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“You’re welcome to stay the night,” I tell her. “I have more than one guest room to use.”
My mother shakes her head, picking at her fingernails. “That’s alright, cuore mio. I’ve already been here a week. I don’t want to be in your way.”
“You’re not in the way.”
She licks her lips, eyes cast to the floor. “I have to go home some time. My poor plants are in desperate need of watering.”
I nod once. “If you’re sure. I’ll have the boys escort you home.”
“Is that really necessary, Dom?”
“Whoever did this…” I grind my teeth, ignoring the tight burn in the back of my throat. “They’re still out there. I’d rather I send a few of my men to protect you in case.”
My mother walks over and stands before me, reaching up to give my cheek a loving stroke. Her bottom lip trembles, but she refuses to cry. “Promise me something, Dom.”
“Anything.”
“When you find the fuckers who gunned down your brother, make sure to kill them slowly.” Her eyes are suddenly cold and dead like a shark. My mother wasn’t always a frail old woman. Sometimes I forget; once upon a time, she was one of the most feared women in all of Little Italy. She gave it all up after she met my father, but every now and then, I get a glimpse of the fierce woman she used to be.
I press a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll tear them limb from limb.”
“Promise to let me watch?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” Her smile is tight as she pats my shoulder. “Put those lasagnas away. They’ll keep in the freezer for up to three months.”
Chapter 5
Arin
“I’m sorry, Ms. Wilson, but your credit history leaves much to be desired.”
I sit across from Marnie, a financial advisor with Tillman-Hopkins National Bank, anxiously reminding myself to take deep, calm breaths. The contents of my portfolio are spread out over the surface of her desk, detailing every single step in my proposed business plan. I’ve even brought in a few sample pieces I made to show her I’m not all talk. I was told having proof of concept was something bankers like, after all.
Swallowing the lump in the back of my throat, I say, “I know my credit is—”
“Next to non-existent?”
“—a work progress. But like I told you, I graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology two years ago, and I’ve spent the last year interning at Ralph Lauren. As you can see from my designs, I’m ready to launch my own label. All I need is a loan of twenty-thousand dollars to provide my business with enough capital to—”
Marnie collects the documents before her, gathers them into a neat pile, and taps the edge against her desk before slipping everything back into the folder. She adjusts her glasses and sighs deeply. “Your designs are beautiful, Ms. Wilson, but I cannot approve this loan. According to your bank statements, you barely make enough to cover your bills and the minimum payments to keep your loan in good standing.”
Desperation claws at my lungs, my heart beating frantically. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for ages, and I can feel it slipping from my grasp.
“Isn’t there anything I can do?” I ask. “Please, there has to besomething. Fashion Week is coming up in September. I’m hoping to launch my label by then and use the event to drum up hype. If enough people learn about my designs, maybe they’ll buy enough to pay back my loan and then some.”
“That’s the thing, Ms. Wilson,” the financial advisor says, resting her elbows on her desk. “Maybeyour launch will be a success, andmaybeyou’ll have enough interested customers buying your pieces… But banks don’t operate onmaybes.”
She stands, a silent signal that this conversation is done.
I rise, my chin held high. I knew this was going to be a long shot, but no one can say I didn’t give it a good old fashion try.
“It’s nothing personal, Ms. Wilson,” Marnie says, giving me a sturdy handshake. “For what it’s worth, your dresses really are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I mumble before turning on my heels to leave.
I step out of the bank, heart still pounding loudly in my chest. Got my hopes up for nothing. I tuck my carefully prepared business plan beneath my arm and start down the street, glaring at the ground like it owes me money. Back to square one.
