“Amica!” she practically yelled. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Now that’s a dress! Not too many can speak that language because not too many women can pull it off. You,amica,ownthat dress. And if Aniello Assanti has a possessive bone in his body that belongs to you, he’s going to pounce.”
She swiped her phone from the counter, turning it toward me. “This moment deserves to be immortalized on my cellphone.” She snapped the picture and then came to stand beside me. She scooped up Bambina and held the camera out, going for a selfie of the three of us. “Smile!”
I didn’t really feel like taking pictures—I actually felt like I was about to lose my dinner—but she set her head against mine and snapped it anyway. She went to look at it, but the text from her mom came up. She moved it from the screen, but the webpage she was opened to earlier came up.
Before she could remove it, I took the phone out of her hand, zooming in. Then I zoomed out before I showed her the entire picture.
“What’s this?” I turned the phone toward her.
“A picture from that scene in Queens I was telling you about earlier. The girl’s names in blood.”
I gave her phone back before she noticed my hands shaking.
Rosaliawas written on the wall in blood.
* * *
Idecidedto drive myself to Club D. After what Cilla did to some of the girls who worked the same shift, I wasn’t ready to face the catty looks, much less any issues.
My thoughts were too scattered. I kept flipping back and forth between the dress I was wearing and my name on that wall.
Rosalia.
My name written in blood. Blood from four attackers who had assaulted numerous women.
Four men who had been reduced to four pictures.
I was thankful that the wrought-iron gates in front of Club D hadn’t opened yet and I was stalled—because the truth hit me hard.
The pictures that filled the four squares in the article were of the same guys who had been checking out my car before the festival.
“Tesla Roadster?”
They had come back, knowing where I had parked, in a more secluded area, and that I was alone. I hadn’t paid much attention to them, rushing to meet Ben. They knew that too. They were watching. Waiting. Then they came back disguised as glowing skeletons in the darkness to turn me into a victim.
The gates to Club D opened and I pulled in, following the long drive. Trees surrounded me on each side until I came closer and the land opened. The lawn became more manicured, even though there were a few big trees left as part of the landscape design. Including the one that had a trunk hard and wide enough to stop a car and eject me out of it.
My headlights lit what once had created a bloody scene, and I stopped the car and put it in park when I came close enough. I realized after I did how hard my hands were squeezing the steering wheel. I almost had to pry them off to open the door.
With unsteady feet, I stepped out, spotting the burgundy rose right away. Someone had placed it against the trunk, its stem resting in the grass. A shard of glass that had been tucked into the petals shimmered from the beams of the headlights.
The last time I’d found a piece, the moon had softened its appearance some, making it seem not as dangerous as it was.
The truth was mine, though.
The many scars on my body proved how vicious shards against flesh were. The flesh is weak, giving into many different impacts, including desire.
I looked toward Club D.
It was shrouded in darkness, its stained-glass windows glinting against the soft lights burning on the outside. I had no idea how many secrets lived inside those walls, but I knew for a fact that something menacing was hiding this one, the one that belonged to me, and I was determined to find out the truth.
After tucking the rose and glass in my bag on the passenger seat, I followed the drive and parked in my usual spot. The women who were arriving at the same time, either by car or bus, made no secret of watching me as I walked in. I was going to be the talk of Club D by the time the night was over, then the talk of the complex come tomorrow.
This dress didn’t hide much of my body—including my scars.
Holding my head up high, I felt a grin come to my face. Instead of imagining them all naked, I was remembering how some of them were following behind Cilla, doing shit that I knew was straight out of the depths of her twisted mind.
Then I thought about what Aniello had said to me. “Everyone wants an excuse not to like someone. I just make it worth their time.”
