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At about noon, my intercom flashes, and I accept the call.
“Yes?” I answer, leaning over my desk to the corded phone.
“Please meet me in my office.” So much for avoiding him. A pang of fear shoots through me as I stand to my feet and clank across the office floor to his door. I notice he’s closed his blinds surrounding his office as I knock hesitantly. At least he thought of giving me the privacy to lash out at him for sending me shit when we agreed to neutral terms. I try to hold my shock when the door opens for me.
“Come in.” A smile tugs at one of the corners of his mouth as I comply, walking head down to my usual chair on the right hand, facing his desk.
He clears his throat when he’s standing next to me, and I look up. I’m immediately stunned to see him holding the largest bouquet of flowers, bursting with color in one hand, and hanging in the other, a clear garment bag containing a long red shimmery dress.
My jaw drops in immediate denial. What angle is he playing at now?
“Seeing as you’ve managed to evade every interaction with me, I figured this was a better way to get your attention.”
“I-I—" I stammer.
“Please come to dinner with my family and me tonight. You can wear this,” he hands me the garment bag. “And I wanted to give these to you in person after I picked them up this morning.” He hands me the giant vase, bigger than my torso, and I’m speechless.
“Is that a yes?” He ruffles his hand through the length of his hair, pressing his lips together nervously. I can’t believe he would invite me to meet his family. He has never once— not in my six years of working for him— introduced his girlfriends to his family. I should be flattered, I think, but instead, I’m furious.
“What the actual fuck, Vince? We agreed that this was a business relationship. Now you want me to meet your family?” I spew.
“Ms. Lee, slow down. I am simply inviting you because my father expects me to find a suitable match. It’s the next step before he hands the reins of our business over to me. It’s just for one evening, and I swear it won’t be weird.” The inner corners of his eyebrows turn up inquisitively, waiting for my response.
“Okay.” I nod with reluctance. Pretty soon, we are silently staring at one another for an oddly long amount of time. Each beat, I feel less convinced that I have no feelings for him. This only proves my point that I’m completely wrong for someone like Vince. Who has feelings for someone they are betraying? It’s masochistic. Am I a masochist now? I let out a light sigh and stand to my feet, looking away from him as I cross towards the door.
As we part ways, he tells me he’ll pick me up at eight, and I exit his office in a daze. I feel everyone’s eyes on me as I make my way to my desk again, and I know what they’re all thinking, but I ignore it. I’m pretending to get close to him, pretending to be with him in front of his family, pretending to not have feelings because I couldn't possibly have them for someone like Vincenzo San Giovanni.
I’m a mess. This whole thing is a mess. And the worst part is I still want to fuck my boss despite it all. The rest of my day felt like it went by quickly, and pretty soon, I was home getting ready, poorly singing to Mariah Carey and zipping up my new dress in the mirror. I’m seeing the girl I saw in Rome, the one who wasn't scared to show her body by the end of the week because every item of clothing packed for her was more revealing than the next. It’s really pretty, though, and probably the nicest dress I own by a landslide.
Red thin straps fall to the triangular bustline, continuing to hug through my waist with slight ripples in the fabric. It falls to a perfect stop at the base of my heels. The back is open and scoops to my mid-torso. I finish my makeup and put my contacts in, twisting most of my hair out of my face, but as per usual, I leave freshly curled pieces on either side to dangle freely. I put on some long silver earrings that go perfectly with the little clutch I found at the back of my closet.
There’s a knock at my door just as I finish, and I check my phone for the time. 7:59 p.m. If nothing else, the man is always prompt. I slip on my silver thin-strapped heels and hurry to the door, opening it to see a fully suited, hair slicked back, breathless Vincenzo San Giovani. I’m left quite speechless myself, mainly because I expected Lee to fetch me.
“The dress is nice.” I hear the quick breath that escapes his mouth, and he holds out his arm for me to take. I oblige, playing along with our little trickery tonight. I don’t really like the idea of lying to anyone in the mafia. I'm especially unsettled thinking about lying to the head honcho of it all. We head to the elevator and descend to the ground level. When we step outside, I admire the sky because it’s rather clear for LA. I can see a dozen stars, and the air is slightly brisk. We slide into the car waiting for us and take off immediately. On the drive to his family’s home, I watch the stars get brighter the further we travel from the city smog and lights.
When we cross through golden gates, I’m immediately thrown off by the length of the private road leading to his home. Trees line each side, and softly lit lamp posts stagger between every third tree. The round courtyard in front of the massive mansion features a gigantic fountain with marble cherubs pouring water from large vases into a fully lit pool. From the center and circumference, more water springs up in a fantastic display of sparkling brilliance.
“Here.” He takes my hand, and I’m pulled back to the open door; he’s standing, waiting for me to slide out. I join him on the gravel, and we make our way up the steps and to the chandelier-lit entryway. The French-style doors are as wide as four put together, and they open to reveal five security guards. The maid in the middle waves us in, and we follow her down a long hallway with pictures of whom I assume to be the generations of their family in gold frames.
“That’s where I’ll go,” Vince whispers in my ear, giving me chills that I’d like to tell to calm the fuck down. He points to an open space at the end of the hall before entering another foyer that leads to another set of open double doors. The room on the other side looks to be half a football field long, and in the center is the largest table I’ve ever seen. It’s filled with food, candles, and placards. Some family has already arrived and are standing around it, chatting and eating from the fancy charcuterie boards.
“My boy!” An older gentleman in a navy silk detailed suit approaches us with a black marble cane encrusted at the top with jewels. He hugs Vince and kisses him on both his cheeks. I can smell his aftershave and the strong scent of peppermint mouthwash mixed with a hint of whisky. He grins even wider when he turns to me, reminding me of a finely aged Vince.
“And who might this impressive young lady be?” His eyes fill with genuine admiration.
“This is Jessica Lee. Jessica, this is my Papa, Giuseppe Botticelli San Giovanni.” As Vince introduces me, his father grasps my shoulders and kisses both my cheeks. I smile at him as he pulls away. His eyes are like Vince’s, with the same mischievous gleam hidden in pools of green. “She’s lovely.” He squeezes Vince's shoulder, and Vince’s eyes toggle between mine with delight.
“She is,” he continues to look at me like he really means what he’s saying, then turns to meet his father's gaze again. If this mafia thing doesn’t work out, he has a promising career in acting.
“Well, come in, please, have a seat, and enjoy the refreshments.” He steps back and points his cane into the dining room. We follow as he says, and Vince continues to introduce me to his family— his brothers, one older and three younger, his younger sister (immeasurably beautiful), and cousins. I’m surprised how different their eldest, Carlito, is from the rest of the family. When I speak with him, he seems distracted or disinterested; I can't really tell. His hair is a thick curly chestnut brown, and his olive-toned skin stands out amongst the paleness of the rest. Unlike his father and brothers, his eyes are a deep hazel, and overall he seems to be the least talkative of the group.
Antonio, the third born of the brothers, is a ball of energy. Everyone gravitates towards him. His bleached smile is perfect, and he shows it off every chance he can get. His jet black hair is layered like a k-pop star, and his dimpled cheeks could make any girl swoon. When I speak with him, I find him charming but immature. “Yeah, I'm complicated. That’s why Pops thinks I’ll never settle down.” He rolls his eyes and takes another sip of whisky as he leans back against the table.
Vince brings his head to mine and whispers in my ear, “That’s definitely not why.” and I hide my smirk into his shoulder before nodding along as Antonio continues to chat to the group.
Romeo, the next youngest, is calm in comparison. He listens well and really looks at you when you’re speaking. I’m sure he’s good with the ladies because any woman would melt like putty if someone as good-looking as him gave them the time of day. He has bluish-green eyes, tall and lean, plump lips, and defined cheekbones that would give a Gucci model insecurities. He makes comments when necessary, but mostly he asks questions. Meeting him is far less overwhelming than meeting the others.
The youngest of all the brothers, Tito, is by far the most eccentric. His hair reminds me of Vince’s, black and long, but it's slicked back and in a bun on his nape. The colors in his flared suit pants match his deep green eyes. His facial features are smoother except for his thick sharp eyebrows; they raise with emotion as he engages with the group. His first words to me were, “Do you paint? You have painter's hands.” I’m not really sure what that meant, but I think it was a compliment. I’m overwhelmed by the time I meet his younger sister, and I almost wish I had met her first.
