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I’ve got everything a person could reasonably want at forty-two years old, at least where money is concerned.
What about a family? a small voice whispers inside of me.
I almost laugh the question away.
When I was a younger man, I knew that I wanted to meet a woman and start a family. I felt certain that one day, I’d meet somebody who made me feel something I couldn’t ignore, that’d make me sit up and act.
But, as the years wore on, it became clear to me that that was never going to happen. For whatever reason, every woman I ever met just left me feeling bland and bored and lonely.
It didn’t matter how attractive they supposedly were.
It didn’t matter how hard they laughed at my jokes… or laughed when I wasn’t even making a joke, but they thought it was the right place to laugh.
It didn’t matter how they stooped and bowed and made fools of themselves in their eagerness to please me.
I kept waiting, certain that it would change.
One day, I just stopped waiting for it to change. I accepted that I’d never feel what I wanted to feel—needed to feel.
I open my eyes and let out a dark shivering sigh.
It doesn’t matter.
I’ve got my dog and my estate and, unlike most people who work in this business, I’ve got my life.
Chapter Three
Rosie
“What were you doing, sweetheart?” Vito says, as his men spread out around me.
I look into their faces one by one, trying to detect if there’s any softness there if any of them will come to my aid. But they all stare blankly, their eyes glazed over like they’re not even people.
It’s like they’re Vito’s robots.
“Nothing,” I whisper. “I thought I heard a noise. But I was wrong.”
“You didn’t hear nothing, huh?” Vito leers as he walks right up to me, bringing with him the stink of whisky and cigarettes and sweat. “So why were you poking around? It seems to me you want to be a hero, Miss…”
Don’t tell him your name, a voice screams inside of me.
He sighs, tilting his head at me like he can read my thoughts.
“I need to see your ID,” he says.
“I don’t have any,” I lie.
“ID,” he growls, “or I’ll have my boys work you over until you start to like it, you fucking whore.”
I swallow as acid fear boils through me, causing my hairs to prick on the back of my neck.
My hand feels clumsy as I reach into my purse, taking my ID out and handing it over. My driver’s license trembles as I offer it to him, as though in time with my frenetic heartbeat.
“Rosalind Smithson, Rosie huh,” Vito says, nodding as he says my name.
Bugs crawl over my skin, oozing and writhing and making me want to scream.
I see pedestrians walking by at the end of the alleyway now, but none of them are as stupid as me. They don’t even look down here, let alone think about getting involved.
“Do you have any idea what that bastard did?” Vito growls, glaring at me as he closes his fist around my driver’s license.
“Something bad,” I say. “He deserves to be in there, Mr. Franzese. I understand that.”
“Hmm, is that so, little lady?” he chuckles. “Because I seem to remember you talking about bolt cutters and the like.”
“No, I—”
“Think very fucking carefully before you tell me a lie,” he growls. “It could be the last thing you ever say.”
My heart pounds so heavily, the beating torture spreading throughout my body, causing my fingers to tighten and my toes to curl in my shoes. My freaking scalp tingles in anxiety, which I didn’t even know was possible before this moment.
I take a breath, trying to control my jackhammering heart.
“I was going to help him,” I murmur. “But he told me a lie.”
“What did he tell you?” Vito snarls, slipping my driver’s license into his pocket.
I glare at his hand, anger warring with fear. I want to leap forward and grab my license back. I need it to take Mom to the hospital for her appointments.
I don’t deserve to be intimidated by this lowlife, with his drugged-up eyes and his big shot grin. I hate that I have to stand here and take this, let him talk to me like this.
I wish I had a gun.
“A vicious lie,” I murmur.
“What. Did. He. Tell. You.”
Vito stares hard at me. The men behind him exchange looks, quickly, as though they’re scared of Vito catching them looking at each other. I guess that Vito has a habit of flying off the handle – hence the man in the trashcan – and they’re worried about him killing me so publicly.
“He said you raped a woman,” I murmur. “But I know it’s a lie. I can see that now.”
Vito throws his head back and laughs, and all his men laugh along with him. Even though I can tell they’re forcing it, Vito either can’t or doesn’t seem to mind.
