Chapter 28
Lucia
For the past week, I’ve done my job as paid to do, and I’ve done it well. If there’s one thing I know how to be, it is professional. I’ve taken care of Camille when Dante couldn’t, kept the house running smoothly, stayed out of Dante’s way, and swallowed every emotion slowly asphyxiating me.
The tension between Dante and me is suffocating. It’s stretched as tight as a wire pulled beyond its limit and humming with unspoken words neither of us is willing to speak.
Every time our eyes meet, the knife in my chest punishes me for craving something I was never meant to have.
Dante’s evening guest hurried past me so quickly that all I caught was a blur of dark hair, the sharp click of red-heeled shoes, and the swish of an expensive coat brushing my arm, but I still pieced the puzzle together remarkably fast.
Her expensive perfume and the air of entitlement beaming from her were unmistakable.
It disappeared instantly when my jealousy pointed it out, but the lipstick smear on Dante’s mouth burned itself into my memory with humiliating clarity.
Though embarrassed, I’ve spent seven days pretending I didn’t see what I saw. I act like I didn’t recognize her shoes or how fresh her lipstick looked, because if I let myself think about it, things will become tenser than they’ve been all week.
I can’t handle more disappointments.
My heart can’t sustain more damage.
The past week has been incredibly awkward, and I hate it. I hate how much I miss Dante even while furious with him, and how my chest aches when he enters the room. I still listen for his footsteps, hopeful he’ll sneak into my studio and say something—anything—to ease the hurt.
I could be the bigger person and make the first move to mend things, but since I refuse to be bought, used, and discarded by the first man I’ve cared for who isn’t related to me, I keep my mouth shut.
My stubborn stance means I finally get my first night off all week.
Being alone in my apartment feels strange. I’ve been so busy taking care of Camille that I’ve forgotten what to do with myself when I’m not working. Dante is utilizing every penny of the thirty thousand he paid me. Long shifts keep me busy from morning till night.
Most nights, I crawl into bed too tired to think, much less remember that I’m supposed to be angry. Tonight is only different because Camille has her dance recital. She wanted me to be there. She even made me a glittery rectangle ticket covered in crooked hearts and proud, shaky handwriting.
She pressed the ticket into my hand with a hopeful gleam that made my chest ache.
Her plan was doomed when Dante said it was a family-only event, so I couldn’t attend even if I wanted to.
Now I’m sitting alone in my apartment, staring at the walls like they hold answers to why I feel the most hollow I’ve felt in months. Silence presses in on me until it finally reaches the time when rays of happiness can drift through the fog.
I call Edoardo.
He doesn’t answer.
I try again.
This call goes straight to voicemail.
Fuming at how easily I can be manipulated, I text him, fingers trembling.
Me:
Please respond. I paid well before the deadline, and this is within the agreed-upon time.
As I stare at the screen, waiting, my pulse thuds in my ears.
A reply never comes.
Tears born more from anger than sadness sting my eyes as I type out another message.
Me:
You accepted the payment. Now let me speak to my son!
Another long stint of silence instigates a severe bout of recklessness.
Me:
If you don’t hold up your end of our agreement, I have no reason to maintain mine.
The custody agreement is simple: Pay thirty thousand dollars toward my debt for ten minutes of FaceTime with my child. The only other term is that I can’t tell anyone about Gabriele. If the Cosa Nostra hierarchies find out about him, they’ll take him from us and raise him to be a future commander.
Edoardo isn’t a great father, but compared to the fathers I’ve faced in his world, he’s the better choice.
My phone sails high in the air when a ping finally buzzes through it.
Edoardo:
The agreement was 40K this month. You’re 10K short.
Restlessness burns through me as the truth rains down around me. He requested forty thousand because he was angry I’d snapped a picture of Gabriele. How could I have forgotten that?
Without the means to earn another 10K on such short notice, I act as if I’m not as smart as I am. It isn’t a hard routine to pull off. Edoardo believes all women are beneath him.
Me:
No. Our custody agreement is thirty thousand a phone call. I paid that, so let me speak to my son. Now.
Counting down the days until I see him is all that’s kept me going this week. If he denies me this opportunity, I won’t get back up.
Another message flashes across the screen.
Edoardo:
Don’t treat me like a fool, Cici. The agreement can change at any moment. That’s my right. So either pay the additional 10K or miss out on this month’s chat.
My vision blurs as panic rises like an unstoppable tide. I can’t miss another month. I won’t survive it. I can’t bear not seeing him or hearing his voice. Not knowing if he’s okay is torture. Another thirty days of pretending I’m fine? I won’t make it. I’m already falling apart.
My fingers move on their own.
Me:
Please, Edoardo. I’m begging you. I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement.
I have no clue how sexting works, but I’m so desperate to see Gabriele that I’ll learn.
Edoardo:
Tempting…
I gnaw on my bottom lip and impatiently wait.
Air releases from my lungs in a hurry when his next message pops up.
Edoardo:
But the agreement was 40K. Let me know now if I should give him some soda. He’s extra tired today. I’d hate for him to be asleep when you call.
Me:
Don’t send him to bed until I’ve called. I’ll get the money.
I don’t know how or where I’ll find it, but I will.
After dropping my phone on the couch, I rub my eyes and fight the panic attempting to swallow me whole.
When I suck in a big breath, I draw in the familiar sweetness of a pie Dante came home with earlier this week.
It’s a slice of my favorite pie from the café—the same café where Luna offered me a job.
It’s a private gig no established dancer wants, but it pays exactly what I need.
Ten thousand dollars.
Again, my stomach twists. This time, it’s an unhinged blend of surrender and survival tangled together.
Before I lose the nerve, I snatch up my phone and call the café.
Luna’s phone rings twice before she answers.
“Cici,” she greets, surprised. “I thought all those pies Dante ordered today would keep you in a food coma for a month.” Her laugh slices through the dread sluicing through my veins. “What can I get you?”
“I need the details of that job you offered last week.” I swallow down my unease. “Is it still available?”
“The private gig?” She must hear me nod. “It’s available, but I thought you said you didn’t want it.”
“I didn’t, but something came up, and I need money fast.”
“Okay.” She waits a beat before continuing. “I don’t have all the details, but when I pressed the booking agent, she said it’s a high-end gig.”
“If you want it, you can take it. I won’t—”
“I don’t want the gig, Cici.” She breathes out noisily. “I was considering it, but… something came up, and I don’t need it anymore.” After another worried sigh, she continues. “I was more cautioning you that you can’t show up to this gig in everyday clothes. Your outfit needs to be special.”
“Special?”
When she murmurs in agreement, my mind jumps to the clothes Dante bought me—the ones I gave away before Camille showed me their duplicates folded neatly in the closet.
On autopilot, I go to Camille’s closet and pull out the boutique bags. As I open the top bag, something slips free and crashes to the floor.
My nose tingles from the moisture that pricks my eyes when I realize what it is. It’s the model plane I was eyeing at the boutique weeks ago, the toy plane that costs more than my rent.
It was sitting on top of the clothes Dante bought me.
My heart lurches painfully. Does this mean what I think it does? Does Dante know about Gabriele? Is that why he’s been cold and distant? Did he find out about my child and decide I was too much trouble?
“Cici?” Luna’s voice crackles through the phone. “Are you still there? You need to hurry if you want to accept this job. If the entertainment isn’t there by seven, they’ll go to the Viper Room at Pepenero Privè.”
Swallowing hard, I shove the plane back into the bag, grab the first “special” clothes I see—a dress, shiny heels, and lingerie too soft not to be expensive—then race out of Camille’s room.
“I’m coming.”
Backpack in hand, I sprint out the door, my mind spinning with fear and unease. I don’t know what awaits me at the address Luna just gave. All I know is that I have no choice.
I was a female born into the Cosa Nostra, and my mother wasn’t the love of my father’s life. She was his housekeeper.
My puppet strings were tied before I took my first breath.
I just foolishly believed cutting them would change the rules.
Silly me.