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“Sorry?”
“I’m going to work on my essay. It’s aboutThe Odyssey.”
“Are you enjoying it?” I ask.
She tells me all about her essay, and that’s enough for me. I can stare at my friend and do my best to listen to her words while forcing down the other voice inside me, which says I need to find Leo and stroke my hands down his chest or stare at his huge manhood again. Okay, no frame of reference for me, but his hand didn’t even cover half of it, and he’s gotbighands. Big fingers, too. God, I should be grossing myself out.
“What about you? What are you going to do today?”
“What can I do?” I ask.
She flinches, which is fair. My response is only one step removed from asking what I’mallowedto do.
“Work on your course? You’ve got your laptop. Maybe call Dave?”
“I was thinking of that last night. I typed out a message asking for help, explaining everything about the mob, the war, the kidnapping.”
Rosa turns away, stroking her hand up and down her neck. I’m making her uncomfortable. It’s not fair, is it? After what I did?
“I didn’t send it,” I tell her, “but I was wondering why he let me have the internet but blocked my phone.”
“The phone blocker isn’t for you. It’s for me.”
I lean forward.“What?”
Suddenly, she’s flustered, waving her hands. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Rosa…”
That’s all I have to say. She’s already guilty about hiding one secret. I’m a terrible friend. I can see that’s why she tells me. It’s guilt. She wouldn’t feel that way if she knew the truth and could feel the pulsing in my heart, not to mention the other places.
“I was dating a Russian,” she says. “It’s a long story. It’s not allowed. There were arguments. I don’t want to get into it.”
“You weredatinga Russian?”
She stands up, tears in her eyes. “Please, Emma.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
Leo
“Why such a sour face?” Dario grins, standing at the one-way window of my Edonismo office. The other side is shiny glass, blending in with the décor, overlooking the main dance floor. “I told you I burned their shit and dumped the rest. I scared a few of their dealers too. All in a day’s work.”
I move my finger around the rim of the whiskey glass. It’s been a long day. It’s six p.m.
I’ve spent it coordinating my men and liaising with the union.
“You should get a medal.”
He walks over to the desk, frowning. “Come on, bro…”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “You did good work.”
He sulks into the opposite chair and runs a hand through his hair.
“You remind me of when you were a kid, sitting like that,” I tell him. “Remember how big the age gap seemed then? You were this little bratty kid with a chip on your shoulder, something to prove.”
Dario laughs gruffly. “Something’s eating you today. I can tell. Is it the message?”
