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“Charlotte,” a soft female voice says. “I’m so glad you made it.” It’s Carlo’s wife, holding her baby in her arms.
Charlotte pops up from her chair and greets the woman warmly.
“Thank you for the lovely baby gifts,” Carlo’s wife says. “You really didn’t have to do that.”
“It was my pleasure. I’m thrilled for you and Carlo. What a beautiful family.”
“Thank you.” The woman smiles in a way that feels genuine and warm. “You’ve gone out of your way to make sure I know you’re happy for us.” She looks down at Bella in her wheelchair. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
Charlotte touches my arm. “Genevieve, this is my fiancé, Auggie. Honey, this is Carlo’s wife, Genevieve, and their daughter, Sofia.”
We make polite small talk with the woman about the party and the gift Charlotte brought for Bella, but after a couple minutes, when the two women start talking about the baby’s sleep schedule, it feels safe to sneak another peek at the mob boss across the room. He’s not there. A quick scan reveals he’s now in the midst of making his rounds. Saying his hellos with his wife at his side.
Shit.
We just locked eyes. He knows I’ve been staring at him. Double shit. He’s heading over here, while his wife remains behind to chat with a woman who looks 100 years old. Fuck!
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite redhead,” Mr. DiMarco booms when he reaches me. Which means he’s talking to Charlotte, obviously. “Long time, no see, sweetheart,” he adds while hugging Charlotte. “Great to see you again.”
“You, too.”
When their embrace is over, Charlotte introduces me to the man, and I stammer my way through a brief hello. Is he being this friendly because he doesn’t know what Charlotte did, like Carlo said, and now blames Paolo for the missing bag of money . . .ordid Paolo tell Mr. DiMarco everything, and Mr. DiMarco believed him, and now this clever man is simply lulling us into a false sense of security before Paolo sneaks up on us from behind and throws us into a woodchipper? Who’s fucked here: Paolo or Carlo, Charlotte, and me?
“I heard you got laid off, sweetheart,” Mr. DiMarco says, holding both of Charlotte’s hands. “That’s a tough break, kid.”
Charlotte shrugs. “It happens.”
“I know lots of people in the airline industry. As my engagement gift to you, let me make a call.”
Charlotte’s chest heaves. “Oh gosh. Thank you so much for the offer, but there’s no need to do that.”
I sigh with relief. If he’s offering to help Charlotte, he must not know she took his money. Unless he’s doing an artful job of lulling, I guess. Either way, I’m glad Charlotte shot him down because the last thing we need is to be indebted to this man, again. For any reason.
“Iinsist,” the man says. “You’re wonderful at your job. The best. Any airline would be lucky to have you, and that’s what I’ll tell my buddy when I call.”
“No, please, don’t,” Charlotte blurts. She forces a smile, pretty convincingly. “There’s no need. I actually got a job offer today, mere hours ago. The email was waiting for me when our plane landed.”
Damn, she’s good. Charlotte would have mentioned an email like that to me, if she’d really received one. Talking about our respective job and internship searches has been a staple of our conversations. But I definitely agree with her strategy to say whatever it takes to keep this guy at arm’s length in a way that keeps him from feeling snubbed.
The big guy asks Charlotte about her new, supposed job, and Charlotte rambles some impressive fake details about it—stuff that smartly makes it sound like her dream job, so he won’t feel tempted to pick up the phone for her to secure something better.
“Well, that sounds perfect,” Mr. DiMarco says. “Good for you. You deserve it.”
“Thank you so much.” She flashes me an anxious look, and I wink at her, letting her know she did good. Her lies were believable, and he’s clearly bought them, hook, line, and sinker.
I feel like maybe I should join in and say something supportive like, “They knew the best candidate when they saw her!” But before I’ve decided if that’s a good idea or not, a guyapproaches Mr. DiMarco and whispers into his ear, so Charlotte and I step back to give the pair some privacy.
Angela appears and asks Charlotte to help her with something in the kitchen. And off the women go, but not before Charlotte pecks my cheek as a parting gift.
Someone else is talking to Bella now, the birthday girl, so I can’t return to her. I fidget. Try different positions with my hands and arms. But I’m not sure what to do with myself. Go to the food table? Stay here and wait for Mr. DiMarco to finish his conversation? I think maybe we’re still technically in the middle of a conversation, one that guy interrupted. When he walks away, will Mr. DiMarco expect to turn around and see me still standing here?
I’ve no sooner had the thought than the guy who interrupted walks away and Mr. DiMarco turns around to face me again. When he sees me still standing here, his face lights up. “Oh, good. You didn’t wander off.” He beckons to me. “Come with me, Auggie. Let’s have a chat.”
Oh, fuck.
On wobbly legs, I follow the mob boss and one of his stoic bodyguards to the back of the house, through a sliding glass door, and into a large backyard. The big boss takes a seat at a corner patio table, so I follow suit, while the dude in the dark suit stands nearby at full attention. Everything about this feels like a movie, except for the part that it’s all-too real, and I don’t see any cameras anywhere, and the woman I love—the woman I’d literally die for, if it came down to it—stole money from this powerful, scary man and his dark eyes are now boring holes into my fucking face.
“So, Auggie,” Mr. DiMarco says. “It warms my heart to see Charlotte so in love and happy.”
