I carry the glasses and the bottle to the couch, sit and pour for both of us.
“Come here.”
She hugs her arms, but moves toward me.
“Here.” I hold one of the glasses out to her. She eyes it but doesn’t reach out for it. “It’ll calm you down.”
“What is it?” she asks.
“Whiskey.”
She takes it, drinks the smallest sip. Flinches when she swallows.
After draining mine, I pour a second glass and reach to turn on the lamp beside me. I sit back folding one ankle over my knee and stretching an arm over the back of the couch to get a good look at her. She was wearing makeup at some point but her earlier tears have smeared mascara across her cheek. Her eyes, a pretty almond-shape, are so dark, they’re almost black. Her skin has a pale olive tone and she keeps biting her lower lip so it’s bleeding a little. I can’t tell how long her hair is. She’s bound the dark mass into a messy bun.
“What did those men do?” she asks, surprising me.
I smile. “Don’t worry about that.” She’s standing awkwardly and I’m thinking. “Do you know who I am?” I know she would have heard my name more than once.
She lowers her lashes and I wonder if she’s contemplating lying, but then she nods once.
“Who?”
“Mafia.”
“My name.”
“Sergio Benedetti.”
“Do you know my family?”
“Not really. I’ve heard the name, that’s all.”
“Drink your drink.”
She takes another sip. “I have class tomorrow,” she says.
I nod. Sip. Consider.
“What are you going to do?” she asks finally.
“I’m not going to do anything. You are. Get undressed.”
“What?” She begins to tremble, shrinks into herself as she hugs her arms tighter to her.
“Get undressed, Natalie.”
“Why?” her voice is a squeak.
“Insurance.”
“Why?” she repeats, taking a step backward.
“Because I need to make sure when I take you home later, that you’re not going to tell any of your friends what you saw or heard.” I wait. Watch her process. “It’s the only way to keep you safe,” I add on, not really sure why.
“Safe? How will that keep me safe?”
“Trust me—”
