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I arch an eyebrow at her.
“Seriously, that’s all it is,” she finishes in exasperation.
I take a deep breath to settle the roiling emotions in my gut. I get it, I do. Women of Crina and Star’s age are watched carefully. For their own good, of course. But as a man who got his first kill at thirteen, I can only imagine how stifling that is. Someone like Crina would chafe against those constraints more than mostmafiegirls.
“Sure,” I answer, trying my hardest to remain patient.
“Well, we wanted to do something different and…” She trails off again, and swear to God, I clench my jaws to keep from shouting at her to get on with it. It’s not like she’s the shy wallflower type. What’s making her hem and haw like this?
“It’s the knishes,” she blurts out. “We wanted to try the knishes at the Bowery Poetry Club.” She sags into my arms, her anger deflating. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
Okay, call me dumb, but I do believe her. My shoulders slump in relief and I loosen my hold on her. They were exploring. It also has to do with poetry. I can see how she might have seen some stupid Yelp review about this Bowery poetry place or maybe some TikTok vid about the best knishes in New York and got an itch to try it herself.
Realizing that I believe her, a tiny smile cracks her features as she confesses, “Yeah, I tried them at the open mic and they were amazing. When Star wanted to have a little adventure, it’s the first thing that popped into my head. I’ve always wanted to share my finds with someone else.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa.Did I hear her correctly?
“Wait, hold up.” She looks at me curiously. “Open mic?”
Her face flashes distress as she realizes her slip.
“Open mics are at night. Usually late at night.”
She cringes away from me, proving herself guilty.
I’m not sure what makes me madder, that she went and put herself at risk or that she didn’t ask me to escort her when she knew I would’ve dropped everything to accompany her.
I explode again. “Fucking hell, Crina! How long has this been going on?” I drop my voice. “How long has mywifebeen galivanting around in the middle of the night across this goddamn city?” I point a finger at her. “Don’t open your mouth and say something asinine like ‘the Bowery is safe at night.’ That’s unacceptable. Especially for a lone female. Especially for my goddamn wife.”
She shoves me hard. “Wife or not, I’ll go where I want. You don’t own me, and you can’t lock me down, so go ahead, try stopping me.”
She pivots on her heel and stalks away, so furious she doesn’t look where she’s going. I run after her, catching her arm just before she steps into oncoming traffic.
“That’s it. I’m done,” I say as I swoop her up. She squirms in my arms and bats at my shoulders and chest, but I don’t care.
I hear Star shout, “Hey, get off me,” and glance over my shoulder to find that Lucian has the same idea because Star is solidly encased in his arms.
Lucian calls out to me, “You take the car, you’re gonna need it. I’ll take the subway with her.”
I nod in thanks and step off the sidewalk, striding across to the other side before cars run us over.
Crina struggles to get out of my hold, but I squeeze her closer. “Stop it already. If I drop you, swear to God, you’ll be in trouble.”
She shares a look with Star and then says to me, “I’ll scream bloody murder…”
“And risk the police?” I lift my chin in the direction of a cop standing by the black cube sculpture in the middle of Astor Place. I remember as a kid when my brother and I followed our father while he did his rounds, we’d stop at the Cube and spin it around a few times.
Her face turns pallid. Her fists tighten around the front of my shirt.
Yeah, I thought so…
Crina’s a smart girl, and if there’s one thing she won’t do, it’s violate themafiegolden rule. When you’ve grown up in a society like ours, it’s bred into you to trust no one outside of your clan. But the police are the worst. They’re not seen as protectors in our community. Beneath that veneer of respectability, they’re known to be as corrupt as themafie. If her parents didn’t tell her about their personal horror in Romania, then the times her father was roughed up by the police definitely did it.
She lets out a little cry of frustration and settles back into my hold. Crossing her arms over her chest, she lets out one last huff of protest. “I’m against this, I’m just telling you now.”
“Your dissent is noted.”
Her eyes flash to me. “Don’t patronize me.”
