Chapter 4
Chapter Four
S ix weeks later
Bianca
I sigh with relief to find the large bookstore almost empty an hour after it opened. On a Saturday, it could get busy quickly. Even though I should be at the library on campus writing this essay, it felt like the walls were closing in, and I needed to get out. It didn’t matter I spent spring break working, none of it paid off. I’m wondering if I’m failing this damn class after all.
I’m in the café area and find a large empty table where I can set up my laptop and notebook. Hopefully, I can finish this essay in only a few hours. My reward for finishing an essay I’m finally going to get a good grade on will be picking out a new book. I’m refusing to consider the other essays that have me barely passing the class.
Paying the tax for the use of a table, I go up to the counter and order a large iced latte and a slice of quiche for the breakfast I hadn’t felt up to having before I left campus. I take them back to the table and read through my notes as I eat. Once I’m done, I leave the plate on the other side of the table and focus on writing.
Dimly, I’m aware of the noise building over the next two hours. But I’m nowhere near done, so I barely pay attention.
“Hello, is someone sitting here?” I look up to see a woman, probably somewhere in her mid-thirties. She has dark hair and eyes and is dressed in shorts and a T-shirt.
I nod. “Sure.” I move my stuff to one side of the table.
“You’re done with the plate?”
“Yes, thank you.” I’m grateful she takes it to the counter.
By the time she’s back, I’m focused again on the paragraph I can’t get quite right.
“So what did you have? Was it something sweet or savory?”
Fuck. She’s a talker. I force down the sigh and hope if I humor her, she’ll finish her own sandwich and go away. “A piece of quiche. It was good.”
Her eyes go wide. “Huh, I thought that was whipped cream on the fork. So it wasn’t a piece of cheesecake?”
What? I want to ask her what the fuck did it matter to her. And why did she think I was lying? Instead, I shake my head. “No, it was the spinach quiche.” Before returning my attention to my screen.
“Oh, well. I wanted a piece of cheesecake. But I’m trying to watch my figure. I guess you are, too. That’s good.” I feel her eyes on me.
I stiffen. No. This is not what I think it is. While the woman was definitely a ten, maybe even a size twelve, I’m at least three sizes larger than her. Apparently, I’m not needed for this lecture because despite me not saying a word, she keeps talking.
“You’re so lucky. So young and pretty. And with a metabolism still. The weight falls off when you’re younger. Once you get to be my age, it’s so much harder to lose weight.”
I’m ignoring her, but she doesn’t seem to care.
“Have you tried that new diet plan with the points system? It’s so easy…”
I stand, unplug my laptop, and begin putting everything into my backpack.
“You don’t have to be rude. I just asked you a question.”
Giving her a look, I’ve learned from Sandro. Her eyes go big, and she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Too bad it took so long.
I turn and walk away. I don’t even consider going on the hunt for a new book. I’m not done with my essay…and I would rather walk on broken glass than be anywhere near the woman.
In my SUV, the tears I held in come pouring out. I’ve lost track of time and tears when my phone goes off with a text. I fumble with it, hoping it’s Sandro. It’s not. It’s Kitty. I sigh as I read it. She wants to know what I’m doing.
I consider ignoring it and responding much later that I was in the library and had my phone off. Except, I’ve used that excuse too many times with her. Giving in, I text her that I’m at the bookstore. I leave out the tears thing.
Her response is immediate. She wants me to pick her up so we can go shopping. I roll my eyes. We both hate going shopping—unless it’s for shoes or books.
My phone rings. Fuck, it’s her.
“Come get me, I’m on punishment, and my mom took my damn keys.”
Before I can think of an excuse, she hangs up on me. Fuck.
Twenty minutes later, I roll up to her house. I text her that I’m here since I don’t want to encounter her mom.
I barely recognize her when she comes out. I haven’t seen her since my birthday, almost three months ago. We’ve texted a few times, not much else.
Triumphant, she opens the passenger door and poses. “Don’t I look good?”
“Yes, wow. What did you do?” I ask as she climbs inside. “I thought you didn’t want to do the surgery.”
Opening her purse, she takes out a bottle of pills and shakes them at me. “Not surgery. Something different. I got these from my cousin. They were supposed to be for studying so I can retake the SAT but they make it so I don’t care about food. Thirty pounds is gone just like that. I love these things.”
Thirty pounds in three months? “Your cousin isn’t a doctor.”
She rolls her eyes. “These aren’t a prescription, prescription. They’re in this bottle so if I get stopped with them, I hopefully won’t have them taken off me. This bottle is from the sleeping pills I usually take. My cousin has the hook-up on these. You want to try them?”
Bianca
“What do you mean you don’t have more? I paid you for thirty pills. This is only twenty.” I force a deep breath. Was I as loud as it felt?
Kitty shakes her head. “That’s all he had.”
“I gave you enough for thirty pills. This isn’t thirty pills. Where the hell is the rest of my money?” I demand. I don’t care if I’m loud.
“That’s what it costs. I don’t have any money left.”
“Fuck you, you’re lying. Give me the rest of my money, Kitty.”
“I don’t have any money. Fuck you. I’m the one who connected you. If you think you can get them cheaper elsewhere, then fucking do that. Oh, but you can’t, can you? You go to anyone else in this city, and they’ll run and tell your brother?—”
I never see it coming—even though it’s my hand slapping this stupid bitch across the face. The sound of the slap is loud in the room, and my hand hurts. Oh shit . What did I do? I’m not like this. I’ve never hit anyone in my life.
Holding her face, she’s stunned. “You’ve just fucked yourself. I’m not getting you any pills ever again. Good luck losing any more weight. You’re still a fat bitch.”
I’m frozen as she grabs her bag and leaves my dorm room. It’s only when she slams the door closed that I’m able to move. Sitting down heavily on the bed, I shake my head. Shit, breathe deep. It’s fine. I’m fine. This is actually a good thing. I know I’m not supposed to be taking those pills. Now, if I don’t have a choice, then it’s a good thing.
Kitty started like any good dealer. She offered me a week's worth. They did everything she promised. I could stay up to study, and I wasn’t hungry. I was down five pounds and asked her what they were called. Then I made an appointment with my doctor. She shook her head. The pills weren’t safe. If I wanted, she could get me onto the track of having bariatric surgery.
So I called Kitty again. That was a month ago. For the last few weeks, my dependency grew heavier while my fatass got lighter. I was so freaking happy but now…
It’s fine. I’ll be fine.
Except I’m not fine. Three days without, and I’m going out of my mind. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I need just a little to get through the come down from this.
I’m not thinking straight as I go through my phone, wondering if any of the few contacts could help me. I’m not calling Sandro. He’d kill me if he found out. Bobby was usually good to keep low-key stuff from Sandro. Since he had a daughter my age, he went by what he thought he would want to know—this he’d want to know about.
Gaetano. I recall it in an instant, Gaetano’s nickname in the Outfit is the pharmacist . I have no idea why. But if he’s called the pharmacist, maybe he has a medicine cabinet full of something he could give me to get by. I hit send on the contact without thinking much more.
“Hello?” He’s wary.
I swallow down the fear. Lie and make it good, and he’ll help me. “Hey, um, it’s Bianca. I’m hoping you could help me out, or rather, my friend. I know you’re not a fan of her, but Kitty, she kind of needs something. And you were the only one I could think to ask. She’s, um, been taking Benzedrine from her doctor, prescribed by her doctor, and he, um, forgot to call in the refill before the long weekend, and she’s needing some just to get by for the long weekend. Do you have some I could give her? Or do you know anyone who she could get them from?”
He's quiet for a minute. Too long. Is he going to hang up? Does he know I’m lying? “Yeah, I do. Why don’t you come by, and I’ll give you what I have here.”
Thank god. “Okay, great. I’ll be right there. Text me your address, please.”
“I’ll send it now.” Is all he says before hanging up.
I look down at what I’m wearing and wonder if I should change. On campus, I lived in yoga pants and long t-shirts, what I’m wearing now. Around Sandro and when I lived with him, I could never forget the commandment by Marissa and my mom to dress well as what we wore also represented Sandro and my father. Usually, I wore long skirts to my ankles or dresses—also down to my ankles when meeting men in my brother’s world.
Deciding to compromise, I leave on the black t-shirt with a graphic of lips on the front of it. Then I take off the yoga pants and replace them with a long, silky black skirt.
The drive feels like it takes forever before I pull up in front of his house. Huh, this is a nice house—it looks like a family home. I don’t know... I pictured Gaetano in a cave or in a slick condo, not a place for two-point-three children and a dog.
His door is open before I get to him. Black eyes slide over me. I have no idea why it sends my stomach into a thousand flips and has my mouth wet. Has it really been four months since I last saw him? It feels like yesterday and a decade all at once. He looks the same as the last time I saw him—I still hate his beard.
He's wearing a black, long-sleeved, button-down dress shirt and plain black slacks. Both have an expensive sheen to them. The clothes are expensive and obviously made for him. Luca made it known that he preferred his men to dress well in handmade clothes to make room for their weapons. There is a tailor here in Vegas who doesn’t need to take on other clients since he is so well paid by Luca and his men.
They also have clothes that are made from bulletproof materials. Sandro has eight bulletproof suits, the same as Luca. Does Gaetano have one? Did he need it?
Opening the door wide, he steps back. “Come in.”
Said the spider to the fly… I have no idea where the thought comes from. I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. I stop. “I don’t want to bother you. I’m good to just?—”
He turns around and leaves me there with the door wide open. Um, what? The inside is dark. It’s only six. It’s barely twilight, yet I can’t see where he went. Is he coming back? I follow him deeper into the house.
The front door slams closed behind me, causing me to jump in fear. Gaetano is leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
He might appear calm, but anger flows from him in waves. I back away slowly. “I’m uh, I need to get back. Kitty is waiting.”
Pushing away from the door. He stalks me until he’s only one step away from me. “No, she’s not. When did you start taking it? And how bad is the withdrawal?”
I shake my head. I’m trying to step back from him, but my feet won’t obey.
“Tell me, or I'll call Sandro, and you can discuss all of this with him.” The words are hard and colder than ice, like his eyes.
Fear kicks me in the stomach. I shake my head again. “You can’t. It’s Kitty, she?—”
“She’s the one who got you hooked. Good to know. Now, how long have you been taking them? And when did you run out? If you tell me, I’ll help you.”
My hand goes to my stomach as I back away from him. I’m able to get one step before my legs give out from under me. Gaetano catches me before I hit the ground. The electricity is there again, somehow stronger than before. It shocks me into the moment and out of the fear spinning hard inside me. Everything in me melts, and my head goes down on his chest.
Tears are falling without warning. Suddenly, everything is let loose in a torrent of sobs. He holds me close, his hand running up and down my back gently. He doesn’t say a word just holds me as I cry.
The world disappears within the circle of his arms. His heat sinks into me, warming me from the inside out. Finally, the tears slow.
His hand is beneath my chin, bringing my face to his. I have no idea where the tissues he uses to clean me up came from. I’m not sure why it surprises me that he has tissues in his house, let alone close at hand. We’re sitting on a leather recliner. My legs are over the arm of the recliner.
Surprise climbs when I realize the recliner is the only real piece of furniture in the place. There’s a huge flat screen on the wall and a small table beside the recliner. The place is large but empty—nothing like what I expected.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I realize he’s watching me looking around his home.
“Talk to me, angel.” The words are soft, but there is no hiding the demand in them.
“Kitty offered them to me. I started slowly, only a few pills a day. Then, I needed more to get the same effect. She didn’t come through with what I needed. I was out three days ago. At first, I was just irritable. But now it feels like if I don’t get another pill…”
He sighs. “That means you’re going to hit a wall soon.”
“It’s going to get worse?” Please no. I already feel like I want to scratch my skin off my body.
Another sigh, and he nods. “You’re lucky I have something that should help you come down more gently. I hope.” He stands and sets me down gently in the recliner.
“What does you hope mean?”
There’s no answer as he walks away. All I want to do is run and find someone who will give me what I need. Except I have no doubt if it isn’t now, it will be later that Sandro will find me and force me off the pills. I don’t think I can stand going through what I already have again. I’m also hoping Gaetano won’t tell Sandro. If I run, he will.
Even if the idea of staying here with him for longer than five minutes feels very dangerous, those long minutes in his arms weren’t enough—I want more of it so badly. When he held me, everything was soothed in a way I’ve never known before.
I’m beginning to wonder where he is. I can’t hear him from the long hallway he went down. I sigh and look around. The place looks like he moved in a few weeks ago, except it doesn’t feel like he just moved in.
He’s back with a black jar, and he’s taking the lid off as he approaches me. “It means I’ve only read that this will help. I’ve never seen it before.” He offers me a small gummy disc.
I take it. “Is this what I think it is?” Smelling it answers the question. Ew, it’s THC.
“Yes. It should take the edge off and make coming down less painful. You’re also not going to be dependent on it once you’re clean of the speed you were taking.”
Taking a deep breath, I put it in my mouth and chew. Ick. “It tastes gross. You like these?”
“No, but sometimes I need them to sleep. It’s better than the benzos like Xanax and Klonopin I came to rely on too much. The withdrawal from those was hell but better than—” He shrugs. “I don’t like not being in control. The Xanax had me thinking I was, but that’s what drugs do—they lie to you.”
“What else did you have withdrawals from?” Gaetano fascinates me in the same way I think people who swim with sharks are fascinated by those sharks. A predator that doesn’t appear to have a single soft inch to him in body or mind.
“Cocaine.” Something flickers in those cold black eyes. Before I understand it, it’s gone.
“I thought you guys weren’t supposed to use cocaine. It was a decree from Luca.”
A shoulder lifts. “I used it before Luca made the decree.”
Luca’s been running Vegas for almost twenty years. “How old were you?”
“Fifteen. The whole young, dumb, and full of cum bullshit. I thought I was grown and knew better. That I could control it, but it got away from me fast. It only took a few months to hit a wall.”
“Did you use something to help your withdrawals?” I’m curious.
Another shake of his head. “I did it cold turkey. The more painful the memory, the better it will keep you from coming off the wagon again.”
“Why are you letting me use weed?” I’m kind of surprised he’s giving me the weed gummies.
“Because you’re never going to touch anything like this ever again. So there’s no need to make it harder than it has to be.” It’s not a question.
I agree. “I won’t. Please don’t tell Sandro. He will be so upset thinking he failed or something. I couldn’t take that when this is all me. Since they were prescription, I thought they were safe. I mean, Kitty’s mom took them to lose weight—it’s where Kitty got the idea to use them.”
“I should. If he found out I didn’t tell him, he’d probably kill me. Especially if he found out you’re spending the time it takes for you to come off it here.”
Rushing to assure him. “I’ll never tell him. Ever. And I’ll never touch it again. Nothing. Not even weed or alcohol. As far as me being here, do I really have to stay for days? Can’t I just?—”
“I’m not letting you run off. You’re going to get worse before this gets better. Hopefully, the weed helps, but there’s no guarantee.” He’s hard. There’s no arguing with him.
“What about school?” I try again. The idea of being alone with him in his house is scary—but not in the way it should be. In the way I loved Gaetano holding me while I cried earlier—and how I’ve never forgotten what it felt like for him to carry me all those months ago.
An eyebrow goes up. “You should have thought of that before you got into this. If you want to call your professors and see about getting work with the excuse that you’re sick, you can call them. You’re not leaving here until I’m certain you’re clean.”
“How are you going to miss so many days if Sandro needs you?” I’m curious.
“Sandro doesn’t need me as often as you think he does. And if he does, I’ll be sick too. If there’s something he needs that I have to leave for, I’ll tie your ass to the bed.” He says it so simply it takes a minute for the last few words to penetrate.
Why does that sound hot? Wait, he has stuff to tie people up with? “You tie up all the women you have over?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t have women over. I’m going to call Sandro now and let him know.”