking something away from me. I could play the guilt card if necessary.

“I can be convincing.”

“Even you can’t be that convincing. For years, you weren’t even allowed to attend school because our parents wanted to make sure you’re protected, and you expect Dad to say yes to this?”

“The war with the Camorra has been dormant for a while. Nothing major has happened since Serafina was kidnapped.”

“Tell Dad, not me.” His voice made it clear he didn’t think it would work.

I turned on my heel and headed downstairs, but not toward Dad’s office—he probably wasn’t even home—but toward Mom’s office. She mostly worked at home so she could spend more time with us, especially Bea who still needed her more than Leonas and I. If I wanted a chance to convince Dad, I needed to convince Mom first.

I knocked and waited, my fingers leaving imprints on the letter. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sweaty hands.

“Come in,” Mom called.

I poked my head in with a sheepish smile. “Do you have time for a talk?”

Mom sat behind her desk, a modern white piece of furniture that was supported by only one diagonal leg. It was a design masterpiece. Mom and I had picked it together. She smiled warmly. Mom always made time for me, no matter how stressed she was. I’d miss having her close.

I strode over to her and held out the letter to her. She took it with a small frown and then scanned it. Slowly she lowered it to the desk then looked up at me with a shocked expression. “You applied to a fashion institute in Paris?”

“It’s not just any fashion institute, Mom. It’s one of the best schools for fashion design in the world.”

“But you applied to the School of the Arts Institute?”

“Yes.” It was the best place to study fashion design in Chicago. It wasn’t Paris or New York.

Mom nodded then glanced at the letter again as if she still couldn’t believe it. “Paris.” She shook her head. “Anna.”

“Mom,” I said pleadingly, grabbing her hand. “You know how much I love drawing, how much I love being creative, how much I want to design fashion, and Paris is the place to do it.” I motioned at the dress I’d designed and was currently wearing. A green ombre effect dress with inconspicuous pockets on the skirt where I could stash my phone or whatever else I needed on hand.

“I know, but it’s far away and this isn’t just a short summer program, this is a three-year undergraduate program.”

“It’s not like I’m forced to finish. I could start the program and if you and Dad think it’s time for me to return to Chicago, then I come back. But think of it this way, time abroad, especially in France, will impress all the stuck-up friends of the Clarks.”