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Opening my eyes, I find the offered and reach for it. It’s a little cooler than room temperature and I twist the cap, taking a small sip before grabbing another treat from the box. “You are a lifesaver and the best man to ever live.”
“If only the missus thought so...”
I laugh at his reply, ignoring the vibrations coming from my wristlet. “Trust me, she does. It’s just smarter to keep you humble.”
“Women,” he mutters, but his shoulders shake with amusement. “There’s not much traffic tonight so we should reach your home soon. Do you need to stop somewhere before we do?”
“No. All I want right now is my bed.” Pierro doesn’t say anything else, taking the left turn at the light and then driving straight toward the area I live in. Just like Aurora, my home is in the Lincoln Park area and just a few blocks away from hers in a townhome community that my parents approve of solely because a few stuck-up acquaintances have children that live in the area.
My phone vibrates but I don’t bother to look. There’s only one person who’d contact me right now, and I’m sure he’ll do so again once I’m safely inside. I’m going to leave Chicago one day soon. A throat clears then and I snap into focus, not having realized I’d zoned out. We’re parked outside my place, the dark green door lit up while a large box from my favorite chip company sits atop the mat.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Aliana?”
“I’m sure.” My eyes meet his through the rearview, and while I can see he doesn’t believe me, Pierro doesn’t pry. Instead, he gets out and opens my door while offering a hand to help me out, which I take, gripping it while grabbing his gift with my empty one. Once outside, I give him a smile and place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be in town until Mr. Cancio leaves. If you need anything, please let me know.”
“Tell your wife that if I were older, I’d steal you away.”
At my words, his grin widens and a small touch of pink stretches across his cheeks. “I’m the lucky one, Miss Rubens.”
“And we’ll agree to disagree.” With one last smile, I leave him at the curb and take the small set of stairs that lead to my front door, pausing only long enough to grab the box and input my code before ducking inside. I’m smiling as I drop my wristlet, snack package, and my thin sweater before reaching for another small morsel of delight while my home phone begins to ring.
The generic landline’s ringtone blares through my quiet home four times before the red light of the recorder signals my doom. Only two people have this number, and both reside in the same house while carrying the same last name: one as a control mechanism and the other because she follows his orders. Even if it means hurting her child.
They’re both selfish; how they communicate with me when it’s not a social call.
I know what it means. I dread what they’ll ask of me.
Dropping the box of chocolates on the entry table, I toe off my shoes and then put my hair up in a high ponytail. Not yet. My kitchen is just to the left of the townhome’s entrance past an arched entryway, and I walk to my fridge, grabbing the opened bottle of wine in there. It’s still three-quarters full, and after popping the topper, I begin to pour myself what’s left inside a huge glass Aurora gave me as a gag gift last year.
Am I taking my time in answering? Yes.
Will I get crap for it? Another yes.
“Screw it,” I whisper before chugging the contents of the glass, not stopping to breathe until the last sweet drops sit on my tongue. The crisp note of fruit is refreshing, and so is the added warmth that sweeps my short frame as it mixes with my earlier drinks create a quick buzz that makes me smile. “Liquid courage for the win.”
And no sooner had the last words passed my lips than there’s a sudden pounding on my door. It’s a firm knock, harder than needed, and I walk over, opening it without looking through the peephole.
“Why the fuck aren’t you answering your phone, Aliana?”
“I just got home. Literally.”
“Not good enough.”
“Hello to you too, Father,” I say, not that he acknowledges or even gives me a smile. Instead, he walks past me and looks at the empty glass with disdain. He also doesn’t comment on the hint of annoyance in my tone. “Please, take a seat. Would you like anything?”
He does sit, crossing one leg at the knee while watching me, expression blank. “You know why I’m here.”
“Couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow’s dinner?”
“No.” It’s hard—so hard—but I nod and take the chair opposite. I mimic him. “The buyer is waiting, and I need this resolved before the campaign for re-election kicks off at the end of the month. You’ll be leaving soon.”
“I have a job and my schooling. Getting up and disappearing on a whim isn’t responsible.”
“Neither is a political figure’s daughter being best friends with a mafia princess and soon-to-be mafia boss.”
“What?” My voice comes out shaky, my palms becoming sweaty. “Why would you say something like—”
