Mr. Harlan hangs up. He’s not my dad, but he’s doing a pretty good imitation of one. I guess he just doesn’t want to lose a reporter. It’s nice knowing that there’s someone looking out for me, someone who knows what I’m up against. For all my talk of meeting in a public place and not allowing things to go too far,I’m still nervous. If Frankie’s father finds out about this, or if anyone makes the connection between me and Danny, I could be in big trouble.
I check myself in the mirror once more. I’m ready. I’ve got this. “Piece of cake,” I tell my reflection out loud.
I hurry outside, lock my door, and walk the few blocks down to the place I told Frankie about. It’s a high-rise apartment building with a doorman and everything. But I’m not going into the lobby, so I don’t have to show them any ID. I’m just going to wait on the curb and pretend like I’m one of the hundreds of people who come and go from that building every day.
That’s one perk of being a young woman; people rarely ask who I am or what I’m up to. They just assume that because I’m cute, I’m allowed to be there. Pretty privilege is a real thing, and I’m not above using it to my advantage.
I don’t have to wait long before a black town car pulls up. I hold my breath, half expecting to see Francisco Corello himself leaning out of the window. But it’s not Francisco, it’s his son Frankie. And he looks overjoyed to see me.
“Sofia,” he says, stepping out of the back.
I act surprised, as if I’m not expecting him to come in a chauffeured car. “What’s this?”
“My family has a little bit of money,” he explains sheepishly. “It’s just easier with a chauffeur. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” I say, easing past him as he holds the door open.
Inside the car, it is immaculate. It isn’t exactly a stretch limo, and there is no champagne to drink on the way. But it’s spacious,and it smells like money, two things that probably arouse normal girls.
“You probably show all the women around town in this thing,” I tease.
“Not as many as you would think,” he counters with his annoyingly adorable, self-deprecating smile.
“So, this isn’t a ploy to get busy in the backseat?” I ask, half serious.
“No, of course not,” he assures me. “I’m just not that great at navigating city streets, and with Tommy driving, we won’t have to worry about parking.”
“Tommy?” I repeat.
“Yeah,” Frankie says. “Do you want to meet him?”
“Hi, Tommy,” I say, waving into the rearview mirror.
“Miss,” Tommy says.
“So how rich are you?” I ask, turning to my date.
“On a scale of one to ten?” he answers my question with a question.
“On a scale of one to ten billion,” I clarify.
“Maybe one billion,” he responds.
I nearly choke on my tongue. One billion dollars is incredible. That’s so much more than I thought the family was worth. It almost catapults my investigation into a whole new realm. Not only am I dealing with mobsters, but they probably have international connections as well. I know they have family backin Italy, but where else do their roots stretch? I have to calm my excitement or risk him figuring out that I’m something more than I seem.
I decide to play it coy and pretend like I’m not interested in his money. “My father was a grocery store clerk,” I lie. “I’ve never even met anyone that rich before.”
“I’m not rich,” he says, just like every other privileged young person out there. “My father is.”
I let that comment slide. I’m not ready to talk about his father just yet. I need to get a few drinks into him first, which shouldn’t be too hard since he’s not expecting to drive home. After we discuss our lives, I can gently turn the conversation around to Francisco Corello. But not yet. I don’t want to say anything too insightful and risk cluing him into the bigger picture.
“So does that mean you’ve traveled?” I ask, trying to find a safe topic.
“Some,” he agrees. “What about you?”
“I’ve never been outside the United States,” I say. It’s true, I haven’t traveled extensively, but not for lack of money.
“Where have you traveled inside the United States?” he asks.
