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"You know what? You're right. I'll just stock up on a bottle or two and sip on the go." I pat his shoulder for his useful tips and advice.
"By the way," I suddenly got an idea. "Do you know about the Ricci mafia? Anything at all."
"Your baby daddy's nest? I thought you'd come out wiser." He chuckled.
He knew?
"You know?" My eyes were wide in disbelief.
"I'm the most recognized bartender in one of the most recognized casinos for the most notorious of mob bosses. You think I wouldn't know the history of the great Colombo - Ricci strife?"
"Now I'm interested." I lean forward to hear the history of Alessandro's greatest rivals - The Colombo Family.
If anything, now more than ever was a time I needed to maintain stable security and knowing about the enemy was a start. After more than an hour, I knew that I should avoid anyone wearing a suit that had a cyan tape at the end or had the typical tattoo of a snake with an apple on in its mouth or anyone who wore a suit with too much emphasis on cyan accents. I wouldn't be one hundred percent accurate, but I would be more than that percentage safe if I fled from those appearances, nonetheless.
I did get the bourbon stocked in my mini bar. Not a bottle...not two. And as I saw fit, I approached the table, pouring myself shot upon shot to drown away the depressing suicidal thoughts. I couldn't have those now. I looked at my daughter sleeping peacefully on the couch, awaiting me to carry her to bed in her mid-slumber. That was my reason to stay in this world. If I was to die, it would be for a worthy cause containing her liberation.
Chapter 22
Thewave of depression I currently feel now taught me a lot of things.
Gratitude. For the ones I had by my side. Artemis, Carlos, Casey, and her seven-year-old little sister - Rebecca, Mrs. Baker, and her family...her husband and two teenage boys - Ryan and Grant and every other person that had been by my side for the past eight months since I had left Alessandro's custody.
Appreciation. To all of them and more. To life, for having dealt me this hand. The one that has passed me through a lot of lessons. To Allah. My father's God. He had guided me through thick and thin, protected me and kept me in good health.
Most importantly,love...or the admittance of such. As much as I would like to hide it or dissuade myself from the fact that I do still love Alessandro, he was my first real love andsomething about me won't let go. His beautiful eyes. His detailed expression. All the while I was at his place, he had been trying to communicate with me like he usually did when we first met but I was too blinded by rage and unforgiveness. Now, I tried to reverse moments in time just so I could see him again and decipher his messages to me. How I missed his beautiful eyes, his soft flesh. I wondered how well his wounds would have healed. I wondered...retch...whether he thought about me now as I...retch...thought about him.
If he always thought about me like I was never able to get him off my mind the entire time.
Gag...
Retch...
Out came the big one.
"There you go, you big mutt." Carlos patted my back and kept my hair as far back from my shoulders as possible to avoid vomiting on them.
"Ohh... I'm so fucking wasted," I laughed and retched some more. I always found it endearing how I lost control of my thoughts and voice when I was drunk.
"You know...when I wanted you to have a mini bar at your house, the main aim, apart from night partying ways to combat drunkenness, are you aware?"
"Oh shush. You sound like a British mom," I growled amidst hiccups. I could feel another one coming out.
He chuckled.
"I'm your British mom for today, Sienna. Now, rinse your mouth with this." He brought a bottle to my lips, and I took a large amount into my mouth. "Don't fucking swallow it!" He screeched in his faked up British accent, going in for the British mom role play.
I nodded with a little giggle and kept the remaining liquid I hadn't swallowed in my mouth, sloshing it from side to side before spitting it out into the toilet.
"There, there. Dare I say, you must be feeling much better now, huh?"
"You'd make a horrible impressionist," I tried a cheap jab at his ego though I knew it wouldn't work. He was good, and he knew it.
"Heh. You should better concern yourself with the matter of how it happens to be that I acquired this mannerism, even though it seems that I am of Latin origin," he rambled.
"Okay...you just jumped like an entire century into the past," I pouted. "And get me off this toilet already!"
"Nah-ah, baby. Not until you're done puking and I'm sure you're done." He evened out his accent this time, giving up whatever British fling it was that he had going down.
