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Nicolette
I’m wary as I go down the stairs. My father should be at his office above one of his nail salons.Shouldbeing the operative word. Lately, there’s no telling with him.
I’ve heard the whispers from his men. When he’s in his office here at home, it’s because he can’t hide how high he is. His cocaine addiction is making him erratic—and even more abusive than he used to be.
If he hears me leaving, he’ll demand to know where I’m going. Half the time it doesn’t matter what I say, he’ll tell me I can’t go. If I dare to argue…the bruises will follow.
For the millionth time, I wish things could go back to the way they were before my mother was deported to Colombia. After several years of her in and out of mental hospitals, we were finally becoming a family again when it happened.
It didn’t matter she and my father were married for more than twenty years or that she had no family in Colombia. A team of lawyers and a two-year long legal battle couldn’t keep her in America. All because before she met my father, a man slapped her ass in public, and she returned the slap to his face. He pressed charges, and her three-month suspended sentence kept her from becoming a citizen.
I make it to our front door then outside with a sigh of relief. The sights and sounds of the city of Chicago always fill me with a happy energy. I’m aware I’m lucky my home is in one of the nicest areas in the city, the Gold Coast area of Chicago on Astor Street. Maybe if I didn’t live on this street, I wouldn’t love the city so much—I kind of doubt it.
It’s been weeks since I’ve been out and about. Fear kept me trapped inside since I quit my job a week after Josh died. I waited for the knock on the door asking me to go with the police to answer questions about Josh’s death. But no knock has come. No questions have been asked—by anyone.
Even people at work didn’t care. A few did, until it was discovered he had no less than three other girls at work he was fucking in a rotation. All three thought they were the only one. When they found out they weren’t, they all went out for drinks to celebrate him not doing it to another woman.
I overheard a couple of guys at work. Josh asking me to move in with him was only a way to get me to believe he was seriously interested in me, so he could fuck me. It became a bet among his friends. Not even his friends seemed to care.
His death barely got a mention in the news. There was a problem with feeds in the area, even traffic cameras were dead. No witnesses meant the case was already considered cold.
My phone goes off with a text. It’s Callie, letting me know she’s at the coffee place we’re due to meet at. She’s almost ten minutes early. I sigh as I text back I’m on my way and will be another five minutes or so.
Even though I don’t want to answer all the questions she’ll have. I try to swallow down my annoyance. It’s about her and Ronnie getting married. She hinted as much when she asked to meet me for coffee. I can feel the questions coming about mafia life that I shouldn’t be discussing with her. Especially not in public. Which is why, after we get our coffees, I urge her to walk with me across the street to the benches in the empty park.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I have to know. I love Ronnie. I do. After my husband died, I didn’t think I would love again like I love him. Has he talked to you?” Her brown eyes are filled with fear.
I shake my head. “No. I heard him talking to Franco, though. About you not believing him. How he didn’t know what to do.”
“Is it true? Will he really not ask me to marry him until he can support the both of us? I don’t care about him supporting me. I love my job. Iwantto work. If it doesn’t matter to me, shouldn’t I have a say in it? He’s putting his pride before me. It’s been three years. I want a ring or at least a promise of marriage.”
“I get it’s not easy to understand, but it’s not a pride thing. It’s also not about you wanting to work or not. You out in a daily job leaves you open to people coming into your life. It could come back to Ronnie, the Feds love leaning on girlfriends.”
Her eyes dim. Typical civilian, it’s all fun and games until a badge or blood appears.
“A man needs to be able to support a wife and family and have them in a home denoting his success. Him living at the Levin brothel building is no place for a wife. And it would have to be a wife. He couldn’t live with you as a girlfriend. The paper to protect you and him against you testifying…” I shrug.
She sighs. “I don’t think I can do this, after all. What happened? Where did all his money go? Is he a gambler or does he do drugs? When we first met, he was looking at not just a house but an apartment building as another source of income.”
I’m filled with shame. “My dad.” I shrug. “He hasn’t handled my mom being deported to Colombia well. He hasn’t…I don’t know. His money isn’t the same as it used to be. There were two years of lawyer bills for the immigration case. I haven’t gotten an allowance in almost a year. I thought it was because my mom wasn’t around to make sure I got it, but I heard him yelling at his banker a few months ago about the mortgage payment due on our house. Our house was paid for, it was a wedding gift for my grandparents. And he’s paying for my mom’s place and staff in Bogota.”
Her eyes are wide. “Oh Nicolette, that can’t be good for you either. Are you okay?”
I’m not sure why the question brings tears to my eyes. Blinking them back, I shrug. “I’m going to tell him today I’m ready to make a marriage. If I don’t get married soon… I’m not sure if I can take his—” Shame hits me again for saying anything bad about my father. “It’s time.”
“Will he try to marry you to Ronnie?”
I struggle to hide my smile at her fear. “No. My father raised me to be the wife of a powerful man. He won’t let anyone less than an extremely rich and powerful man marry me. The only soldier considered would be the son of a capo. But I have no doubt he will hold out for a capo.”
“Are there many men out there to choose from?”
“Not really. That’s a part of what kept me from being open to a marriage. A particularly nasty capo would have snapped me up. Now that he’s dead, there isn’t anyone I fear marrying.” I fight a shiver at the thought of the capo who died a few weeks ago.
“Your father would have married you against your will?” Horror fills her eyes.
“Before my mom was deported? Never. She wouldn’t have allowed it. But since she isn’t around to stop it, he would. Especially with his money issues. It’s not like the old days. My family doesn’t pay a dowry, the man will pay for me—usually in a trade of business income to join the families together.” I’m worried there won’t be enough money for a wedding since it’s on the bride’s parents.
