Melinda
“What?” I turned to Antonio and angrily crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s not fair. I don’t want to go home, Antonio.”
“Well, what do you want?” Antonio threw his hands up in the air. “You want more food? You want to go dancing? What, Melinda?”
“I told you,” I said sullenly. “I want to see your apartment. Why is that so hard to understand, Antonio?”
Antonio shook his head. “I can’t take you there,” he said. “It violates the agreement I have with your father.”
I burst out into humorless laughter. “Yeah,” I said bitterly, shaking my head. “God knows you’d never do anything my father didn’t want you to do.” I eyed him. “Like, I mean sleeping with me was definitely not in violation of that agreement, either.”
Antonio glared at me. “That’s different.” He sighed then grabbed the keys from the dashboard and started the car.
We sat in silence. I couldn’t believe this – what the hell was his problem? Five minutes ago, we’d been wrestling in a tangle of passion. I’d given myself over to him completely. Sex with Antonio was like a transformative experience. Before him, I’d never thought sex would ever be as good as it was in the movies. But as soon as I’d slept with Antonio the first time, I’d been able to think of little else. He consumed me.
I’d never thought of myself as anything but fiercely independent. I know it sounds ridiculous – the daughter of a powerful crime family can’t be anything but dependent on those around her. But I’d never exactly been comfortable relying on my father to take care of me. I knew he tried his best, but, deep down, he didn’t understand me. He was a man, and I was a woman – we were as different as could be. And despite his unconventional way of making a living, I knew my father upheld traditional values. He may have been bloodthirsty and evil, but I never saw that side of him. I’d only seen the parts of Dad that made him seem like a normal Italian-American.
“Melinda,” Antonio said. “Come on. Don’t be unreasonable. It’s late. I’m taking you home.”
“No!” I exploded. I put my hand on the door, threatening in the only way I knew how. “If you try, I’m leaving. I’ll get out of this car and run away.”
Antonio grabbed my arm. I tried to yank it back but he held on and for a minute, we struggled in earnest. I was surprisingly strong for a girl of my size, but there was no competition between Antonio and myself.
He managed to pull me halfway into his lap in a matter of seconds. “And I’ll chase you,” Antonio growled.
There was a hint of dark possession in his voice and it made me shiver. Even though I was angry with him, I somehow couldn’t divorce my feelings of lust and passion. It was like we were somehow fated to ruin each other – like Antonio was the person who would always be able to wind me up and make me tick.
“And what if you don’t catch me?” My heart was thudding in my chest as my words hung in the air. “What happens then? Are you going to go back to my father and tell him you lost me?”
Antonio sighed angrily. “This is fucking useless,” he growled. He shoved me back into the passenger seat with more force than necessary. “Just tell me what you want, Melinda. Don’t be difficult. I just don’t have the energy to deal with you tonight. Don’t you understand?”
I glared at him. “You had the energy ten minutes ago,” I said stiffly. The smell of sex still lingered in the car but I was already beginning to regret sleeping with Antonio again. I didn’t want him to see me vulnerable; I didn’t ever want him to know how much of an effect he had on me.
“Will you shut up if I take you to my apartment?”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, Antonio. I don’t care. Just take me home.”
Antonio started the car and we drove away from the alley in silence. The bag of leftover steak between my feet shifted with every turn in the road – Antonio was driving faster and seemingly much more recklessly than usual. When he got on the highway, I felt the dreaded knot in my stomach.
Antonio took an exit in an unfamiliar part of town. Soon, his car was crawling through streets edged with dark, crooked houses and vehicles propped up on cement blocks. We stopped at a corner and I shivered when I realized the closest house had no windows. I could see flames jumping inside, and I grabbed Antonio’s arm in fright.
“Antonio, that house is on fire! We should call someone,” I said quickly, reaching into my bag and fumbling with my phone. “Those people could die!”
“That house has been empty for years, Melinda,” Antonio said. His lips twisted into an unpleasant grimace. “Some homeless people must have broken in and started a fire to keep warm.”
Even though the heat was blasting, I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. “This is such a bad part of town,” I whispered as the car rolled down another silent, dark, and empty street. “What are we doing here?”
“You said you wanted to see my apartment,” Antonio said tightly. There was no emotion in his voice and he was staring straight ahead through the windshield.
I shivered again. “I didn’t think you lived here,” I said, glancing at the ruins of a brick house. The roof had fallen through, and the windows had only snaggled teeth of broken glass.
Antonio didn’t turn his head. “Yeah, I bet you thought I lived in a palace just like you.”
I frowned. “That’s not true,” I said quietly, though I wasn’t sure whether or not I was being honest with myself. I knew rationally that if Antonio was taking money from my father, that meant he wasn’t independently wealthy. But I hadn’t really considered how he lived. All I knew was that he had a nice car, a nice leather jacket, and plenty of cash when it came to buying me drinks at Hurricanes.
Antonio pulled into a driveway and set the car in park. I peered intently at the house. Under the headlights, it looked kind of grimy and sad – but it was at least better than some of the other homes on the street. The windows all had matching shutters and there was a thick iron security door of intricate lace ironwork.
The house was brick, painted white, and it looked old but not nearly as decrepit as the surrounding homes. Antonio got out of the car and slammed his door without a word. Part of me expected him to start yelling at me as soon as I climbed out, but, to my surprise, the air was cold and silent.
“Come on,” Antonio said. He nodded his head towards the door. “Better not to stand out here gawking.”
I stood and shivered silently as Antonio unlocked the metal security door. He swung it open and it creaked.
“Is that what they call a speakeasy door?”
Antonio gave me an odd look. “I swear, you say the weirdest shit sometimes,” he said. He pushed open the front door. “Where the hell did you even hear about those?”
I shrugged then stepped into the dark foyer. “I don’t know,” I said, tapping my chin. “I probably heard Dad mention something like that before.”
Antonio laughed dryly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just know it’s necessary. My last place got broken into six times in a year. I can’t take that risk here.”
He closed the door then felt for a switch on the wall. As light flooded the room, I saw there was a leather loveseat in front of an old antique trunk. A flat-screen television was fixed to the wall over an ancient-looking gas fireplace.
I peered into the next room and saw a bed. There weren’t any doors, but the house was open, one room right after another.
“This is nice,” I said tentatively, walking through the bedroom. The bed was unmade, but it looked comfortable, with soft dark sheets and a rumpled blanket towards the foot. The whole place smelled like Antonio – like musk and sweat and engine grease.
The kitchen was small, but it wasn’t dirty. Some white dishes were on a drying rack next to the sink, and a large refrigerator was covered in stickers of motorcycles and a magnetic calendar that told me the local football schedule from three years before.
“You want a drink?” Antonio tossed his jacket on the table and walked over to a little hutch. As I watched, he pulled out two heavy-looking rocks glasses and a bottle of cognac.
I laughed.
“What?” Antonio narrowed his eyes. “What did I do?”
“Nothing,” I said. I took the offered glass of cognac and made a face before throwing the liquid down my throat. It didn’t taste as smooth as the stuff Dad bought, but I didn’t care.
“No, what?”
I shook my head. “It’s just, yeah, I can tell you work for my father.”
I thought the comment would make Antonio laugh but instead he just sighed and flopped down on the couch.
“This is nice,” I said, running my hand along the mantle above the fireplace. It was nice – it needed a new coat of paint, but, other than that, it wasn’t too bad.
Antonio shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “The neighborhood is a shithole. I’ve been trying to flip this place, but no one wants to live here when the houses all look like that.” As he spoke, I saw his guard begin to come down and my heart swelled in my chest.
Setting my glass down on the mantle, I sat next to Antonio and scooted close. “I don’t mind,” I said casually. “Like I said, I think it’s nice.”
Antonio frowned. “I’m poor, Melinda,” he said. “I couldn’t ever give you the life you’re used to.” He still wasn’t looking at me.
An uncomfortable, heavy feeling settled on my chest and I closed my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about the future right now,” I said. “Let’s just relax.”
I thought the cognac would help, but I was still as tense as ever by the time Antonio finally dropped me off at home. I wished I could have known exactly what to say to make him feel better, but it was dawning on me that I barely knew Antonio at all