When I see him step out onto the balcony to smoke, something inside me stirs. Curiosity. Or maybe just the craving for human conversation that doesn’t sound like an order.
“Looks like we might get rain today,” I say, slipping through the French doors and letting them click softly shut behind me.
He spins fast, hiding his cigarette behind his back like a kid caught skipping class. “Ms. Miller. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“You’re Riccardo, right?”
“Yes, miss.” He straightens a little. “You can call me Rick, though.”
“Please call me Birdie,” I say with a small smile. “Can I have a drag of that?”
He blinks, unsure if I’m serious. I arch a brow, and he hesitates only a second before handing it over. The filter is warm from his lips.
I take a slow drag, letting the smoke sting my lungs before exhaling toward the skyline. The taste is harsh, bitter. Sienna would have been proud because I don’t cough once, something she always teased me about when we smoked at parties.
Leaning against the railing, I ask lightly, “How long have you worked for Mr. Conti?”
“Since I was eighteen.” He smiles again, a little shy this time. “My dad and brother work for Don Conti, too.”
“Oh?” I glance at him. “What do they do?”
“Dad’s mostly on vehicle duty now. He got shot a few years back, so he doesn’t move as fast as he used to. But he’s still the best driver we have. My brother does a little bit of everything.”
I hum softly, turning the cigarette between my fingers. “You must’ve drawn the short stick to get stuck protecting me.”
He looks away, smoke curling between us. “I don’t mind. You’re easy to watch.” His cheeks flush instantly. “I mean—uh—you’re easy on the eyes, too.”
A laugh slips from me before I can stop it. It’s the first real one I’ve had in days. “Which part didn’t you mean?”
That earns an even deeper blush. “I just meant you’re nice to be around. And surely you know you’re pretty.”
“Pretty?” I echo, taking another slow drag. “I haven’t felt that in a while. But thanks for saying it.”
I hand him the cigarette, our fingers brushing briefly.
“Well, Rick,” I say with a hint of playfulness, “if you ever get bored of staring at doors and walls, I know a few card games. You know where to find me.”
He nods, smiling again, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes like he’s not sure if I’m teasing or serious.
I turn back inside before he can figure it out.
When I glance over my shoulder, he’s still standing there, watching me through the glass. Good. Maybe Rick isn’t just a friendly face. Maybe he’s the key to getting me out of here. Even if it’s only for one night.
Three more days pass like that. Shared cigarettes, quiet conversations, and stolen moments on the balcony. Each time, the city below feels a little less like a prison and a little more like a promise.
Today, the sky hangs low and gray when we step outside. The other guard gives Rick a look and mutters under his breath, “You must have a death wish.”
Rick ignores him until we’re alone, then exhales a soft laugh. “Sorry about him. He thinks Don Conti will be displeased that we’re hanging out.”
“Displeased?” I echo, feigning lightness even as my stomach twists. “Why would that displease him?”
“Well, everyone knows you’re a special guest.”
Special guest. Ha! That must be the mafia’s polite version of a hostage.
“Would he be displeased if you were talking to Francesca?” I ask, tipping my head.
That earns a grin. “No, but Ms. Marino has made it clear that staff isn’t to address her.”
