3. Chapter Three #2
Having guard detail in the pit was considered one of the worst jobs amongst the soldiers. It involved standing in front of a door for the entirety of your shift, making sure whichever prisoner you were watching didn’t escape.
“But he still said no,” Illayana huffed, walking out of the bathroom. “I was ready to thump him in the head. I was getting so irritated.”
“I bet,” I chortled.
She flopped down onto her bed and turned to face me, lying on her side.
She used her hand to prop her head up, arm bent at the elbow.
“I asked him what it would take to get him to agree with the move.
He said, ‘Nothing’. I said, ‘There must be something’.
He said, ‘Not unless you can guarantee her safety—’
“Which is impossible,” I cut in, sitting back down on the small, two-seater couch opposite her bed.
“Well, not exactly. I told him I couldn’t guarantee it, but I could get pretty damn close.”
“Right. This ‘mysterious’ offer you mentioned that I wouldn’t agree with.” I tucked my bare feet underneath me, getting comfortable. I waved a hand through the air. “Okay, out with it.”
Illayana hesitated for a moment, her eyes avoiding mine. “I said you’d be willing to have a tracking chip put in. Like mine.”
“You what?!” I exclaimed, my voice pitching higher. I slapped a hand to my forehead, groaning. “Illayana, why would you do that?”
“What?” She shrugged innocently. “He said yes.”
“Because he knows I’d never fucking agree to it. You know how I feel about that shit. I’ve got no idea why you even allow it. You’re chipped like a fucking animal.”
“Hey. This thing”—she touched the back of her neck lightly—“saved my life. Without it, I’d probably be dead and buried naked in a ditch somewhere right now.”
I huffed out a breath. “Okay, fair point. I’ll give you that one.”
“Just do it, T. It’s really not that big of a deal. You can’t even feel the thing. If it gets your dad off your back, and will give you the ability to move to New York guilt free, what harm is it gonna do?”
She had a point. I was twenty-four and had never lived on my own. I was dying inside for that freedom, for the ability to walk around my house stark naked if I bloody well wanted to.
For all my life, it had just been me and my dad. My good for nothing, so called “mother” walked out on us when I was just a baby, leaving us to fend for ourselves. The guilt I felt about moving stemmed from that. I felt like I was abandoning him. Like her .
I wanted to travel the world. To explore different things, different cultures.
But every time I’d bring it up, Dad would rant and rave about how it wasn’t safe.
Nothing had happened to make him think that way, to trigger that unbearable overprotectiveness.
It was purely because he knew how dangerous and cruel the world could be, and he didn’t want me to fall victim to it.
He kept me close because he was afraid to lose me.
I didn’t want to fight it because I didn’t want to hurt him.
But Illayana was right. If all I had to do was get chipped like a fucking dog to get my dad to be okay with me leaving, it was a small price to pay.
I shook my head, chuckling softly. “You know, I was surprised as hell when he called me the other day and said I could go. I was so shocked, I dropped my hot bowl of soup right into my lap. When I asked him what made him change his mind, he just said, ‘Ask that best friend of yours’. He didn’t think I’d agree to the terms.”
“But you’re going to, right? You’re gonna do it?”
“Yes,” I blew out, irritated. “This is the first time he’s ever given me the opportunity to leave home. I’d be an idiot to waste it.”
“Damn straight you would,” Illayana nodded. “When will he get back from Russia?”
“Tomorrow.” I’ll admit, I was pretty ticked off he left. He wouldn’t let me visit my best friend in New York without giving me a six-hour lecture on safety and all the bad shit that can happen. But he was allowed to go gallivanting halfway around the world? Talk about double standards.
Now, though, I’m glad he went. If he hadn’t, he would have gotten caught up in the attack.
Illayana and I talked for a little while longer, catching up on everything we’d missed in each other’s lives over the last month.
She told me all about the trouble The Outfit was giving her and Arturo.
How Franco was fucking with their distribution, making it difficult for them to sell their product.
Somehow, he was finding out the locations of their manufacturing and distribution houses and raiding them before they even knew what was going on.
When I suggested they might have another rat, she was adamant that wasn’t the case. After that whole mess with Diego and the money he’d stolen, Arturo had done a thorough check of all his men. He was beyond confident there was no one else in the Cosa Nostra whose loyalty could be questioned.
So how was Franco finding out the new locations of their operations only hours after they’d been set up? It was a serious problem. One I knew worried her a lot.
“How about I go to New York early and help out? That way you can stay here as long as you need and I can keep you updated on what’s going on, so you don’t pull your hair out from the stress.”
Illayana blinked in surprise. “But what about college?”
“Eh,” I shrugged. “Classes don’t start for another month. I was only going early to get situated and move into the apartment. Which, by the way, I’m paying rent for. I don’t care what you say.”
Arturo (and Illayana now, I guess, by extension) owned several apartment buildings in the city and they offered me one to stay in while I was in New York.
I of course accepted, because finding a decent apartment in New York City was a fucking nightmare. But when the subject of rent came up, Illayana flat out refused to hear it.
“You chose not to be in this life, though. Are you sure this is something you want to do?”
“I didn’t choose to go into the Bratva for two reasons.
One: the uniforms are borderline nasty. I’d rather cut my own foot off and eat it than be caught wearing those ugly, vomit-inducing things you make those enforcers wear.
And two: I needed the time to work on my fashion line.
That’s it. I love blood and violence just as much as you do, maybe more.
And I’m looking forward to it. As long as I get to pick my own outfits. ”
Illayana laughed softly. “You’d really do that for me?”
I picked up a pillow and threw it at her head, making her laugh again. “Bitch, you should know by now that I’d do anything for you. You’re my ride or die. The Dominic Toretto to my Brian O’Conner. The Shrek to my Donkey. The James P Sullivan to my Mike Wazowski.”
“I get it, I get it,” Illayana cut in, barely containing her laughter. “And hey, why am I Shrek?”
“You wanna be Donkey?” I shrugged. “That’s okay, you can be Donkey. You’re kind of an ass anyway.