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He can never know.
Chapter 5
Gia
Marco’s driver dropped me off at my apartment – no directions necessary. Here I thought I had some semblance of privacy in my life away from the family, but nope. No sense in hiding it anymore. He knows where I live, where I work, my shifts.
He’s such an asshole, my brother.
It wasn’t always like this… the despicable loathing. I remember like it was yesterday – he bought me my own personal pizza pies whenever he ordered for his friends. Even though I was too young to hang with them, he didn’t want me to feel completely left out. He was calmer too, before all the coke. Patient enough to look at my doodles if I asked him. Not so heartbreakingly critical like he is now. But damn was that long ago. Now he’s just a projection of the devil inside him.
Deep down, I’m happy to see he’s alright. Only two new scars, which is like a record for him.
Despite all that though, the nervous jitters running through me haven’t let up. Because my brother butting his head in where it doesn’t belong isn’t the real reason I’m hopped up tonight. Castor, my God.
My cheeks flush and I can’t get into my apartment fast enough, resting my back flat on the door like I’m trying to keep an intruder out. Just when I think I’m being adventurous by taking a mobster shift, I wind up getting fingered under the table, paid in gold, and my mortifying panties shown on full display. Of course there’s goddamn floodlights right where I’m standing when Lincolnzano decides to overstep.
Dude almost lost his fingers because of it.
I shut my eyes, thinking about how hot Castor was coming to my rescue. He’s an enforcer wrapped in gold, and I don’t stop myself from toying with idea of him being my enforcer.
All the handsy mobsters in the world couldn’t wipe the smile off my face right now. I’m lingering in it as my backside slides all the way down to the floor. Our banter was electric, our chemistry on fire. I need to see him again.
God, what would Stacey think if I told her what happened? No, I can’t tell anyone what really happened. Seeing my brother’s unhinged self brings back horrible memories. The replay of him beating a man half to death in cold blood, just for giving him attitude when he got his order wrong, rings in my head like a bell.
I bite my top lip. One slip up, and that could be Castor, or just as bad, Castor might kill him. Honestly, I don’t know who’d win in a fight. Castor’s bigger, but Marco is… crazier. I guess the family code is good for something. Can’t kill a capo unless you have approval.
What am I saying? They’ve been best friends since high school – the year my brother lasted in high school at any rate. I shouldn’t get involved in any of this.
I scoff as I take off my borrowed heels. My feet are completely numb and cut up from the sharp leather. The relief of getting them off is only dimmed by how sore I know my heel’s going to be tomorrow. I shrug off my gold-chained bag and push it toward the shoe-rack on my right.
The sun will be up in an hour, and I have no idea what to do with myself. My sleep schedule is ruined – five nights straight of being in bed by one a.m.
After a few minutes of lying there like a lethargic sloth, I get up and make way into the living area. Old-style wooden floors are scuffed from my flats, and the easel standing next to my couch looks inviting. Maybe I should paint.
Lifting the giant page and folding it neatly behind my last painting is already too much effort. I’m exhausted for real. Eyes heavy, arms shaky from holding drink-filled server plates all night. The couch looks inviting all of a sudden.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
I unsnap my corset-style bra and sprawl myself over the couch, able to breathe fully for the first time in twelve hours. Hm. Don’t have to be up ’til four tomorrow. One heavy blink goads me to sleep. I can afford a little nap…
xxx
Zttttt! Zttttt!
My doorbell rings incessantly, jolting me awake. I tap around the couch, not remembering where I am – heart pounding in my chest.
“Ugh! What the f—” I get to my feet and eye the windows, noting the sun filtering in around my pulled curtains, turning the once dark room murky. “What time is it?” I hold my head, then jerk away from the blinding brightness of my phone. “Noon? Jesus…”
Zttttt!
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I open my apartment door and head into the stairwell, waving down the old woman who lives upstairs in our two-family house. “It’s okay, Linda.”
“What kind of animal rings the bell like that?” She takes a step down in satin-style PJs. I guess she works the night shift too, hah.
“I’ll find out. Get the gun ready in case they finally caught me,” I joke, and she waves her hand at me with a smirk.
“Careful, hun. Ask who it is first.” Linda holds the banister tight.
