Sharon
Vittorio merged over on the interstate and headed towards the exit lane. It was then that Sharon noticed a car shadowing them across the spotted white lines.
“Is there supposed to be someone tailing us?” Sharon asked nervously.
“Yeah.” Vittorio said, watching the other car’s headlights in his rearview mirror. “I pretty much take a tail wherever I go. Always better to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” Sharon wondered.
“Anything,” Vittorio said, broadly. “A lot of people in this city don’t like me. I’d rather have guys I don’t need around than need guys I don’t have.”
“So, they just follow you around all day?” Sharon’s curious eyes stayed on the reflection of the car behind them. “Doesn’t that get boring if nothing ever happens?”
“They work in shifts,” Vittorio explained. “But either way, I pay them more than enough to compensate their boredom, trust me.”
Again, Sharon was baffled by this enigma of a man. Maybe not as much by him as the idea of being rich enough to just throw cash at some people to follow him around all day. It was insane. If he could pay them to do that, how much money did he have exactly?
As if reading her mind, Vittorio said, “I have a lot of money, and most of it is dirty. It’s easier for me to give it to them than it is to try to launder it. Fronts are harder to come by these days; no one uses cash-only services anymore. May as well let it be their problem.”
“Huh,” Sharon said aloud, pondering complexities of organized crime that she hadn’t ever considered before.
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” Vittorio teased.
Sharon rolled her eyes. He was right, his life was certainly more exciting than hers, but she didn’t want to fluff his already overinflated ego. Apparently, she was going to have to give him plenty as it was.
Vittorio turned off onto Broadway. From there, the city started to look a little more familiar again. Sharon had ventured out this way with one of her classmates to visit the girl’s parents. Her classmate was a native New Yorker from an affluent family and Sharon immediately began to wonder what Vittorio’s place was going to be like.
How does a Mafia Don really live? She pondered. Or was he taking her to a warehouse or something? He did just say that they were going to one of his places, Sharon realized. That was a pretty broad statement when you apparently owned a decent chunk of the city.
He snaked his car through the neverending snake of traffic that was so characteristic of New York regardless of the hour. Sharon sat, silently enjoying the feeling of the fancy car’s heaters on her skin and the plush, soft leather of its seats as they drove.
“Ever been to a Broadway show?” Vittorio asked as they coasted down the namesake road.
“No, not yet,” Sharon said. “I definitely want to see one someday, though.” She gazed out the windows at the dazzling, flashing lights on the busy street. The neon was muted by the heavy tint of the windshield, but it was beautiful nonetheless. She would never get over just how alive New York City was. It didn’t matter what time a day it was or where in the city you were, there was always something happening, something to take in.
“Maybe I’ll take you to one.”
“You’d do that?” Sharon asked, surprised.
“I might have to get you a service vest or something; I don’t know what their pet policy is.” Vittorio winked.
Sharon almost laughed despite herself. She hated the way he threw around the reminder that he technically owned her like a dog. But the longer she sat in his car, the more palatable—almost comforting—the idea of belonging to him became.
“You’re an ass,” she told him.
“I know. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear… Who knew a virgin like you had such dirty lips.”
“Fuckin’... nobody,” Sharon dissolved into a fit of giggles, totally unable to maintain seriousness while she forced herself to swear. “Cussing just isn’t really my thing,” she explained.
“Adorable,” Vittorio said endearingly. “A virgin that can’t swear. Way to beat the stereotype, Miss Kansas.”
“Hey, I actually went to high school with Miss Kansas, thank you very much,” Sharon countered. “And I happen to know that she is very much not a virgin. And if she ever worked as hard as me, it would be just for some pictures to put on Instagram.”
Vittorio let out a low chuckle. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?”
“Thank you,” Sharon stammered awkwardly. No one had ever told her that she was funny before, except for her dad, which hardly counted.
Vittorio turned down 61st Street and away from the worst of the traffic. Sharon watched him as he drove, still wrestling inside with the idea that this man had every intention of deflowering her. As the light filtered through the windshield, she couldn’t help but admire the sharp contrast of the bluish glow on the harsh, intense lines of his face. His beard looked rough but not uncomfortably so, like it scratch and tickle her a little when she kissed him.
Is he going to kiss me? She wondered, feeling like some dumb love-struck teenager. She had almost gotten to the point of accepting that her virginity was about as good as gone, but she hadn’t considered the possibility that it would go romantically.
After all, just how romantic was he really going to be with a girl he just bought? He had already mentioned multiple times that he had no shortage of women to choose from. Did those women demand kisses? Did he give them willingly or not at all? What kind of lover was Vittorio going to be?
They rode in a fairly comfortable silence for just a little bit longer. Which was fine by Sharon, since her mind was racing a million miles a minute. Finally, they pulled up to a sleek building constructed of almost eerily smooth white marble, with a single black stripe of glass running right up the middle. The windows were probably tinted even darker than Vittorio’s Mercedes. The stark white stood out against the neighboring structures. It looked so clean, pristine and new, which contrasted with the weathered, ornate buildings on either side. Vittorio flipped on his blinker and turned into the parking garage beneath the tall building. The mechanical arm lifted to let him in and he exchanged waves with a man in a porter’s hat who manned the little booth near the entrance.
Sharon wondered self-consciously if the man could see her through the darkened glass but figured that, even if he could, he wasn’t about to judge Vittorio. Not if he had any idea who Vittorio really was, anyway.