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The only thing I leave out is my certainty that he's also mafia. My best friend has distant connections to mafia ties in her own family, and I know she suspects I'm more involved in the inner workings of the Russo family than most other people think, but we never talk about it. What would there be to talk about? She has a mostly-normal life barely tinged by the world I operate in. I don’t want to ruin that for her.
When I finish, she gasps for about the thirtieth time and guffaws. "Oh myGod, Giulia."
"I know," I sigh. "Anyway, I didn't mean to rant. I called to apologize in advance for whatever Craig says about the ordeal since he might complain to you about it. Sorry about that."
"His name isn't—never mind. God, Giulia, that's not the part I'm interested in. Give me more details! What color was his hair? His eyes? Just how hot was he, this guy who stepped in to get you out of the date?"
"I never said he was attractive."
She cackles. "Please! He's ballsy, funny, and hitting on you in close quarters—that must be sexy. Plus, he wasn't put off by that emotionless charade I know you do on dates, so that's a major win for him in my book."
I pull into the street finally, not that I make it far. San Francisco's bumper-to-bumper traffic in this part of the city isn't much worse than I'm used to in LA, but it's still a pain.
"Go ahead and take Devil Smirk out of your book. He's stupid if he doesn't get out of town like I told him to."
"You nicknamed him, threatened him, and went for the crown jewels," Mandi recites. "Giulia, do you know how rare it is for people to get any amount of a reaction from you? You're the fucking queen of control. Ice queens melt before you, and robots envy you."
"Be nice."
Truthfully, I know my best friend doesn't intend any of that as an insult. If anything, it's a compliment. Amanda and I have been close since rooming together in college at Princeton, but only because she made a genuine effort to get past my many walls. She's only been around for a couple of years now, but she knows me better than many in my family—including how I prefer to carefully control my image.
After all, they can't use anything against you if they Don’t know your thoughts.
"I'm beinghonest," she quips with another laugh. "Just admit it. He got under your skin an itty bitty bit, didn't he? He had to be cute to get that far, right? Come on, toss a girl a bone—my dating life has been the Sahara recently, and I'm living for this picture you're painting. Plus, I'm stuck in traffic."
Aren't we all? I sigh, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. "Fine."
"Fine, what?"
"He was sort of…gorgeous," I mutter. Then I hurry on. "To be clear, I'm surprised that his head wasn't five times the size of his body with an ego likethat, but yes, he was handsome. Tall, messy dark hair, muscles-visible-through-his-suit sort of handsome. Michelangelo could've chiseled his face, women probably throw themselves at him, yadda yadda, you get the picture."
"I knew it!"
I roll my eyes again at her outright glee as I switch lanes. "Don’t get too excited. He comes from a family."
That definitely changes her tone. "Oh. Shit. Which one?"
Annoyingly, I Don’t know. My family, the Russos, dominates the LA area, with tight connections throughout the west coast and into the southern United States. We do well for ourselves, keeping under the detection of society for the most part, but we Don’t exactly love being a part of the Five Families, and we rarely interact with the other four.
"Look, it doesn't matter who he is or where he's from," I sigh. "Or that he admittedly made my datea littleless boring for a fraction of a second before he blew it to hell by embarrassing me. I told him to get lost, and he probably will. And if he doesn't…never mind. He will. I doubt I'll see him again—and that's good."
Mandi harrumphs. "Please tell me you didn't threaten to kill him?"
"I just incentivized him to get out of California."
"Boo. You're not supposed to scare away the cute, fun ones, Giules. You're supposed to jump their bones. How am I supposed to live vicariously through you if—"
I glance down from the traffic that has barely started rolling forward when another number flashes on my dashboard. Immediately, I straighten. He rarely calls me directly like this.
"Mandi, can I call you back? I promise you can chew me out for not throwing myself at the first guy who doesn't remind me of cardboard later, okay?"
"Ugh, fine. And get back to LA soon so I can pout about being single in the same room as you."
I hang up and take the other call, clearing my throat. "Dad."
"Giulia," the Russo Don greets, his familiar baritone voice hardly changed despite his advancing age.
My parents had me in their older years. I'm sure it was an accident, not that either of my parents would ever admit to it because it's too close to sounding like they made a mistake. Accusing them of making a mistake even twenty-two years ago would be like spitting in their eyes—I Don’t get my perfectionism from nowhere, after all.
