Chapter 8
TAMAYO
After an afternoon of having my ass handed to me at various video games, I’m more than happy to escape the rec room when Rita kicks me out.
Zarina and I say goodbye before we head out, and Rita hugs me extra tight.
I shoot Zarina a frown over her shoulder—Rita’s not usually this sappy—but Zarina shakes her head and mouths, “Later.”
“I’ll be back again soon,” I say.
Rita pats my back. “Take care of yourself, hm.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I slip out of her embrace and tip an invisible hat.
She waves us out the door, and we slide into the car.
Zarina sinks back against her seat with a heavy sigh. “Kids are so exhausting.”
I chuckle. “What’d you get up to?”
“I did a makeup session with Ramona and Mais and Georgie.”
“Georgie? Really?” I throw the car in reverse and slowly pull out of the spot. Jaime waves from a window on the second floor, their arm wild.
Zarina laughs, waving back as she answers. “Yeah, she didn’t say much, but she tried some eyeshadow.”
“Wow.” I roll down the window to return Jaime’s wave as I shift gears and pull away.
“What?” Zarina asks.
“Rita and I haven’t been able to get much out of her, and she hasn’t connected with the other kids, really.
” Georgie’s the newest arrival to Alphabet House, and the most she’s divulged is that she grew up in New Buckman.
The same as me. Of course, Rita has her file since the program works directly with social services, but she doesn’t like to share that information with anyone but the staff, preferring to let the new arrivals forge their own connections and tell their story at their own pace.
“That makes me sad,” Zarina mumbles.
I rub her thigh in comfort, guiding us onto the street with one hand on the steering wheel. “Sounds like today was a good day for her.”
She hums. “Did Harriet do their homework?”
“No idea.”
Zarina smacks my arm. “You’re a bad influence.”
I slide my hand up her thigh and throw her a smirk. “The baddest.”
“Lame.” She rolls her eyes and forces my hand back down to her knee.
I laugh. It’s barely half-past four, but the sun has sunk below the horizon and twilight is settling over the city. Streetlights cast pockets of orange across the pavement as I drive us toward home. Zarina traces the bones of my hand on her leg with the tip of one manicured nail.
“Was it a good day off?” I murmur, not wanting to break the comforting quiet of the car.
“It was.” She rolls her neck to look at me. “Rita was a wealth of information.”
“Oh, no,” I deadpan.
Zarina half-smiles, but the expression falls quickly. “I didn’t know you used to live there.”
I hum in affirmation. Her nail doesn’t stop drawing patterns over my knuckles, but I can barely feel it.
My body’s fourteen again, back in my parents’ house, shame burning through my chest as my mother watches me pack a bag with tears streaming down her face.
My father stands behind her, face stern.
He was a military man, met Mom on deployment in the Philippines.
Supposedly, he fell in love with her. In my experience, the man didn’t know how to love anyone, even himself.
Zarina lifts my hand off her thigh and threads her fingers through mine, squeezing. “I’m glad you found Rita and Alphabet House.”
“Yeah.” I don’t offer more, and she doesn’t ask. If she did, I don’t know what I would say. That I left to work for the Gallos? That they betrayed me and left me for dead a couple years later? That I’ve worked every day since to rise up large enough to be able to ruin the Gallos for good?
I can’t say any of that.
So I say something else entirely. “There’s a paper in the glove box—grab it and read it for me?”
Zarina frowns, releasing my hand to do as I asked. She takes out the heavy cardstock and reads David Capone’s scrawl inviting us to mediation with the Accardis. The wrinkle between her brows deepens until she snorts derisively. “I guess half a day off is the most I could hope for.”
“You don’t have to go.” I avoid the highway, taking a longer route home.
She falls back against her seat and rubs her forehead. “Yes. I do.”
I don’t say anything, because she’s right.
If I go alone, we lose face, and in turn, lose power.
Plus, I worry about the opportunity it would provide the Accardis to make another ill-advised but strategic move against us while we’re separated.
We were in the same room last night, and they almost succeeded in stealing Zarina right out from under me.
If they knew she’d be where I’m not? The thought shoots anxiety into my veins.
We go together.
But that doesn’t mean we don’t have moves to make. “Don’t wear makeup on Tuesday.”
“Hm?” Zarina peeks at me out of the corner of one eye.
“Look pathetic,” I say, “injured, barely able to hold yourself together.”
She purses her lips, thinking it over. “Make him think he’s winning.”
“And stoke sympathy from Jimmy.”
“I can do that.” She tucks her hair behind her ear.
I squint at her, half-turning in my seat as we wait at a stoplight. “You have to act like it, too, princess.”
She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “That’s too far. I can look pathetic and be pissed.”
“But if you play into their stereotypes and limited expectations, you can manipulate the narrative. Use their misogyny against them.” I turn back to the road, accelerating through the intersection.
She gags on air, like the mere thought of doing as I’m suggesting tastes rotten on her tongue. I shake my head with a fond smile. I may present masculine, but I’m still a woman. Men still expect me to perform femininity, to be a damsel in distress they can protect and provide for.
Zarina groans and flops against the headrest. “Ugh, I hate that you’re making sense.”
I squeeze her thigh with a sad smile. “I know. I do, too.”
Zarina chews her lip, arms crossed as she considers. “Fine.” Her hands fall to her lap. “But if Marcus makes one comment, one threatening move, one minute facial expression that triggers me, I will not hold back.”
I offer my hand, and she shakes it. “Deal.”
At the mention of Marcus’s name, the weight of last night’s events settles over the car. Zarina’s hand fiddles with the collar of her turtleneck covering her bruises, and it sparks a sickly rage. A feeling I can’t act upon. Not even at this scam of a meeting.
I turn into my territory, noting the SUV that pulls out behind me and the capo sitting in the driver’s seat. We’re a few minutes from home, and all I can think about is having to sit across from Marcus Accardi on Tuesday with anything but murder in my eyes.
“Stay with me tonight.” The words slip out before I think to hold them back.
Zarina studies me with a breath stuck in her throat. “I’m tired. I just want to sleep tonight.”
“That’s all I want, princess. I promise.”
She rubs her lips together, her gloss still shiny despite half a day of wear. I don’t know what I’ll do if she says no. Or why exactly it matters to me so much that she stay. All I know is that the thought of separating for the night fills me with leaden dread.
It must be because she’s injured. Because she was almost ripped away from me less than twenty-four hours ago. Nothing more.
Zarina wraps her hand over the top of mine sitting on her thigh. “Okay. I’ll stay with you tonight.”
I nod and refuse to name the flood of feelings that warms me from the inside out.