Dante walked onto the pier, at first going up the stairs to go south to Harborview Road and then changing his mind and going back down and then up the other steps to go to Kelley's. He stopped at the top of the stairs, realizing he really had nowhere to go.

He walked back down to the dock and found himself, yet again, paralyzed by the fact that his mother had lied to him all these years. Every time since he had found out and the realization hit him, he had had to stop dead in his tracks, his every organ frozen, stupefied. She had been his best friend, his one true confidante for so long. She had fed him and built a home for him out of nothing. And she'd been lying to him the entire time. Telling him how much she loved him and how proud she was of him and all the time allowing him to believe that she was so cluelessly loose as to not even know who had gotten her pregnant. All that talk of drugs and crazy youthful times: all lies. She had known the whole time. She hadn't slept around at all. She hadn't been strung out on weed or cocaine or whatever the hell else kids were into back then. She hadn't slept with half the guys on the block, half the goddamn stickball league, on the same night. A thought that had made Dante want to vomit every time he had thought about it. And how he had suppressed thinking about it all these years! No, she hadn't been a slut. She'd been in love with his father. And she had known who he was and not told anyone, not the father, not the son, no one. Dante could no longer go to her for anything. Not food, not comfort, not truth. The bitter taste in his mouth made him choke.

What the hell was he still doing in this town? The case against Sonny was moot. All the time and effort he'd spent working his cover seamlessly, lying seamlessly. Lying so much and so often that there was a spot on his forehead, a spot on his temple that would throb mercilessly with every lie he told. Almost sleeping with that crazy bitch Claudia just to protect his cover. All pointless now. The man he was hired to take down, the man who his mission it was to put away, was his father. Crazy soap opera. What the hell, he thought, this is my job. Why did it have to become a soap opera?

And Lulu. He had thought he had some sort of beginning with her. He liked her, and had laid his heart on the line, and told her in no uncertain terms, that he liked her. He'd shared personal things with her, his work, his cover, his quest for his father, his love for his mother, his interest in opera, he'd laid it all out: this is who I am, take it or leave it. And it looked like she was leaving it. Still playing stupid games, not wanting to get close, to be honest. Screw that. Was there really time to not be honest? Life doesn't stand back and wait for you to be ready for it. Dante had laid it all out, why was that so hard for the girl to do in return? Yeah, she had all these pent up insecurities. Insecurities over stuff she never deemed necessary to spell out for him. What was he supposed to do, read her fucking mind? Dante understood that not everyone was as confident, as well brought up as him, and he knew he had to be patient and deal with baggage and emotions and insecurities. But his life had just been turned inside out. If Lulu wasn't going to be there for him now, then when? He didn't want to go to her and be turned away yet again. If she truly wanted him, she'd have to make the move this time.

He looked out over the water, picked up a rock off the pier and threw it out into the water. Satisfied with the feeling of momentary release that gave him, he picked up another rock and threw it out even further. He wanted to keep throwing until his goddamn arm came out of its goddamn socket.

He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to go back to Brooklyn. So badly, he wanted to go back to Brooklyn and go back to a time when he didn't have to know all that he now knew. He looked down at the water and wondered, just for a second, if things would be easier if he just put the rocks back down on the pier and dove. Dove down into that murky Hudson River. Sank to the bottom or paddled over to that ridiculous island with the castle in the middle of the water, letting the waves wash him up on those jagged rocks. Who cared? Either way, the river could decide what to do for him. The choke in his throat was painful and he couldn't swallow it away. He could not look away from the water. He couldn't turn around and look at his life in this piss-ant little town.

Sonny. The thought of Sonny brought a cough of a laugh to his throat. A monster. A criminal. A murderer. Ruthless selfish bastard. How could half of Dante come from this caricature of a man?

Dante inhaled, the scent of the breeze over the river rushing into him, strangely clean, despite the murkiness of the water. He thought of Morgan. Such a sweet boy. Smart and generous. Totally believing the best in people. Reminding Dante so painfully of himself when he was younger. Happy, enjoying this privileged life, the kind of life Dante hadn't had, not materially, at least, but, for sure, emotionally. The support, the love surrounding that boy wherever he went had been the same: Dante had had that. Dante had been that.

And Morgan was Sonny. Was that Sonny? Sonny hadn't grown up surrounded by uncomplicated unconditional love, but he had made the effort to give that to his boys. He had tried to overcome the sins of this fathers by building a business. And then he had tried to leave the cruelties of that business. As it turns out, unsuccessfully, but, still, he had tried. He wanted to make a good life for his kids. But his demons were stronger. Dante knew he hadn't even nicked the surface in uncovering Sonny's demons. Here was a guy obviously capable of love. Capable of waxing poetic about fine wine, and food, and the Yankees. His fancy suits and his fancy cars aside, the love he felt for his kids was real, palpable. Sonny made no effort at hiding that. But why was he still a killer, why did he still think he had the right to decide who could live? Was he a killer? What demons of Sonny's did Dante inherit? What was inside Dante, waiting to surface? What parts of him were Sonny? A tear slipped down his face, stinging, and he hurriedly wiped it away.

He heard small wheels being dragged onto the pier. The squeak of wheels, rolling, dropping, rolling, dropping along the wood slats of the pier, a thud punctuating each roll and drop, a suitcase with one of the wheels missing. He looked over and saw a woman, a rush of black hair over her face, struggling with her broken suitcase.