She’s not pulling away, but she’s not climbing into my lap either. I can’t tell what my chances are of getting a second date, so I do my best to be cheerful on the drive back to her place. She seems a little anxious, but maybe she’s grappling with her own natural instincts the way I am with mine. Wouldn’t that be amazing if we were both on the same page?
When we pull up to her apartment building, I get out. I open the door for her and walk her to the door. She fumbles in her bag for her keys and can’t seem to find them.
“I can wait,” I offer.
“No, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “I can just buzz my way in. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
I lean in for the kiss, but contain myself to a quick peck on the lips. It’s a tantalizing glimpse into what might await me in the future. She does indeed smell like strawberries, somethingthat’s either the work of her perfume or her shampoo, I can’t tell which.
I pull myself away before getting too invested. I don’t want her to think that I’m only interested in getting into her panties. And the doorman is watching us from inside the lobby. I turn around, giving her a wave before climbing back into my car.
As we drive away, I can see her standing on the curb, looking back at me. That has to be a good sign. She’s so invested in our date, she doesn’t even want to go inside. When the car turns out onto the street, I sit back.
I don’t know how the date could have gone better. Reviewing all the data, I decide I did well. She was engaged throughout our conversation. She felt relaxed enough to eat cake, and she didn’t push me away at the end. I didn’t get confirmation of a second date, and I think I’ll wait a bit before texting her. I don’t want her to think I’m too eager, or to get the impression that I’m crowding her. But after a few days, I’ll reach out. Maybe this is the beginning of something epic in my life. It’s about time.
I’m consumed by my thoughts as the car gets onto the freeway. I don’t even notice the miles passing until we’re pulling up to the house. As soon as I see those iron gates, my mood sours. I don’t want to be home. Home is depressing. Home is where my father rules, and where my stepmother can’t see anything but her love for her husband. Home is full of thick-necked thieves who have been in more violent encounters than I care to know about.
I roll my eyes, sitting back until the car comes to a complete stop. Getting out, I thank Tommy for his service. He waves cheerfully at me. He’s a good kid, far too new to my father’s organization to be jaded yet.
A moment later, another car pulls up. This one is my bodyguard, and he tosses a cigarette onto the driveway before getting out. I don’t acknowledge him at all. It works better that way. He’s being paid to stand in the shadows, and there’s no reason for us to be friends.
I hightail it into the house, going straight for the stairs. Uncle Gio and my father are sitting on the couch in the living room, watching a basketball game.
“Frankie!” Gio shouts, raising a beer to me. “Come, have a seat.”
“I’m pretty tired,” I lie.
“Come on,” Gio insists.
I rack my brain for a reason to refuse. The last thing I want to do is have a drink with my father. He’s the reason my life is so strange, the reason I have such a hard time finding women who are interested in me. He’s probably just taking a break from whatever business he has going on in his office. I couldn’t count the number of times our family bonding has been interrupted by some crisis on the streets. I’m not in the mood right now.
“I have some studying to do,” I say.
“Take a break,” Gio begs me.
“Let him go,” my father says. “He’s too serious.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, even though it was a backhanded compliment.
I hurry upstairs to lock my door and shut the entire criminal enterprise out. When I’m all alone, I can focus on my date with Sofia again. I remove my tie, wondering what she’s up to. Is she taking a bath? Maybe she’s sitting in bed with a good book.
I hope she’s thinking about me, and all the fun we had tonight. If I play my cards right, I’m sure that we can have a future. Maybe I don’t have to sit around, pitifully single while my father celebrates the birth of another child. With any luck, I’ll have a girlfriend of my own and a life outside the family.
If only it were that easy.
CHAPTER 8
SOFIA
As soon as Frankie pulls away, I leave my fake address. The doorman’s looking at me strangely, but luckily there are so many people who live in the building that he can’t immediately write me off as a trespasser.
I hurry down the street, eager to get to my apartment to write everything down. I barge through the door, throwing my purse onto the kitchen counter. My laptop is right where I left it, in a bag by the table. I pull it out, open it up, and type.
I stay glued to the computer for more than an hour, trying to remember every detail of my conversation with Frankie. He was more tight-lipped than I expected. I thought for sure I could manage to get him drunk. If I had just shown enough leg, if I had leaned into the conversation, I should have been able to get him to say something.
But mostly, he remained mute about his family’s affairs. I’m surprised he slipped up and admitted his father is a billionaire. At the time, I got very excited, thinking I was going to have a whole wealth of information to sort through. But now that I’vegotten it down on paper, I can see that there isn’t a lot to work with.
When I’m done, I take a shower and go to bed. In the morning, I drive back to the office to fill Mr. Harlan in on what happened.
