I will not cry.
I refuse to break down and embarrass myself. Not in front of Giovanni. Not in front of the curious onlookers gathered in this crowded lobby with so many prying eyes upon us. On this enigmatic mobster. On pitiful me. Now that I’ve been dumped. Again. Two times in six months. With the shredded heart to prove it.
“I hate you.”
Gio actually flinches from my whisper. I know I’ve already told him that at least once this afternoon. But it’s true. And, with the last of my dignity obliterated in front of this gawking audience, I can’t think of anything better. Nothing more clever. Nothing more punishing. Which doesn’t really matter because nothing I say or do ever has any impact on him. He’s too arrogant to care. Or notice. Or understand.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest when I twist away from his huge hand pawing my back. Ironic how much I used to welcome his protective touch. When I naively believed he actually cared about keeping me safe. Rather than being the one to hurt me more than anyone ever has.
I force myself to smile. Lift my head. He no longer controls me. He no longer has any impact on me. My heart or my body. Instead, I seek help from a man who never disappoints me. Or, offers me anything other than kindness. “Tucker, would you mind taking me home please?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
For once he doesn’t look to Gio for approval. Instead, he holds out his arm, which I’ve never been more grateful to clutch. Uncertain if I could cross the marble floor on my wobbling legs by myself. “Thank you.”
Seemingly too shocked to speak, Gio doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even follow us outside. Although I’m not fooled. The respite is temporary. Just a short reprieve until he attacks again. He’ll come back fighting harder and longer and dirtier. Fierce in his attempts to wear me down and win me back. Because he loves a challenge. Even if he doesn’t love me.
Always a gentleman, Tucker draws me closer to his lean body once we step outside. Blocking the brisk wind lifting the hem of Gio’s jacket and exposing my bare skin to the icy droplets pummeling down upon us. The bulky holster under his coat digs into my rib cage. A subtle reminder of the role he plays in his boss’s life. Protecting him from his enemies, if not himself.
He ushers me down the sidewalk in silence. A man of few words. Which I appreciate now more than ever. Because I don’t think I can speak without sobbing. Not that he hasn’t witnessed my tears before. Happy tears when Gio was at his best. Surprising me with romantic dinners and sweet, extravagant gestures like filling my entire apartment with my favorite blue tulips. As well as humiliated tears when Gio decided that a threesome with two girls he just met was more appealing than one girl who loves him more than she ever realized was possible.
Loved.
I do not love him anymore.
I can’t allow myself to love him anymore.
Tucker’s hand doesn’t leave my elbow until I slide onto the already warmed seat of Gio’s Mercedes. Lush with the scent of his rich leather and smoky cologne mingling in the decadent interior. The bulletproof, shaded windows hiding me from the world if not my emotions from being in his car again. Without him.
I slump back into the cushion. Suddenly exhausted. Drained from the adrenaline squeezing my muscles for too long. From the battle raging in my conscience by the guilt crushing me. So foolish for me to be happy to see him. After I fought so hard. Pretended for so long that I don’t care about him. That I don't want him. That I haven’t missed his arrogant smirk and possessive touch and endless reverence to my mind and body for every single minute of the past twenty-four weeks.
Brisk air whips across my frigid nose again when Tucker climbs in. Although he remains mute despite the awkwardness. Just starts the engine and shifts the gear into drive, smoothly pulling out into a brief gap in the Friday afternoon traffic. Never diverts his attention away from the vehicles jockeying for the best position to beat the changing light.
Which is for the best. I don’t need to be consoled after what happened. I need to be slapped for being so damn ignorant. So pathetic. So unbelievably weak. Which I hate. Because getting over him was the hardest thing I've ever done. Only to realize in less than one short second that I haven't.
I'm not over him.
I'm not sure if I ever can be.
And I despise myself for still wanting him.
Sliding out my phone, I scroll to Leighton's number. Hesitation creeps in. Doubt’s an insidious emotion. Strangling tighter around my nervous heart with each excuse I make to myself. Probably too soon to call him. Won’t hurt to wait a few hours. Give him a chance to calm down after Gio’s threats fade a bit. See if I can salvage what Gio ruined. Attempt to convince Leighton – and myself – that I want to be with him.
Instead, I tap the next name in the list. She’s probably finished by now.
Are you done?
Only a few seconds pass. Yes! Hell yeah! Finals are over!!! How’s the party?
No sense delaying the fire storm. I left. We broke up.
Easier to type those words rather than reveal yet that he dumped me. Her ring tone cuts through the silence. Guess she feels the same way about texting me back.
"What the fuck happened?"
My eyes burn from the absolute fury sharpening her tone. Never cross a woman's best friend or be prepared to face her wrath too. "It's a long story."
"Chryseis!"
And, now she's yelling. Pissed from my evasiveness. “I can't talk about it now. Meet me at–"
"Why can't you talk about it now?"
I glance over, but of course Tucker pretends to be oblivious to my turmoil as well as the conversation. Conveying the perfect stoic, impassive face of a chauffeur. Although we both know he's so much more than that. "I'm with Tucker."
Even he twitches from her shriek squealing through the speaker. Well aware that in the past, if I'm with the bodyguard, I'm with Gio too. Physically and mentally. Which I swore would never happen again. "Please tell me you did not break up with Leighton for that asshole."
I wish.
I roll my eyes at myself. What the hell is wrong with me for wishing something so utterly crazy. "Of course not. Just meet me at The Corner."
Clever name for the bar that's – you guessed it – on the corner. Old, modest, and cheap. Perfect for when you care more about the company you're with than the ambiance of your surroundings.
"Fine. But if Gio shows up I'm stabbing him in the throat."
Despite my anxiety, I can't help but smile a little. Sheena's smaller than me and neither of us even reach his shoulders. Best she could do is knife him in his heart. Which isn't necessary. Since it's already dead.
"Calm down, crazy. He won't be there."
A deep sigh rustles against my ear. Her emotions on the same roller coaster as mine, and she doesn't even know the full story.
"Good."
Conviction I can't seem to mimic forces strength in her voice. Dreading her reaction, especially when she figures out how lame I am for wanting what he says to be true.
"See you in ten."
"Okay."
My hands shake when I drop my cell back in my clutch. I really have lost my mind. As much as I love my best friend, I dread admitting the truth to her. She's going to say all the things I know I should do. Agree to. Believe in. But I can't. Even worse, I don't want to.
So I'll ignore that impending confrontation for a few minutes longer. Unable to face his disapproving scowl, I stare at the intricate black lines decorating Tucker's long fingers as they curl around the steering wheel. "Sorry about that."
A quick shrug that I know hides so much more. "No problem. She wouldn't be your best friend if she didn't worry about you."
"Just like you and Gio."
I don't know why I just said that. He seems surprised too. Thick salt and pepper eyebrows lifting before his face falls to stone again.
"I guess."
"We're not getting back together." False bravado stirs in my chest. Easier to have a one-sided argument with his bodyguard rather than him. "I don’t care what he says. Or does."
Now he smirks. Damn him. He's just as smug as Gio. They deserve each other.
"Okay."
Absolute zero hesitation in his response. Which means he doesn't believe me in the slightest. "I’m serious. We aren't. Not after what he did."
I hate the way my voice quivers. As much as my waning confidence. He really did destroy me. Half of which he doesn’t even know about. But still hurts just the same.
This time Tucker actually looks at me. A dangerously long time meeting my gaze while we speed down the road.
"Not everything’s as it seems, Chryseis."
Goosebumps lift on my skin from the intensity of his stare. From his definitive tone. Not kidding or pretending. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Finally, he releases my eyes and turns back to the windshield.
"I can be just as protective over my best friend. I know he hurt you, but there's a lot you don't understand.
Tucker's never been one to play games. Although speaking against his boss's actions is a dangerous one. I don't claim to understand their world, but I know disloyalty only earns one punishment. Death. So his message must be important for him to risk Gio’s wrath. "Why are you defending him? You know what he did to me. How he treated me. He’s nothing but‒”
"Just trust me. He loves you more than you'll ever know."
Love.
Gio loves me.
The world seems to blur with his words swirling around me thicker than the billowing snowflakes outside the steamy glass. He can't be serious. But his haunting tone doesn't seem facetious. So lost in his staunch declaration, I miss him pulling up to the curb and jump when Sheena pounds against my window. Ready to beat Gio if he's inside.
Before I can question him further, he taps his finger on the side console, and the locks click sharply in the quiet interior. Sheena jerks open the door and bends to search for our enemy. Scanning the seats with a ferocity I've never seen before darkening her normally docile face. Dirty blond strands slipping out of her messy bun from the force of her head whipping back and forth.
Relaxing only a bit to find just Tucker and me, she slides a stiff hand under my arm. Yanking me out of the car with strength I didn't know she possessed. To get me away from his bodyguard. Away from the luxury. Away from anything that could lure me back into Gio's clutches.
I grasp the roof lip, trying to gain my balance in a faltering world while my best friend crouches down again and glares at Tucker.
"I'd say it's nice to see you again, but it's not."
She drags me forward across the concrete before slamming the door with all her might. I swear I can hear Tucker's laughter even through the thick metal. Without leaving me any more time to decipher his meaning, Sheena strides through the narrow doorway, lugging me along like a wayward toddler. Ready to bolt away at the first shiny object to catch her attention. Or more likely a disobedient child who's done the exact opposite of what she's been repeatedly told not to do and is about to receive a long, stern lecture.
We by-pass several open tables and head straight to the bar where she's already holding up four fingers.
"Tequila please."
Chris nods and grabs the bottle on the shelf behind him. Not even bothering to comment that the quantity of drinks outnumbers the girls. He's worked this shift for more than twenty years and knows people who come in at this time of day are serious about using alcohol to hide from their pain. Or at least make their anguish a problem for tomorrow rather than today.
A duet each of shot glasses, filled to the rim with shiny gold liquid, scoots across the dull wooden surface in front of us, and I raise mine to my lips before Sheena settles into her heavy stool. Carefully draping her purple wrap around the beige cushion. Gashes threaded through the cheap vinyl from years of use.
I need this liquor more than she does. A preemptive strike to numb myself from her punishing reprimand. Which I know I deserve, but not sure if I can handle with my own shame already twisting knots in my throbbing neck and shoulders.
Rich and spicy, the booze leaves a warm trail down my throat, through my chest, and into my belly. Surprisingly good quality for an unassuming place like this. A smart man, Chris always stocks what his customers like, and the man definitely knows how much Gio enjoys his tequila. Or maybe he’s just more terrified of the mobster’s reputation than he likes to admit. Even though Gio was always mellow and generous when I brought him here.
Damn him. I can’t even enjoy drowning my sorrows anymore without him invading my thoughts. I down the second tumbler while Sheena finishes her first. I don’t know who I’m trying to fool. He can’t invade my thoughts when he’s never left them in the first place.
Welcoming the slow release of my stress as my body finally begins to relax, I wiggle my fingers at Chris again. I need so much more than shots to erase the image of Gio’s earnest face from my mind. The pleading tone in his voice. The need aching in both of our bodies.
The bartender doesn’t even bother to retrieve clean glasses. Just fills these again. Which is fine. I don’t need fancy. I just need drunk. Once I swallow the third drink, Sheena pats my forearm. Still trembling slightly under her small hands from the tension.
“Okay, I’m ready. Tell me what happened.”
Braced with liquid courage, I sigh. “Gio happened, of course.”
Her grip tightens, clenching the thick fabric under her fingers. His jacket. Which she’d probably rip off me, mutilate the cashmere to shreds, and then light them on fire if she realized the coat belongs to him. “He crashed the party, made a huge scene, dragged me upstairs to his office, asked me to take him back, and threatened Leighton. Who of course immediately dumped me and I—“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Glassy eyes meet mine. Slow on the uptake with the alcohol flowing through her, she shakes her head. “Did you say that selfish bastard wants to get back together? After what he did? After the…”
Too painful for her to say the words. Too harsh for me to hear them. I curl into myself. A cruel reminder of the aftermath long after his merciless brutality ended. “You know you can’t be mad at him for that. He didn’t know.”
The glasses rattle more than my shivering body from her hand slamming down on the faded wood. Oops. Wrong time to defend him.
“I can be mad at him for any damn thing I want. You should be too.”
I know I should. I want to be. I was. But all it took was one look, one touch, one plea to sway my heart again.
Only a slight slur to her shouting words, but Chris wanders over anyway. Uncertain if from the commotion or the empty glasses.
“I think you ladies need some food.”
Her arm slices through the air. Barely missing my now warm nose. “I think I need to kick Gio’s ass.”
A little tipsy myself, I giggle from Sheena’s threat. Most girls get flirty or think they dance like J Lo when they drink. I love that my best friend thinks she’s an MMA fighter or something.
He rolls his eyes. As well aware as I am of her inability to actually cause anyone any harm. The only danger is to their ears from her screeching mouth.
“I’ll put in some cheese sticks for you.”
“Thanks. And go ahead and leave the bottle please.”
The lines on his forehead deepen with disapproval from my request. Yet he sets the black and orange decanter in front of us when a tan gloved hand slides between Sheena and me and tosses a small stack of hundreds on the counter.
“From Mr. Trivoli. These ladies can have anything they want.”
My improving mood diminishes from Tucker’s directive. All I want is Mr. Trivoli’s heart. Not his money. Not his power. Just him. I slam another shot. Trying to erase that idiotic thought from my dumb, drunk head.
Chris’s own head bobs furiously from the mention of Gio’s name. Afraid of the mob boss who rules this city. Who thinks he rules Chris. Who thinks he rules me. Which makes me angry. Really, really angry. I point at the bartender, his cheeks engulfed with scarlet. “Don’t let him scare you. He can’t tell you what to do!”
Haughty with boozy indignation, I gulp my shot with Tucker’s deep laugh echoing amidst the murmurs of conversation behind us. Just like he is, which I discover after I spin around in my seat. His long, lanky body staking out the booth closest to the door as other patrons have filled the previously empty tables.
Fine. If he’s got nothing better to do than watch us get wasted, he can sit there all by himself. I don’t care. About him. Or his mean boss. Or one of my favorite “fuck me” heels sliding off my foot and tumbling to the faded gold linoleum when I try to steady my feet on the brass ring circling the bottom of my seat.
I love my pretty shoes. I love my pretty best friend too. Who doesn’t seem mad any more either with her huge smile beaming back at me. All of her earlier worry long gone. Which makes me happy too. Happier than I've been all day. Happier than I've been in a long time.
Because of her.
Not him.
He only makes me sad.
I shake my dizzy head. Ignoring the blurriness sweeping through my vision. This is where I belong. With her. No worries or cares. Doing whatever the hell we want. Just like my favorite Miley Cyrus song says. Love who I want. Say what I want. Sing what I want. Which I’m going to do with her right now.
Since I know he won't miss the cash, I swipe some of Gio’s money from the counter and push off my stool. I only wobble a little, hobbling on one shoe. Forget it. I kick that stiletto off too. The balls of my feet sticking to the dingy tiles that mopping can't get clean any more after years of spilled beer, pizza crumbs, dirty boots, and sweaty bodies.
Easy to absorb the energy spiking from the growing crowd, I focus on my mission with a little more enthusiasm. Men in expensive suits just as prominent as guys in long sleeve tees and thick soled sneakers. With a few girls interspersed through the groups. Most of them in jeans like Sheena. Making me feel self-conscious from my out of place cocktail dress. Wading through the lines for the bathroom in the narrow back hall, I wrap his coat tighter around me and follow the glow of the blue, orange, and yellow stripes circling around the large black screen at the end of the corridor. A throwback to the eighties, the old jukebox must be broken. No matter how much I try to smooth the bill, the narrow slot won't accept the hundred.
“Here darlin’, let me help you.”
I can tolerate the hot whiskey breath on my cheek, but the hand caressing my ass is too much. Before I can protest, his fingers are gone and so is my balance. I tumble to the gummy floor from Tucker’s force shoving the man against the wall. Those previously relaxed inked fingers wrapped around the guy’s throat while he dangles. The man clawing at Tucker’s vice grip to gain his release as well as his oxygen.
“She's Gio Trivoli's girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.
He stops resisting Tucker's assault from the realization of his almost fatal mistake, and Tucker lets him drop. Sprawled only a foot apart, the stranger and I stare at each other as he gasps for air. His shaking hand guarding his assaulted neck while he sucks in deep breaths. Shiny brown eyes wide with shock. Almost as enormous as my own astonishment.
Because if Tucker really believes that, I am totally fucked.