I had a feeling that phone of his was for more than emails and games to pass the time.
Cilla sighed hard from the back seat. “I can feel the tension between you two, and it’s a silent fucking conversation in my ear. Put some music on so I can drown it out.”
I went to do it, but Aniello stopped me. I looked at him, but he kept his face forward.
“Manners never go out of style,” he said in Italian.
“Please,O great one,” she said with a sneer.
I glanced at her through the mirror. Cilla gazed out the window while petting Bambina. Cilla’s anger was her armor, just like her sense of humor at inappropriate times.
She’d called me a traitor before we left. I looked down at my nails as my heart fell.
Was I traitor? Was I that woman Bria accused me of being?
Aniello refusing to fill in my memories for me never felt so right than it did in that moment. I’d always question someone else’s secondhand account. Because perceptions differed from person to person. He might have known of the situation, but he was biased. He…liked me. That might alter his view of whatever went on between Bria and me.
“I saidplease,” Cilla said from the back seat.
This time, when I leaned forward to turn on the radio, Aniello didn’t stop me. He couldn’t stop me from staring at him, either, when I realized the song that played. “Angelia.”
“No way,” I said. It was too much of a coincidence for me to give my dog the same name.A real name, as he’d called it. Is that why I’d picked it? He liked this song?
“Way,” he said, still not looking at me, but it still felt like his eyes were on me when his attention was.
He was confirming it then.
Cilla barked out a laugh. “Never took you for a pop-rock fan, Candle.”
“The only thing you take me for is a monster,” he said.
“Aren’t you?”
“Never said you were wrong.”
Cilla sighed and glared out of the window. We all became quiet. The music continued to play as we sped through the night. I listened to every word of every song, only glancing at Aniello when a few lyrics seemed to hit a note inside of me.
The music continued to play as we pulled into the parking lot of a seedy night club. I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes. Scuttlebutts. It wasn’t a night club, but a strip club. The neon girl on the pole should have tipped me off, but I didn’t see it until Aniello parked right in front of the place.
“Do you own this place?” I said, watching as streams of men, and some women, were constantly coming and going, some hanging out outside.
The music played in the car, but I could still feel the vibration of the bass coming from inside of the strip club.
“No.” He leaned over and hit the glovebox. It popped open and he pulled out a shiny black handgun. “If any of these doors open, and it’s not me, shoot to kill.” He pointed to the spot right between his eyes and then in the center of his chest. Then he put the gun back but kept the box open. “There will be no problem, but I don’t take unnecessary risks.”
He hesitated for a second and then he put on a song I hadn’t heard. He stepped out of the car, telling me to make sure the doors locked behind him.
He took out a pair of leather gloves from his pocket and slipped them onto his hands as he stood outside of the car. He knocked on the window once after he did, reminding me to check the doors, and then he headed toward the entrance.
No one stopped him from cutting the line. In fact, they were moving out of his way, giving him too much space. None of them met his eyes, either. Some of the men only gave a nod and then continued to do whatever they were doing.
“With you,” Cilla said.
“Huh?” I’d been so focused on watching him, I wasn’t sure if she had said anything before that.
“He doesn’t take unnecessary risks with you,” she said. She sounded like she was disgusted, but I felt it had more to do with me than with what she was saying. “Why he’s bringing you to work with him though—I have no fucking clue.”
“Maybe he wants a lap dance,” I whispered.
