Page 10 of Nobody's Girl

He grinned. “Italian. My mother is Italian, my Dad’s American.”

“Ivo Zacca…” Sofia’s memory was jogged by his last name. Her eyes opened wide. “You’re Walter Zacca’s son?”

Ivo grinned shyly. “That obvious?”

“You look like him,” she admitted, “but more like your mother. My mom was a huge fan of your mom’s.”

“Was?”

Sofia felt the familiar pain in her chest but it was so good to be able to talk about her mom to someone “She died six months ago.”

“I’m sorry. Was she sick?”

“Brain aneurysm. Gone in a second. Just like that.” Ouch. The pain never lessened. “I was with her,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Just gone, Ivo.” She shook her head in disbelief and Ivo squeezed her hand.

“I’m so sorry, Sofia.” He hesitated before placing his palm against her cheek. “No-one should have to go through that. What about your dad?”

Sofia leaned into his touch. It felt so natural to be this intimate with this man, even if he was a virtual stranger. He was so warm, so kind…and he smelled amazing, like warm cotton and spicy cologne. “My biological dad I never knew. My step-father…he threw me out of his house on the day of my mother’s funeral.”

“Asshole,” Ivo spat, his eyes angry. “Who the hell does that?”

“I never saw it coming, Ivo.” God, it was so good to talk about this. “Never. He gave me what my mother had left me and told me to get out. I still don’t understand why. Until my mom died, he was the model father. Then, nothing. Cold as stone.” Sofia gave a heavy sigh and then smiled. “Sorry, wallowing in self-pity won’t help anyone.”

“I think you’re entitled.” His thumb was stroking the back of her hand now, and they gazed at each other for the longest time.

“How is it I feel I know you?” she said, and Ivo grinned.

“I don’t know but it’s weird and good at the same time. I’d like to spend more time with you, but there’s no obligation at all, I want to make that clear. I’m worried I’ll come off as some sort of creepy stalker.”

Sofia laughed. “Well, now you mention it…no, I’m kidding. I’d like to get to know you too.” She stuck out her hand. “Sofia Amory.”

He shook it. “Very glad to meet you, Sofia Amory. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.

She smiled at him, her face flushing. “Me, too, Ivo Zacca. Me too.”

It was two weeks before the doctors would let Sofia leave the hospital. In that time, Ivo had introduced her to Desiree, and between them they had persuaded her to take the job. “But I won’t take charity,” she warned them. “I will work my ass off for you, Desiree, and Ivo, as soon as I make some money, I’m paying you back for the medical bills.”

Ivo stopped himself from saying that unless she won the lottery, it was unlikely. He knew how important it was to Sofia that she didn’t appear a gold-digger.

“After your rent and food and heating, etc. etc.” He said and she rolled her eyes.

Desiree was still wary of Sofia, but she wouldn’t tell Ivo why. Ivo guessed Desiree knew he was falling for the young woman, and he could understand her reticence. He and Sofia didn’t know each other. Desiree had offered Sofia a spare room in her apartment and Sofia had tentatively agreed.

“She does scare me a little,” Sofia confided as she packed her stuff into the ever-present backpack on the day she was being discharged. Ivo helped her put her jacket on.

“Don’t tell her this, but me too. Listen,” he took Sofia’s hand as they walked out of the door into the corridor. “Desiree is tough, yes, but she wants the best for you. We both do. If Desiree seems a little aloof, it’s because she’s had to be to get where she is, you get what I mean?”

Sofia nodded. “I really do. Growing up in Westchester as a mixed race half-Indian girl? I get it.”

Ivo smiled. “Now, how about we go grab some lunch, then when Desiree is free, she’ll show you around the gallery.”

Tamara Rutland was bored. Six months since her hated step-mother had died, and that scrappy ragdoll of a daughter had been kicked out, and Tamara had expected that she would fill their gap in her father’s life, that he would finally see her as his rightful heir. His companion. Instead, Fergus had taken to screwing around and burying himself in work. Tamara knew about the fight with Jonas, of course. Her nose wrinkled when she thought about her brother. They had never been close. Jonas had all the soft decency that their mother, their stupidly trusting mother used to have. He didn’t have the ruthless streak that marked Tamara out from her…peers. Tamara didn’t have friends, she found no use for them, other than to torture, to fuck their boyfriends then tell them about it, all for sport. More than once she had been on the receiving end of a mad girlfriend’s wrath. Tamara took the beatings – enjoyed them – they made her feel alive. Lately, though, that kind of sport seemed too tame.

In New York’s seedier areas, however, she had discovered a new hobby. She overheard a conversation at one of her father’s interminable parties. The speaker had been a woman Tamara loathed so she hovered on the periphery of the group.

“Seriously, Bianca and I went just to check it out, but when we got there, everyone was naked, masked so we thought, ‘what the hell?’” Her companions had laughed. The woman took a slug of her scotch. “And you would not believe what went on in that club. Spanking, chains, nipple clamps, whips – people fucking each other, two or three at a time…god. Anything was acceptable and because we were all masked, it gave it that frisson of excitement, you know? Bianca was convinced by one man to whip him until he bled! You’ve never seen such a hard-on after she had finished with him. I was almost tempted to ride him myself, but Bianca had done all the work, so it was only polite that she got to fuck him.”