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Last updated a day ago, with the status: ‘hard times make you realize who’s really ride or die in life. #solo’
I scroll through the feed. My stomach drops.
Every single post is about me. The club where I was last seen. The birthday selfies that we took that morning showcasing what I was wearing. She photoshopped her own missing persons flyers, linked a handful of articles about police corruption and made call-out posts about them lying to her. Angry, raging posts in all caps trying to drum up urgency. My eyes skim the words mob interference in the title of one of the webpages. My blood runs cold.
Then nothing. A week of silence, before that vague #solo status.
“Salvatore. Are you sure your men didn’t do something?”
I slide the phone back to him, letting him read it. Concern darkens his face.
“Not on my orders,” he says. “Maybe they should have, but they still didn’t. I would have heard something about it.”
I stare at the page, at her smiling face in the tiny profile pic.
My heart hurts.
“She means a lot to you,” Salvatore observes.
“You call Marcel brother, right? Well, Kay is my sister. Or that’s what I would call her, if it wouldn’t associate her with my family’s bullshit. I guess that’s more of a curse than a compliment when it comes from me.”
My eyes roam the diner again.
“That was where we met,” I tell him, gesturing to a seat over the bar. “Right there. I’d just had another falling out with my father. I was going to clubs every other night, just for something to do that made me feel like I was actually free from him. And late one night, I wandered in here afterwards, a little drunk. One of my father’s goons was tailing me to keep an eye on me. Kay was waitressing, and of course, she misunderstood the situation. She thought I had a stalker. She didn’t even know me, but she acted like we’d known each other all our lives. When that didn’t scare him off, she threatened to call the police. He left once she threatened to throw hot coffee on him. At the time, I didn’t think she really would have, but—now that I know her, she was one hundred percent ready to give that man second degree burns.”
I shake my head, fondness bubbling up in me all over again, just like it did that first night. I force back the emotion, refusing to get teary-eyed in front of Salvatore.
“She took me home after her shift. She was the most real person I’d ever met. Not privileged or rich or a ‘somebody,’ just…strong. Really strong, in her own way. We were inseparable after that. I just need to know she’s alright. I can’t not know.”
“I’ll find her for you.” I glance up into Salvatore’s face, trying to decide what that means. “Give me a day or so. I’ll make sure she’s safe,” he clarifies. “That much I can do.”
What a double-edged sword.
He reads the uncertainty in my eyes.
“I haven’t lied to you,” he reminds me.
He won’t apologize, but maybe Salvatore isn’t beyond making amends. Maybe this is the only olive branch he has to offer.
“Please be careful. I need her at the wedding. We promised each other that whenever we got married…” I cut myself short. It feels like a silly thing to admit to Salvatore, given the circumstances of the wedding. He must think my priorities are so ridiculous. “I just can’t imagine getting married without Kay there, but I don’t want the mob stomping around in her life, either, even with good intentions. She’s not wrapped up in this world at all. It feels unfair to drag her into this.”
“From the looks of those posts, she might be dragging herself into it.”
I sigh and rub my hands over my face. If Kay ends up in a mess, it’s going to be all my fault. But if there’s one person who can get her out of it, at least I might have him on my side.
“She’ll be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”
I glance up at how assuredly he says it, as if there is no other alternative now that he has decided it, as if the universe bends to his will.
“…Thank you,” I mumble, feeling bad for falling back on Salvatore’s generosity a mere half-hour after condemning him—and for not warning him about the coffee. This place has terrible coffee. But it’s too late.
One sip of the café’s signature lukewarm dirtwater, and we are out the door.
With my grand plan ruined, I’m starting to think that’s just how my luck is. That somehow, nothing can ever go quite right for me. But I still don’t want to squander this day of freedom.
Salvatore’s attempt to make me feel better and take my mind off Kay comes in the form of setting me loose on 5th Avenue, where name brands and designer fashion fill up every other window display. I follow alongside him, trying to feign interest.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t need to wipe my tears on your credit card, Sal. It won’t do any good.”
