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"Fine," she mutters, excited but still not entirely happy about the situation. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow," I tell her firmly. "Be ready when I come to your room in the morning."
As I turn to leave, Lulu smirks and calls out, "I hope you have another fun night with your hooker."
I smile back at her, my eyes glinting with amusement. "I hope you enjoyed the show. Be careful though, your jealousy is showing," I tease, closing the door on her sputtering indignation.
ChapterNine
Iwake up with a strange feeling in my gut, a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The prospect of working with Giovanni both excites and terrifies me. Not for the job itself, but because it might grant me an opportunity to get word out about where I am. Giovanni has reminded me countless times that the feds are on my tail. If I'm not careful, I'll end up in a cell next to my father. Even if I haven't done anything wrong, just being at that meeting is enough to make me a target.
My father wouldn't care about me being in prison, which only solidifies my growing identity as the basic bitch with daddy issues. I sigh, knowing I have to be cautious about who I contact. Right now, there's no one I can trust on the outside. But that might change. I just need to be patient and find out what I can use against Giovanni in the meantime.
With this weighing on my mind, I walk over to my closet. The bare minimum of clothes hangs inside, nothing suitable for an office. I scrunch my nose, realizing that Giovanni must have overlooked this detail. However, as if on cue, there's a knock on my door. I turn around, confused. Giovanni never knocks; he just barges in.
"Come in," I say, surprised when the big rover guy who caught me and brought me back to my room enters, pushing a zipped wardrobe cart. Up close, he looks different than Giovanni – bigger, with thick cords of muscle, whereas Giovanni’s body is more graceful. "What are you doing?"
"Delivering whatever Giovanni told me to," he says gruffly.
I narrow my eyes, giving him attitude. "Why should I believe you?"
He smirks, unfazed by my hostility. "Honestly, lady, you don't phase me. Just doing my job."
I scrunch my nose at him. "What's your name, anyway? Since I have to put up with you always being around. I might as well know what to call me."
"Call me whatever you like, princess," he laughs. "But my mom calls me Totò, short for Antonio."
And with that, he walks out.
I watch him leave before turning my attention to the wardrobe cart.
My breath catches as I unzip the casing, revealing an entire work wardrobe. The outfits are impeccable, and as I turn each of the tags over, I realize they're just my size. Matching heels and tasteful jewelry accompany each dress. They're a bit conservative for my style, but I can tell they're extremely expensive and high quality. Of course Giovanni didn't overlook a detail as large as this. It's such a weird feeling, to be taken care of and simultaneously hate the man doing it so well.
While his motives for keeping me locked up are mostly selfish, he's also providing me protection from prosecution. If I were on my own back in Miami, it's more than likely I would've already been arrested. I flop back onto my bed, pulling out my phone. A text message from my mother asking how I'm doing awaits.
Hi Mami. I’m safe, but I feel conflicted about not being back home."
Your safety is the most important thing right now. Stay where you are.
I know, but I feel bad about not being there with you, especially when things are getting violent in Miami.
We will manage, as we always have before. God is here to protect me and your sister.
Goodnight. I love you.
Goodnight, Lulu. We love you too.
The conversation leaves me with a restless sleep, worrying about my family.
* * *
I wake up the next day, early and for the first time in a while, excited. The sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains. I stretch out beneath the covers, feeling the soft sheets against my skin. Today's going to be different.
I hop out of bed and head straight for the shower, letting the warm water wash away any lingering sleepiness. Afterwards, I wrap myself in a fluffy white towel and stand in front of the mirror, brushing out my hair before deciding to put it up in a high bun. It feels good to take care of myself like this.
Turning my attention to the wardrobe, I run my fingers along the luxurious fabrics of the work dresses Giovanni had provided. Each one feels so expensive and well-made, and I feel a little guilty for enjoying them. Finally, my eyes settle on the perfect one – a soft pink dress with a graceful boat neckline and a fitted waist that flares out into an elegant knee-length skirt. I slip it on, admiring how it hugs my curves just right without being too revealing.
Next, I slide into the matching nude pumps, giving me a few extra inches in height and making my legs look amazing. As I add a simple gold necklace and stud earrings, I appraise myself in the mirror. I look...professional. Put together. And yes, I begrudgingly admit, I feel really good about myself.
