I’m flabbergasted. I want to be happy for my friend, but I thought she understood me. I thought her going to UCLA was on the same level as my rebellions.
I never expected her to come back and become a mob wife. Have little mob babies.
And how is it possible that I had no idea? She’s one of my oldest friends. I mean, we don’t talk every day or anything, but we do talk enough.
“How come you didn’t tell me?” I ask. My voice sounds tinny and hollow in my ears.
“I didn’t…” she trails off. Looks at something off-screen. “I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”
A bitter laugh escapes my throat. “Why would I be mad at you?”
The tone of it is almost enough to answer the question.
“I knew you wouldn’t approve,” she says.
“It’s not that I don’t approve,” I say. “And you don’t need my approval anyway, of course. It’s just?—”
“I know,” she says, and it sounds a little bit sad. Sad for me, stuck in a delusion of getting away from the Campisi legacy somehow?
Sad because we’re veering onto different paths somehow?
“I guessed I just hoped you’d be happy for me. Mikey and I really do love each other. He’s a good guy.”
“I… I love you, Maria,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I want you to be happy. I really do.”
She smiles softly, eyes flicking down for a second.
“And you deserve it,” I continue. “You deserve to make your own choices… the ones that are right for you.”
She looks up at me then, her grin a little brighter. “Thanks, Leanna. That… really means a lot.”
I hang up, because I suddenly can’t breathe. I feel really, really alone. And really, really trapped because being in this family is like a vice, and the vice just keeps getting tighter and tighter.
I feel overwhelmed and claustrophobic because I know that word of this will get to my dad soon, and then it will be me in the conversation about marriage to someone I don’t love, won’t love.
The train stops, then, and I stumble off, ears ringing, stomach roiling.
And I throw up. Right there on the platform.
7
NIK
I never usethat old American colloquialism, ‘Thank God it’s Friday.’ But seriously, thank God it’s Friday.
We played two games this week, losing one on the road and winning one at home. Two wins in a row would’ve bought us a day off. Too bad streaks aren’t our thing. So here we are, dragging through a brutal two-hour practice.
All I really want is to head to the club, put on a mask, and let that strange girl dance for me again. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head.
She seemed…innocent somehow, and yet… impossible to ignore.
When I told Vasiliy to bring her back as my exclusive, he hesitated—actually asked if I was sure. He said she’d only danced on a dare, that she wasn’t even a pro.
He apologized for the security breach.
I couldn’t care less about any of that.
All I cared about was the woman who made me forget my own rules, and the way her soft, sugary-peach scent tangled with the dark, musky heat of her arousal.
