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She puts her hands on my shoulders and shakes me back and forth, her excitement causing me to be excited and momentarily forget about my pathetic life.
“What are we doing?” she asks, plopping back down on her stool. “Wait. Let me guess.”
She ponders for a moment, and I cross my arms over my chest, waiting.
“Okay, maybe…” She narrows her eyes at me, clearly thinking super hard. “A little skull and crossbones? Like your badass Evelina side coming out to play? The one who rides a bike and takes no shit?” She pauses. “Ooh no. A book! A few books! We’re going quiet, slutty librarian.”
“Why slutty?” I ask her, laughing as I shake my head, and she shrugs.
“Because I think you need to enter your slut era,” she says, plain as day, and we both cackle like idiots.
“None of the above,” I finally tell her.
I’ve known what I want my first tattoo to be for a while, but I think I’m going to wait on it. It was going to be a tribute to my grandmother, who left me the money to open up my bookstore in her will. But I want to really plan that out and make sure it’s as perfect as it can be.
“I’d like to get a small tattoo on the inside of my arm,” I tell her, pointing to the spot. “I want a snake. A viper.”
Roxy does a little shimmy and tells me she’s going to draw something up. I watch her, and as I do, I think about Niccolò calling me a viper.
Not anything sweet about you. You’re more of a viper, aren’t you?
I may be pissed at Niccolò. May really dislike the guy for throwing my own derailed life in my face. But he was right about one thing. I am more of a viper.
And that’s exactly what I want to be seen as—and how I want to feel.
Venomous. Strong. Determined.
When Niccolò said that earlier, it immediately brought me back to when I was young. It almost felt like a weird, fucked-up version of fate. I remember choosing a viper to write a paper on in school years ago. We did a project about snakes and their habitats, and to this day, I remember that there are some people who look at the viper as a symbol of rebirth, and damn, do I need a rebirth right about right now.
I sit in silence as Roxy concentrates on her artwork. Each minute that passes brings me farther away from the bullshit with Enzo. I feel dirty. Knowing he’s fucking other women and then coming home to me and doing the same. It’s dirty in so many more ways than just a physical feeling. At the same time…I’m going to look at this as another way out.
In the long run.
I want to run to the family with the photos, but I feel like I need more. I feel like thereismore. A woman’s intuition is rarely wrong. And something tells me not to show all of my cards yet. Play the game a little longer. Don’t rush. Work harder. That’s what I’m going to do. And I’m going to figure out even more about the slimeball I call my husband.
After a bit, Roxy looks at me and smiles, turning her tablet around to face me.
My jaw instantly drops as I see the perfection she’s created, and I immediately know I’m doing this, ready or not. She’s drawn such a gorgeous, small piece of a viper and a rose, and it’s exactly how I pictured it on the way over here.
“Let’s do it,” I say, happiness washing away the bullshit infiltrating my mind.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m making a decision solely for myself.
And it feels so fucking good.
8
NICCOLÒ
Of fucking course we’ve got a goddamn raid.
Enzo, fucking piece of shit, called Gabriel about thirty minutes ago to warn us. The fucking DeSantis men didn’t decide to raid my nightclub thirty minutes ago. Enzo’s bitch ass waited until the last minute. Yet, my “father” still thinks he’s something special.
I’ve gotta figure out what the fuck is going on there.
I storm into The Vault as a bunch of pigs in their uniforms are putting their filthy hands all over my fucking patrons, my employees, and my dancers.
“What in the fucking hell is going on here?” I scream above the music that’s still playing.
