11. Mia
11
MIA
T he morning debrief is perhaps the most awkward thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
Mainly because Leon is doing his very best to ignore what happened last night. But also, because it’s hard not to feel like a prized mare when your so-called husband won’t look you in the eye.
“Are you sure Ivan said nothing else to you?” he asks me again from across the living room. I notice that he’s a safe distance away.
I can see the irony in our role-reversal. It used to be me keeping him at arm’s length. Now it seems that he can’t get far enough away from me.
Honestly, it just feels like I have some kind of virus he’s trying to protect himself from.
“For the last time. He just sent me on my way.” I slump back into the couch, squinting at the sunlight peeking in through the window. “Why are you so interested in this Ivan guy anyway?”
If I wasn’t already in a bad mood, mornings always bring out the worst in me. I ran a bar for years. My days rarely started before noon for years and years.
“It’s none of?—”
“None of my concern, got it. Only it is a bit, because he knows my face now, doesn’t he?”
Leon narrows his eyes at me, but I don’t back down. “Then don’t give him an excuse to see your face again.”
“So what? I’m just supposed to just sit on my ass until Carmen reaches out again?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, this has been productive,” I say sarcastically as I stand, desperately trying to ignore my aching thighs. “I assume you’re satisfied that I’ve fulfilled my wifely duties?”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at me.
Is he embarrassed? Ashamed? I can’t find any sympathy either way.
“I’m going home, then.”
He doesn’t stop me as I leave. I’m not sure if I want him to. I’m not sure how I feel about him at all.
I think the sex has really messed with me. The euphoria of pulling off the infiltration of the Cartel mixed with his protective…no, possessiveness, in bed really fed into my delusions of whatever this thing is between us.
Which is hilarious because there isn’t a thing between us . Not with the man who threatened my father’s life so I would marry him. Not with the man whose only interest in me starts and ends with my capacity to bear his children.
Sure, he always touched me like I mattered. Looked at me like he was trying to burn the image into his memory. Held me close and whispered things that still make my heart race just thinking about them.
At least, it had felt that way, until he’d jumped off the bed and ran away from me like he couldn’t bear the sight of me.
So, logically speaking, there’s nothing for me even to be upset about, really. Because there’s no thing, and there will never be a thing, because he’s an asshole who doesn’t even have the decency to stay the night with me.
The week that follows the debrief is dreadful, mainly because I’m tearing my hair out due to the sheer boredom of having absolutely nothing to do. I’m not even fully able to enjoy doing nothing because of the guilt of sitting around and doing nothing.
Cas calls at least once a day, and I meet her and baby Cory for coffee one afternoon. I pointedly refuse to talk about Leon the entire time, and Cas has the good sense to ramble on about things like pre-K and growth spurts.
Things I probably should be noting down for the not-so-distant future.
Except the thought of having a child feels as distant as the moon to me. I can’t connect with it anymore than I connect with the idea of Leon being the father of my children.
My father visited once to deliver a belated wedding present—a gold necklace he claimed was an heirloom of some kind, but I wouldn’t put it past him to pawn some expensive shit off on me in case I was short on cash.
Not that I am, technically, short of cash these days. Although the black credit card still sits unused in my purse.
There’s also been no contact from Carmen beyond the thank you text she sent twenty minutes after I dropped her off at her place after the party. She’s said at the door that she’d reach out when she needed me again.
Which also means I can’t take on any more mercenary jobs, because I might be needed by the Cartel debutant at the drop of a hat.
No Candelabra. No mercenary work. No Guild.
No Leon Natali.
I’m close to plucking out my own eyelashes on the evening of the eighth consecutive night alone in my tiny little studio apartment.
Which is why, I suppose, I call him.
“Are you all right?” He picks up on the second ring, sounding somewhat breathless.
“No.”
“Where are you?”
I want to roll my eyes. “I’m dying of boredom.”
There is a pause where I can hear the great Leon Natali let out a sigh of frustration. “How did you get this number?”
“How did you know it was me calling?” I counter.
“What do you want, Mia?” His voice is sharp, impatient. I wonder, vaguely, how much progress he’s made on the Cartel since I collected the intel from the party.
“Something to stop me from crawling up the walls.”
There’s a beat of silence. “I don’t see how this is my problem.”
“It’s your fault I don’t have a job anymore, ” I argue back. “I used to have career prospects, you know, before you went and decided that you wanted me to pump out a bunch of?—”
“YES, all right. I get it. Fuck.”
“Just give me something,” I hesitate before adding a softer word. “Please.”
“There might be something.”
“Whatever it is, yes.”
Leon ignores me. “Teo said he once asked you to oversee a casino in Brooklyn. Is that something you might still be interested in?”
“You want me to work for the Prince’s Hand?” I say, a little taken aback. I hadn’t considered the Prince’s Hand casinos as a potential career path, but they were the main source of income for my new mafioso.
“Yes and no, it’s an, er…collaboration project to showcase unity between the two Italian factions. His idea. Brooklyn location, Prince’s Hand branding.”
I bite my lip slightly. It would be a lie to say I hadn’t thought about it since Teo originally proposed the idea. Managing an entertainment establishment was one of the few (legal) things for which I was actually qualified.
“Don’t you think it’s a risk? Someone might start paying attention to me,” I mumble. “I don’t want to blow my cover with Carmen.”
“It’s still under construction, so you wouldn’t need to go to the site. Plus, you were Teo’s entertainment manager. I don’t think many would think twice about you being a part of the process.”
Good enough for me. “I’ll do it.”
“Can you be at a meeting in an hour?”
The address is a tall office building, the bottom floors comprising vast open-plan rent-a-desk spaces. The text Leon sends, however, guides me to a private meeting room several stories up.
The doors I pass by on my way contain large, corporate-style meeting rooms, so I half expect an entire committee to be sitting around the table.
So it’s quite a surprise to see that only one person is waiting for me.
More of a surprise that it’s my sister-in-law.
It’s even more of a surprise that she doesn’t seem that shocked to see me.
“Mia,” the beautiful blonde greets me with a sarcastic little smile. Her quintessentially Italian features make a mockery of my own fading tan and Irish-red hair. She’s perfectly presentable in her long Gucci boots and cashmere sweater.
God, I hate her.
“Isabella.” I pointedly maintain eye contact so she doesn’t glance down at the chucks falling apart on my feet. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Didn’t my brother tell you? It’s a collaboration project.”
It’s condescending and boorish, and I wish I had had the foresight to bring a knife so we could settle this tension the way that both of us is itching to do.
Of course, she’s here. Of course, this was the project he’d put me on.
“Please,” I say instead. “It’s clearly a WAGs project. Nice and safe away from prying eyes.”
Her eyes narrow at that. “I should call Cas, then! See if she’s up for a bit of fun.”
Something cool and possessive stirs within me. Cassandra has been my friend since childhood. What kind of claim does Isabella Vitale have to her?
It’s just playground tactics , I realize, with a start. And actually, I have no interest in playing.
“Are we doing this or not?” I say as I take a seat, not needing to feign my exhaustion as I look over some of the documents sprawled across the table before her.
Isabella eyes me cautiously before clearing her throat. “I’ve taken the liberty of printing off the floor plans for us. I think you’ll find it all quite satisfactory. I’ve spent my entire life in casinos.”
I glance at the paper she indicates. “And I’ve spent my entire life with the Guild. They’re going to hate this.”
“What are you talking about? These designs are perfect.”
“The foyer is just a Prince’s Hand logo.”
“All our casinos have this style of foyer.” She bares her teeth when she smiles.
“The design needs to be more subtle. This is like putting a statue of the Celtics in the entrance of Mia Square Garden.” I pause for a second. “And they’re not your casinos anymore, Mrs. Vitale . You married into the Guild.”
Her lip twitches. “My brother already approved?—”
“My husband asked me for my insight on this, so I’m giving it to you,” I snap back.
Isabella sucks on her teeth. “You really wanna play this game with me?”
“No!” I say, exasperated. “I don’t. I just want to get this over with so I can go back to my fucking apartment and be fucking miserable in fucking peace. This was a terrible, terrible idea.”
I go to stand, but Isabella gets up with me. “Wait.”
“What?”
“Neither of us wants to work on this.”
I give her a long look. “No kidding.”
“So, how about we just call a truce? Let’s just…start again, shall we?” Isabella suddenly looks about as tired as I feel. “I’m still trying to get my head around the fact that it’s you of all people who…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.
“The point is,” she recovers after a moment, “I care about my brother. A lot. And Cas says you’re a good person, but the thing is, I’m not sure if I know that’s true. So you’re really going to need to prove yourself to me.”
“Are you seriously giving me the shotgun talk right now?”
“Yes,” she says, unwavering. “Because my brother is a good person. And if you hurt him, Mia. I swear to God?—”
My phone suddenly begins to ring. Which I’m sure I should probably completely ignore right now, given the circumstances.
Except it’s my burner. And there’s only one number on that phone.
“Excuse me,” I mutter as I pull it out.
“I wasn’t finished!”
“Bigger fish, Mrs. Vitale.” I hold a finger up to silence her as I put it to my ear. “Carmen Rubio! It’s been a while.”
Isabella’s face is absolutely priceless as she recognizes the name.
“Red!” A cheerful voice comes down the line. “I was just wondering, are you around this weekend?”
I look directly into Isabella’s eyes, so like her brothers, as I reply. “For you, I’m free as a bird.”