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He seemed to really see her for the first time, his face lighting up as he found her eyes under the hood of her jacket. “Theo O’Rourke. Thank you for waiting with Gram.”
“It’s always my pleasure to spend time with Mary,” Aria said.
“Well, let me give you a lift home,” Theo said to her as he helped Mary into the car.
“Yes, it’s the least he can do,” Mary said.
Aria was already edging away from him. “Thank you, but I think I’ll walk.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Mary said from the passenger seat. “Get in before you float away.”
Aria lifted a hand. “See you next time, Mary.”
She turned away and started down the street, passing the entrance to the subway, the rain a rhythmic patter against the hood of her jacket. She was in the mood to walk in spite of the weather.
Wiping Theo’s face from her memory was automatic. The interest on his face wasn’t something she could afford to entertain, although it wasn’t unfamiliar. She knew she wasn’t beautiful. Her features were too small for that — almost elfin — her lips too full for the fragility of her face, her nose a bit too aquiline. Her hair was dark and sometimes — like now — tinted with a deep burgundy wash.
In other words, nothing remotely special.
But it wasn’t uncommon for men to do a double take when passing her on the street, for women to stare a beat too long. She could only assume she was what some people called striking, that she had one of those faces people described as interesting.
In any case, word choice was irrelevant. It was attention she didn’t want or need. She’d survived as long as she had thanks to two things: Primo taking responsibility for her after their parent’s death, and her ability to stay in the shadows of her brother’s criminal enterprise. Her strategy was simple: keep to herself whenever possible, mind her own business, try to steer Primo away from Malcolm Gatti’s more radical — and dangerous — ideas. It wasn’t sustainable long-term, but she was still working on an exit strategy.
For her and for Primo.
It would be easier to leave on her own. Just pack a bag and never look back. But there was no way she could leave Primo behind. She’d been sixteen when their parents died, and Primo had been all of twenty. If he hadn’t stepped up to take care of her, she would have ended up in foster care. Who knew where she’d be right now if not for him?
The rain fell harder and heavier as she made her way downtown. By the time she reached the brick storefront with the purple light advertising PLATINUM, she was soaked in spite of her windbreaker. She hesitated outside the door, wondering if her brother was alone, then shivered when she imagined him inside with Malcolm. He was ever-present, a ticking bomb under the fragile peace she was able to strike with her brother when left to their own devices.
She’d spent countless sleepless nights trying to figure out how to wrench Primo free of Malcom’s grasp, but in the end it didn’t matter; Primo was right where his deluded mind wanted him to be, and Aria was along for the ride. It wasn’t what she wanted to be doing at twenty-four years old, but it was where fate had put her. She’d survived this long. She would just have to play the game until an opportunity arose for escape.
The thought gave her a renewed burst of determination, and she took a deep breath, opened the door of the club, and started down the narrow stairs.
