Chapter Six #4
“Puh-lease. That was before I knew his door swung both ways. Vroom-vroom, that idiot is already in my rearview mirror now.” Fucking stronzo!
“If this isn’t cause for alcohol, I don’t know what is.
” I open the first cabinet near the fridge and grab the bottle of red wine I saw there before.
As I look for the opener in the drawers, an idea starts forming inside my head. But how to approach it?
The pizza arrives. Fly pays, and after we leave one with the guys outside, we bring the other three to the coffee table with the wine.
“You know the saying: if you don’t use it, you lose it,” I say with a sigh, taking a slice of Margherita.
“What makes you think I don’t use it?” Fly goes for the one with zucchini.
“I was talking about me,” I snap. “Do I seem that repellent to you?”
“Yes, extremely.”
I bump his shoulder.
“I love you, but you need a little shame,” Fly adds with a smile.
“Shame? My dick is going to rot and die at this rate. I need to get out and get pounded.”
“You really are a nutjob.” He shakes his head at me before downing his wine.
“You’ll marry a mannerless, bloodthirsty, hardheaded mobster. Who’s the real nutjob here?” I tease him. I drop the crust on the square carton and go for another slice.
“Marco is not bloodthirsty, he’s wonderful.” He sags against the sofa with a dreamy sigh. “I can’t believe I was ever strong enough to resist him.”
Fly keeps talking about Marco, and my eyes fall on his engagement ring. For the first time ever, I wonder if finding someone to share a life with wouldn’t be all bad. I’d need to find a guy who keeps me on my toes and adores me at the same time. Easy-peasy. I almost laugh at my idiotic thoughts.
“You are zoning out in the middle of a conversation, are you okay?” Fly’s worried voice takes me back to the present.
“Sorry, but my asshole virginity is growing back,” I grumble, taking a sip of wine.
“It would take decades for that to happen,” Fly taunts me.
“Not crying in sympathy for me?”
“My dick is leaking tears for you.”
“I don’t know if I should feel insulted or turned on.” I wipe my fingertips and mouth after I finish my pizza, moving to the Quattro Formaggi one next.
“A bit of both,” he sasses.
“I give too many fucks or no fucks at all.” I chew on the cheese and crust heaven inside my mouth. “I can’t find it in me to distribute a moderate amount of fucks around,” I return that same sass, which makes him laugh.
“You know? I find you coming here sort of serendipitous,” I add a little later.
“In what way?”
“Help me!” I suddenly exclaim, grabbing both his hands in mine while giving him my best puppy eyes. “Go to Red Tape with me.”
“The club?” Realization hits him. “Oh no. No, no, no.”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes. I just need thirty minutes.” One hour tops. I have to check some documents Aurora left in the office for me.
He shakes his head. “Are you mad? They’ll catch us!”
“Not if I find a hookup fast. Like that’s hard for me.”
“Luca will blow a fuse. And Marco?”
“Think about the hours of angry sex. Ah, I envy you so much, you lucky bastard.” I really do.
“Fuck! You’re a bad influence,” he mutters.
“Again, you are the one marrying a mobster.” I pull him off the sofa.
He frowns at me. “Is this actually a plan for you to run away?”
“No. I had my phone, I could have run from the very beginning.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I shrug. “Multiple reasons. Boredom, curiosity, the impending wedding, Luca is hot.” My half-brother.
“Are you really going to marry Coretti’s daughter?”
I hesitate but nod in the end, before pulling on his hand. “Look at this as my bachelor party! Come on, I want to wear the garter belt you brought for me and the new body chain.”
We are walking toward the bedroom when Fly suddenly digs in his heels. I turn around to look at him.
“I missed you, Art. I miss this.” His eyes are watery again.
“Me, too.” I look up at the ceiling, trying to stop the waterworks.
“Promise me you won’t leave me ever again.”
Can I really do that?
“Promise me!” he insists.
“Alright.” I look straight into his eyes, lift our tangled hands in the air, and kiss them. “I promise.”
He nods. After a few sniffs, we finally reach the bedroom.
“How are we going to bypass the bodyguards?” he asks as I open the closet.
I grab a Snickers bar from the nightstand and give it a long sniff. The smell of chocolate always makes the neurons inside my brain operate more efficiently. Ding. The light bulb turns on.
“We won’t.”
The burning sunset has swallowed the whole town. Sometimes I wish it would swallow me as well.
Not tonight, though. Because I’m about to have some well-deserved fun. With Nacho under my arm and my cute clutch in the other, I enter the club, thanking Sam, the bouncer, who recognizes me. The crowd is decent inside. It’s way too early now, but in a couple of hours, it’s going to be packed.
I’ve loved this club from the first time I saw it.
It blends functional spaces with immersive atmospheres, emphasizing energy and sound.
The lighting is subdued and warm to encourage intimacy.
The dance floor is the epicenter, with dark, reflective surfaces.
It is surrounded by synchronized laser and LED lighting rigs.
The DJ booth is positioned on the left, opposite the bar area, which is lined with metallic and stone finishes and strategically placed on the periphery of the room to maintain flow.
The VIP lounge is elevated, offering a bottle service and a slightly secluded view of the main floor action while customers relax on the plush, velvet seating.
The pounding music and dim atmosphere make me feel free. This is my escape from life.
I stop to talk to the manager for a few minutes after telling Fly to go with Santo toward the VIP lounge, where a table is waiting for us. Carlo stays back, standing a few feet from me.
Getting out of the condo was easier than I thought.
I pretended to receive a call on Fly’s phone from Miss Fantino about Nacho being sick.
The way Fly convinced Carlo and Santo to bring us to get my dog surprised me again.
Nacho miraculously got better as soon as we arrived at my building, so since we were there, I got to go to my apartment.
I don’t know why but someone broke my closet—Luca the fucking wacko—Fly assured me he’ll make him pay me back.
Like that would ever happen. I took the chance to change my clothes and grab some more.
After that, another fake call from Marco took us here to celebrate.
Carlo doesn’t look very happy about it. I think he’s on to us—it’s pretty obvious that it was all staged.
I saw him tapping on his fucking phone, the snitch.
But I know Fly will be fine, and he’ll smooth things over for Carlo and Santo as well.
I’m the one in trouble. Still, fuck it! I need this after nine days of seclusion.
I’m climbing the stairs to the VIP lounge, patting Nacho’s head, when a guy coming down grabs my arm and pulls me toward him.
“Hey, remember me?”
I glance at his face and discard him quickly. He’s greasier than the bowl of meat Luca gave me a couple of days ago.
“Buzz off! Don’t like small dicks.” I try to tug my arm free, but he doesn’t let go. Nacho starts growling. Good boy.
Carlo suddenly grabs the guy’s wrist. “Didn’t you hear? He’s not interested,” I hear him say.
Fly appears at the top of the stairs, watching what’s happening. The idiot finally releases me as a couple of guys from security find us—glad to see that the CCTV works well. They grab him, and I tell them to throw him out before I resume the climbing.
“You know what I’m thinking about?” I ask Fly when we reach the table and sit. “Female dragonflies.”
“Why?” He chuckles then orders a bottle of champagne, as I choose a plate of appetizers from the menu.
“They’ll fake their own deaths to avoid mating with unwanted males.”
Fly laughs at my reply.
So I continue. “Like ugh, play dead, here comes tiny-dick dude.” I open my purse and start munching on some Sour Patch Kids.