CHAPTER 24
EVE
Vincent is going to prison. My heart thumps.
There has to be another option.
Even if I move to California, there’s still no way I would move on from him. How could I? I’ve given him everything of me—my entire being. There is no Eve without Vincent.
I stare down at my bruised body, hoping that whatever it was he needed from me, he got. Deep down, I know he wanted to scare me. He wanted me to see him as a hardened criminal. He wanted me to run away from him. Did he think he would scare me off with his strength, size, and aggression? Too bad.
I take my time to wash up and get dressed, gently soaping my sore body. I let myself cry for twenty more minutes before I force myself to toughen up. Vincent doesn’t want me to be weak. He wants me to be strong. If he goes to prison, I want him to know that I can be a support for him. The first thing I need do is head over to the law library and make some sense of his predicament. Right now, I refuse to dwell. I’m going to invest all of my energy on the present moment, which is gathering knowledge about Vincent’s situation. The more I know, the more control I’ll have.
I leave the apartment, trying not to look at anything too hard as I make my way to the door. Every single square inch is full of memories; I don’t want to start crying again. I stop at a corner deli and pick up a coffee and a toasted butter bagel before jumping onto the subway, heading back uptown to school. The train is full of people, but luckily, I squeeze into a spot where I can hold onto the pole. I flinch as my hand touches the cold metal, thinking about the article in High and Low that started everything.
Finally, I’m at my stop. I walk to campus with my head down, deep in thought. I’ve already missed a day of classes; one more won’t kill me.
The law school library stands dauntingly at the top of a hill. I enter with soft steps, but I can still hear the echo of my shoes against the floor. Another woman may be overwhelmed by the gothic architecture and high stacks, but I’m not ordinary. If there is an answer to helping Vincent, I’m damn well going to find it.
I begin by scouring the internet for cases on the American mafia. I compile a list of keywords, including RICO. Once I’ve done enough of that cursory research, I find one of the librarians, explaining to her that I’m trying to get information on previous cases where the defendants were indicted under RICO. After a fifteen-minute crash course on how to search case law, I begin.
I review every court case I can find on the topic, reading and then re-reading in order to capture the details. So many of the results of these cases are simply changed based on what facts the federal government can prove. It’s obvious now why Vincent is pleading to a lesser charge. If the Borignones were ever found guilty under RICO, they would be forced to forfeit everything the family has made under the assumption that all the money is somehow tainted from their illegal dealings. With just an indictment of RICO alone, the government can freeze all of their assets and property. Hours pass, and the reality only becomes clearer. Vincent has no choice but to plead guilty—to something other than racketeering. I feel sick.
Time continues to move at too fast of a pace. I’m sure I’d be better able to help Vincent if I weren’t in the dark when it came to his business dealings.
Lifting up my head, I blink. I turn my gaze toward the window, surprised that it’s already dark. I blink and rub my eyes that feel like sandpaper from hours of crying and reading. My phone rings—it’s a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Hello, I’m looking for Eve Petrov.” A professional sounding voice comes across the line, and I swallow away the rasp in my throat.
“Yes, this is she.”
“Good afternoon. This is Anna from Mr. Farkas’s office. I’m calling to see if you’re available for an interview tomorrow morning at ten thirty. He can meet you at 347 Fifth Avenue, Suite 302, across from the Empire State Building.”
“My interview?”
“Yes. Your interview with the Mr. Farkas of the admissions committee at Stanford.” Her voice sounds annoyed, and my mouth runs dry. “Ms. Petrov, are you still on the line?”
“Y-yes,” I stammer. “I’m here.”
“I know it’s last minute, but another candidate canceled while I was reviewing your file. I’m glad the timing works for you. Goodbye.” She clicks off. My mind is spinning so quickly; I can barely form a coherent thought.
I inhale and exhale, attempting to get my bearings. I need to weigh the risks and benefits of staying here in New York City versus leaving. For one, if Vincent’s enemies do find out about me, my life could be in jeopardy. On the other hand, I don’t want us to break up. I can write letters from California—wherever. The thought of losing him—no! I can’t even think of it. I breathe deeply. I need to go see Vincent and tell him about my interview and everything I’ve learned based on previous case law. Maybe once he knows I’ve agreed to leave the city, he won’t force me away from him. Maybe I can help him to win this case. Or, appeal.
I shut the books in front of me and take care in putting them back where they belong. I pull my purse off the wooden desk and it hits the floor with a clang.
I get down to SoHo and square my shoulders, stepping off the subway. It’s a cool night, but my excitement is keeping me warm. For a moment, I pause, wishing I had a better plan of what to say. Maybe I should stop by the corner deli, grab a coffee and a cookie, and plan my words. I’m debating my next move when a group of girls enter the building. They strut into the lobby, and for reasons I don’t completely understand, I follow straight behind them.
They’re in skirts so short, I can see the bottom of their asses. They’re wearing sky-high heels and chunky rhinestone jewelry; add in fake tits and red lips, it’s clear they’re walking sex.
My heart pounds.
We enter the elevator together and I listen to them talk about a girl named Alessandra, and whether or not she brought the party favors. It doesn’t take much to guess what they’re referring to. I’ve never seen girls like this in this building; it’s strange.
The elevator stops at the fifth floor, and we step out together. One of them flips her bleached blonde hair to the side and reaches into her bra to push her boobs up, instantly giving her the look of larger cleavage. I’m standing there, feeling like a ghost. They don’t notice me, and I’m completely silent.
They strut to apartment 5B and I ask myself if I’m dreaming. I stare at the apartment number on the outside of the door. This is it. This is our home. I finally gain the courage to step inside.
The apartment is filled with smoke and loud music. Bodies are everywhere. Half-clad girls dance throughout the space, some dancing on top of our coffee table. Where is Vincent?
I see a man with a buzzed head. I move forward through the crowd quickly and touch his shoulder, my heart skittering in my chest. When he turns around, I suck in a hard breath. It’s a complete stranger. The man looks big, dirty, and tough. Biting a cigar and staring me up and down, he chuckles. “Hey, baby.”
I turn and walk forward, entering the kitchen that is now littered with bottles and cigarette butts. It looks like people are blowing lines near the stove—each taking turns bending down, holding one nostril as they inhale hard.
“Eve?” A hand grabs my elbow and I spin around. It’s Tom. “What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice has no inflection, but I can see the anger pulsing at his neck. His bloodshot eyes tell me he’s halfway to gone.
“W-where’s Vincent?”
He laughs sardonically, his hand still wrapped around my wrist like a vise. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Please, Tom. I know he’s leaving. I just need to speak to him. For just a minute.” I’m talking too fast, the desperation in my voice obvious. At this point, I’d beg on my hands and knees if I had to.
“Do you have any idea how much you have fucked up our lives?” His voice rises in volume. “I warned you months ago, and now because of you, not only is my best friend going to jail, but I have to accompany him there. You couldn’t just keep your legs shut, huh? You had to tempt him with your ‘I’m so innocent’ act. Well, fuck you! You deserve whatever happens next. Do me a favor and don’t transfer. Stay right the fuck here where the wolves will chew you up.” He drops his head, spitting at the ground in front of me.
What have I done?
He lets me go and I make my way into the corridor, my pulse rapidly beating. There’s a couple by our bedroom door, practically fucking against the wall. Who are these people? Is this Vincent’s other life? It feels like I’m walking through a nightmare.
I push open the bedroom door.
My eyes immediately lock with Vincent’s.
He’s sitting on our bed with his pants unbuttoned. Without a shirt, his tan wide chest is on display; from his right shoulder down to his bicep, I see an intricate tattoo. One hand is on a bottle of vodka, and the other makes its way up the shoulder of a blonde. He pushes her down to her knees. I hear her exclaim, “Finally!”
I stumble backward, the wall catching my fall.
Vincent chuckles. “Well, well. What do we have here? You came to say goodbye? See me off?” He looks down at the girl. “Did I say you can stop?” He grabs the back of her hair as she eagerly pulls his pants down to his ankles, leaving him in nothing other than his black briefs.
“Vincent?” My voice cracks along with my heart. “This c-c-can’t be. No.” I shake my head from side to side.
“Didn’t I tell you we were finished? Get out of my apartment.”
I feel bile rise up my throat. I must be losing my mind, because the next thing I know, I’m trembling and nodding at the same time. The room feels smaller as my breathing accelerates. “V-Vincent? P-please…” Tears blur my vision as I sink to the wooden floor. This can’t be real. I hear laughter. This isn’t him. This isn’t me. Who am I? The girl turns to me, licking her lips. Her hands spread on his thighs.
I move my gaze, noticing that his eyes look dead. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was Antonio Borignone sitting on the bed before me. I stand up, tearing his cross off my neck and pulling his keys out of my bag, throwing them across the room. For a moment, I notice the stricken look in his eyes, but I’m too distraught myself to care. I run through his apartment, and out the door.
I find a cab to take me back to campus. I’m hysterically crying, and it’s ugly. Tears blur my vision. I throw some cash to the driver as I exit the car. I vaguely realize that people are stopping to stare at me, but I couldn’t care less. Somehow, I take out my phone to call Janelle. I can do nothing but cry into the phone.
I get to my dorm room and immediately collapse to the floor; I can’t make it the few feet to my bed.
Janelle shows up. I must not have locked it, because she walks right inside the door. Dropping down to her haunches, she immediately hands me two pills. I swallow them down without any water. Minutes pass, and I feel like I’m floating above myself. We move to my bed, where I tell her everything. She shushes me, combing back my hair with her hands.
“And tomorrow is my interview with Stanford. I was supposed to be there while Vincent was in Nevada. To be closer to him.”
“Don’t worry, Eve.” Her voice is soothing and understanding. “It’s for the best. You need to leave here. Vincent is right. It’s not safe for you.”
“I’m dying, Janelle.”
“No, sweetie. You aren’t dying. Your heart’s just broken.”