5. Valeria
VALERIA
“Bored yet, Val?”
Trey flashes a friendly grin from across the lab bench as I look up from the row of centrifuge tubes I’ve loaded for analysis. The lab is nearly silent, save for the equipment whirring softly around us and Connor typing at his computer.
I’m moving too slowly, I realize belatedly. I should’ve finished this module twenty minutes ago, and I’ve been stuck in my head instead.
I force a small smile onto my face. A lifetime of people asking me ‘what’s wrong?’ when I’m daydreaming or focused is a reminder that I need to make a conscious effort to smile, especially at work.
But I can barely focus when my mind keeps wandering back to my new engagement.
Nothing else in my life has changed. I still ride the train, I still have student loan bills, I still sleep in my bedroom on top of a pile of secret cash.
Every day this week, I’ve expected Nico to call my parents and tell them this was all a horrible prank and that I’m free.
I almost had the transfer position to quiet, boring, safe Springfield. I was so close to escaping my family’s madness.
But then I went and ruined it by fucking the wrong guy.
I’ve thought about that night so much since the dinner.
Waiting for you.
Don’t you want to know my name?
He gave me so many chances to figure out who he was, and I ignored them all because I thought I was in a place where my family’s influence wouldn’t reach. Whether he thinks he’s saving my honor, he wants more, or some other horrible reason, I’ve sealed my fate.
“Val?” Trey’s smile falters.
I close the lid of the CE instrument. “Sorry, just have a lot on my mind.”
“I’ve got just the cure for that,” Connor announces, looking up from his phone. “Michelle is bringing coffee and Havoc.”
Trey perks up at the mention of coffee, and we all shuffle out of the lab and head to the break room.
Connor’s girlfriend Michelle brought in a tray of coffees for us all.
Her big German Shepherd, Havoc, sits patiently at her feet, his tail breaking into excited thumps on the floor as we enter the room.
The small sight lifts my heart. Dogs are like kids—sweet, innocent souls who deserve love and protection.
Seeing Havoc is one of my favorite parts of this job.
Next to him, Michelle greets us all with a bright smile as we walk in, lingering on me, like the two of us are part of a secret girl’s club.
I make a point to smile back. I would love to be in a secret girl’s club with her, especially if she comes as a package deal with Havoc.
Connor wraps his arms around Michelle and gives her a big smack on the cheek. “Have I mentioned you’re the best girlfriend in the world?”
“Not recently,” she says.
I always wonder what it would be like to have a relationship like theirs. Based on the snippets I’ve heard from Connor, they go to the dog park a lot and rock climb together on the weekends.
I couldn’t imagine wanting to spend extra time with any of my partners over the years. Men have always been like salt shakers—I take them out, I use them, then I leave them in the pantry until I need them again. But a dog?
When I have my own place with a yard, I’m going to adopt every dog in the pound and live with a pack of them, and we’ll sleep in a big pile on my bed every night.
Havoc isn’t wearing his K-9 vest today, so I squat down to his height, let him sniff my hand, and when he nudges his big furry head into my palm, I stroke down his back. The tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders for the past several days eases a little.
I thank Michelle for the coffee, making note of the cost, and tell myself I’ll bring the group coffee tomorrow.
Now that I’m a trainee, I’m barely making more than I did as a bartender, but with Mom at her sister’s and Dad in his room all day long, no one’s “borrowing” money from me, and I can afford to bring my coworkers coffee once a week, even if it kills me to spend so much when we get perfectly good, free coffee from the break room.
What I can’t afford is my coworkers having any reason not to like me, especially with my home life so delicate.
I sip from my paper cup, closing my eyes for a few extra seconds while the liquid warmth spreads into my bones. One day, this is what home is going to feel like.
I haven’t made any collages since I found that creepy Watch yourself note in my art supplies, but I’ve missed making them.
Shredding paper, slicing through old magazines, and the hunt for scraps that stop being trash once I fill them with intention.
I slip off the cup sleeve. When I get home, I’ll make a collage.
It doesn’t matter what Nico and my family are planning. I have plans too.
I head to my coat on the break room rack, drop the cardboard sleeve into a pocket, and sit at a nearby table to check my phone.
The vague hope I have toward my future shrivels at a missed call from Mom.
Her face pops up on my screen, a photo I grabbed from her social media a few years back. She’s calling again.
I scurry out of the room, heading for the back door the smokers use on their breaks.
The moment I plunge into the freezing air, I regret not grabbing my coat, but press the phone to my ear anyway.
“Mom?”
“Valeria! How are you?”
A swell of unexpected emotion rushes through me. She sounds completely normal. She sounds nothing like a woman who took one look at her broken husband and left him and her two kids to fend for themselves.
I swallow all the pathetic things I want to say. “I’m getting married,” I say dryly.
“That’s why I’m calling! Congratulations. I couldn’t be happier for you. You’re making us all so proud.”
The cold air is punishing to stand in. It bites at my nose and fingers and sucks the moisture from my breath. I want to go back inside, but I don’t want to have this call in front of my coworkers, so I stamp my feet and clutch my coffee cup with both hands.
“When are you coming back?”
There’s a moment of silence that makes me want to swallow glass.
Then Mom laughs. “You know your Zia Monica. Can’t do anything by herself. Anyway, I just called to say to watch yourself and really try to make Nico happy. This is important for the family.”
The scrap of paper I’ve kept in my pocket for weeks now sears against my leg.
“What does that mean? Did you leave me that—”
Mom hangs up.
I stand in the frozen silence for a moment longer. The anticipation of a sword hanging right above me prickles the back of my neck.
This isn’t just going to go away, and I can’t do this alone.
I need to ask for help.
The second my shift ends, I shoot out of work and race to the train station.
Mom’s warning looms at the back of my mind. Watch yourself.
From what? Nico? Dad? Stefano? Or someone else?
It feels like everyone on the train is watching me as I count the stops to my destination.
I take the familiar route through the apartment lobby, tolerate the familiar sensation of being a smudge of dirt on the glossy tiles. The doorman lets me in, and I ride the elevator all the way to the penthouse floor.
“Valeria!”
A rush of butter and sugar envelops me as Annetta Lombardi tackles me with a hug.
I wrap my arms around her stiffly. No one in my family hugs, but Annetta barrels through my awkwardness with the same soft determination that she does all things.
Her penthouse is just how I remember—panoramic views of the city and a silent luxury that bleeds from every wall, appliance, and piece of furniture. The sort of place you’d imagine a cat-stroking villain plotting world domination, not a lovely, petite woman baking and making floral arrangements.
Annetta peels off of me and smiles. A smudge of flour streaks across her temple into her hairline. “Are you hungry?”
Guilt sidles up to me, digging into my ribs.
I haven’t answered any of Annetta’s texts and calls this month, and maybe that wasn’t entirely fair.
Last year, when her twin sister died, I was hired to deliver groceries to Annetta, and even in the lowest parts of her depression, she was kind to me.
I thought that because she’s married to Dom the Butcher—Don Salvatore’s terrifying right-hand man—that she would hate me for whatever my dad did to deserve his punishment, or that she was only reaching out because she pitied me.
So I avoided her, at least until I was too desperate not to—help always comes with a hidden cost, and what would the woman who has everything ask for?
It never even crossed my mind that she might not ask for anything.
Before I can answer—or swallow my pride and apologize—two balls of fur come yipping and barreling toward me.
Puppies!
My stress and anxiety melt away at the sight of Annetta’s Dobermann puppies jumping at me and flopping their too-big ears all over the place. Little pink tongues lick kisses across my fingers.
A breathy laugh escapes me, part delight, part relief. Puppies are a good omen.
“Wow,” Annetta says, watching me with open surprise. “I didn’t know you liked dogs.”
“Who doesn’t like dogs?” I pick them both up and follow Annetta into the kitchen, where rows of golden cookies dusted with powdered sugar cool on racks. My mouth waters.
“Dom, for one.” She laughs and scratches behind the ear of the squirmy puppy in my right arm. “Or that’s what he’s been saying after Bunny chewed on his favorite pair of shoes.”
Bunny worms out of my arms and runs yipping to a pile of dog toys strewn about the living room. The other nestles in my arms with a sleepy expression. My heart melts into a puddle of goo.
“That’s Coco,” Annetta says as she piles a plate high with the cookies. “She’s a little lower energy than her sister.”
Annetta might be the great beauty of the Family, with wealthy, loving parents and protective older brothers, but I’ve never been jealous of her. Being the Family princess can’t be easy, especially after what happened with her sister.
But now, seeing her with an apron dusted with flour, a plate of cookies in hand, and puppies running around the house she shares with a husband she loves?
Something ugly knives into my belly.