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He is smiling. I am further confused, not sure what to think anymore.
What if his plan was to give me to this gang as a form of payment?
Thought that would be stupid to think that, I’m his prized toy.
"What's with you today? They are with me. I hired them as escort. Will you calm the fuck down? You are ruining my moment," he says bitterly.
I don’t respond. I study the men on bikes. All of them have a vest on with a dragon in the center. Hades Inferno above the dragon and Tennessee below it.
Their engines are loud and divert all attention to the limo, which I’m sure he wants. He wants to make a scene when he arrives.
This is too fucking much.
I sigh and rests my back on the backrest after a short while of watching them. I’m tired. Tired of him, tired of the ride. Tired of this dress.
"Pour me a drink, will you? I don't want to take my eyes off of them," he says.
I pour him his favorite scotch in a glass and hand it to him. He snatches it up and downs it, shoving the glass at me for another one. I’ve come to hate scotch as much as I hate him.
Ten minutes later, the limo pulls up to a building. It doesn’t look like anything to write home about, if I had a home to write to, or if he would let me.
The bikes park all around the limo as people walking in and out of the building, which looks like it’s some club, wait to see who will step out of the limo. He’s delusional sometimes, he thinks he’s a king.
"This is so exciting. I feel like I’m royalty," he says happily and just then, the door opens.
"Let's have some fun." He gestures me to go ahead and I do. I wouldn't want to upset him in such an occasion. I try to pull down my dress but the lower I pull it, the more my breasts are exposed.
"Oh, come on, now. Don't be shy," he says standing by my side and smiling at his audience as he buttons his jacket. He takes my hand.
"Smile and walk with your head up. This is not a fucking funeral and I don't want you destroying my image." He says that as a warning. If I deter from his image, I’ll be locked up, probably beaten or worse. Though I would welcome death at this point.
As soon as we enter the club, the bikers ride away. That is one phase of the long evening successfully completed, I still have countless more to go.
"Mr. Enzo. It's a pleasure to have you here. Welcome." A formally dressed man bows. He actually bows.
"Thank you, young man," says Enzo, proudly.
“This way,” the man has us follow him. He hit a panel in the wall, and the door opens to an elevator.
“This will take you down to the casino,” the man pushes the button and then we’re alone in the elevator.
"I know you are not used to such a setting, my dear, but please be on your best manners. Don't embarrass me if you want this night to end well for you. I don't want people thinking I am with an illiterate village loser."
My forced smile fades. I know how much his public image means to him and I am used to hearing him use whatever tone and words he pleases with me but it never gets easier.
The doors open and he puts a smile on his face, knowing people are looking.
"Mr. Enzo," A male voice calls. He let's go of my hand.
"Carl, my man," Enzo says happily as he greets the man who called him.
"That was quite a show you put on back there. That's what they meant when they said respect is earned,” the man, Carl, says. Both men chuckle.
"Couldn't have said it better."
"And who is this gorgeous lady in your company?" he asks, stretching his hand in front of me. I give him my right hand and watch him kiss it on the back of my palm, his eyes on my chest.
I know not to talk unless Enzo permits me, so I wait for him to introduce me.
