Too afraid of the answers before, I now welcome the unfamiliar.
Appreciating value in a life outside the one I was born into is worth more than money. Falling in love with a man who looks at me like I can do no wrong gives me a solid foundation to jump from, but it’s up to me to figure out the rest. What I know so far is I like blended vanilla coffee with caramel drizzle, I’m a dog person, and I don’t want to be alone anymore. There’s so much beauty in my city, in the people who’ve inched their way into my life, and in the possibility of crafting a future for myself that doesn’t involve selling my body.
“Let’s go home,” I say.
“You’re reading my mind,” Talent says. He dips me like they do in old romance movies and kisses my throat.
Leaning my head back, I wish I could stretch out this perfect moment in time so it never ends. The feeling of being in love is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I’d like to explore it more thoroughly. In bed. Only, the frozen lake finally cracks, and I break through the ice, plunge into the frigid waters before I can grab on to anything, and I drown.
That didn’t take long, I think to myself fleetingly as my veins run cold.
Talent doesn’t see Phillip and Naomi right away because Talent never takes his eyes off of me. I clutch his shirt and gasp his name, pulling myself upright from the dip. He knows right away something is wrong and follows my line of sight.
“Fuck,” he says, acting as a wall of protection between them and me.
Back at our table, David and Wilder are already on their feet. David refastens his suit jacket with a deadly expression, and Wilder rolls up the sleeves of his shirt.
“Lydia,” Talent says, standing in front of me. Suddenly sober, his eyes are piercing and begging. “Remember that you trust me, okay. Remember that.”
The rhythm of my heartbeat isn’t overcome by the pulse from the music vibrating through my entire body. The light show is suddenly a nuisance, only made worse when a fog machine releases cool mist over the dance floor, clouding my vision. Fiery rage defrosts my frozen veins, and I told Talent I’m not a damsel in distress who needs saving. I have something to fight for, and I won’t stand back and wait for the battle to come to me.
Shaking free from Talent’s grip, I push through the fog and head directly toward Naomi. I told her if she fucked with me again, I’d break her fingers. Judging by the smug look on her face as I approach, she didn’t take my warning to heart. Her mistake.
Two steps behind me, Talent calls out my name, and in my peripheral vision, I loosely see David and Wilder making their way toward us.
“Cara, nice to see you here,” Naomi says in a cooing tone once I’m close enough to hear. When she realizes I’m not in the mood for conversation, the smile on her face falls and she takes a step back.
Simultaneously, I grab Naomi by her throat and knock the drink from her hands, capturing her fingers and bending them back until I feel them crack. She cries out, and Phillip comes to her aid, circling his arms around my waist to pull me off. I don’t have a second to fight back, because like I weigh nothing at all, Talent takes me from Phillip and passes me off to his dad in waiting.
“Stay calm,” David Ridge warns me in a reassuring voice. “They’ll get what’s coming to them.”
Talent shrugs out of his jacket and drops it to the floor, gearing up for a fight with Phillip Vogel. Wilder stands at his flank, hands fisted. But when you’re in a room with the Coppola crime family, guns are drawn and anyone without a weapon stands down.
Unless you’re Talent Ridge.
Talent’s gray eyes turn black, and he shoves past the men with the guns. What sobers me isn’t Talent’s courage to push past a few gunmen, but the fact that they let him. His fist collides with Phillip’s face, whose nose explodes in a bloody mess. Amid the commotion, Naomi manages to get away.
“I just want to talk.” Phillip holds his hand out not to be hit again.
“It’s too late for that,” Wilder says, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
Talent motions to hit Phillip again, but Giovanni comes forward and says, “That’s enough.”
He pats Talent’s chest lightly and comes to stand between him and Phillip Vogel protectively. Phillip is small under his stare, and he winces like the look alone is painful.
“My dad has tried to get in touch with you,” Phillip says. Blood runs over his lips. “We can fix this. It was a stupid mistake.”
“Can someone get this man a napkin? He’s bleeding all over the floor,” Giovanni smiles and says. “I think it’s best if we continue this conversation in another room. It’s my birthday party, by the way.”
Talent picks up his jacket from the floor and immediately comes for me. In a grave voice, he says, “Let’s go.”
“Is that her?” Phillip asks before we have a chance to walk away. My blood turns to concrete when I realize he’s referring to me. “Come on, Talent. How long have we been friends? Don’t let the fucking whore get between us.”
This time Wilder jumps to my defense, but Giovanni’s men move in and take Phillip by his arms, shoving him forward. Any trace of amusement sinks from Giovanni’s face, leaving his expression calculating and cold.
He tugs his shirt straight, and as he walks past us, he says, “It’s time to end this.”
David and Wilder follow Giovanni and his men right away, like it’s completely normal to shadow a crime boss—like they belong. I don’t understand what’s going on and my composure slips farther and farther out of reach the harder I try to put the pieces together.
“Look at me.” Talent takes my face in his hands. Like a magnetic force, my attention is pulled away from his retreating family to him. His eyes are solid black and severe. “I love you, okay. I fucking love you, and I need you to be strong. Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine.”
“This doesn’t feel like you’re not in the mafia, Talent,” I say like a punch to the stomach.
He shakes his head. “It’s complicated. I promise to explain once we leave.”
“Let’s leave now.”
“We can’t,” he says grimly. “We have to go with them. Don’t leave my side. Don’t say a word. I’ll get us out of here as quickly as I can.”
In a meeting room just outside the grand ballroom, Giovanni Coppola sits at the head of a long wooden table in a black leather seat. David and Wilder sit at the table directly to his left, and the men with guns sit at his right. Phillip Vogel is on his knees in the corner with his hands tied behind his back. The music from the party is nothing more than a low hum, and the air conditioner is too cold in here.
“Take a seat, Talent,” Giovanni says, motioning toward the chairs beside David and Wilder. Talent sits closest to his brother, putting me as far away from Giovanni and the guns as possible.
“Does she need to be here?” Talent asks. His voice is even, unafraid—like he too belongs.
Giovanni considers me, and for the first time tonight I get a good look at him. In an age of instant news, social media, and big brother type surveillance, crime families no longer flaunt their wealth with fancy cars, fur coats, and stacks of cash. They don’t plant bombs in the cars of their enemies, kidnap for ransom, or brandish their power publicly like they once did. The mob has integrated themselves into the community to keep a low profile and conduct business under the radar.