“She really said that?”
“Yeah.”
I take a long drag and let the smoke curl lazily from my lips, watching it drift into the winter air.
“Not surprising, really. I’m shocked she hasn’t tried to move me out while he’s been away.” I pause, letting my fingers brush his when I hand the cigarette back. “You know, I didn’t get to see much of the city before Sienna died.”
His smile fades just a little. “Chicago is beautiful,” he says quietly. “It’s a shame you haven’t gotten to see much of it.”
“Especially the holiday market.” I keep my tone light, almost wistful. “Sienna talked about it all the time. Have you been?”
“Of course. We take my mother every year.” His gaze meets mine, steady but uncertain. “You know… I bet I could take you. We could go this evening. Grab pizza on the way back.”
My heart stutters. “Oh my gosh, that would be so much fun. Are you sure, though? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
He gives me a half-smile. “It’ll be fine. Besides, Don Conti isn’t going to be back for at least four more days.”
Four days.
Four chances to feel normal.
We agree to meet in the foyer at two.
Part of me knows this is reckless—stupid, even—but I can’t seem to stop myself. Maybe that’s why I spend too long in front of the mirror, slipping into tight jeans and a low-cut sweater that feels almost defiant. A little mascara, a touch of gloss, and a fluff to my wavy hair. I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me, but she looks alive.
Thankfully, I don’t run into Rosa on my way to the foyer. My heart beats faster with every step I take down the marble staircase.
Rick’s already waiting at the door, jacket on, hands in his pockets. When he sees me, his eyes widen just slightly before he smiles.
“Ready?” he asks.
“More than ready,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”
14
Birdie
The market is everything I dreamed it would be. Strings of twinkling lights overhead, the scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon drifting through the air, laughter rising from every direction. For the first time in weeks, I’m surrounded by people who don’t know who I am, what I’ve seen, or what I’ve lost.
For once, I’m not a mafia hostage. Or guest. Or whatever they’re calling me.
I’m just… me.
And surprisingly, I really like hanging out with Rick.
We grab hot chocolate from a wooden booth decorated with pine garlands and sit on an empty bench tucked under a tree strung with fairy lights. He’s been talking about his friends who are home for winter break. It’s normal stuff and I cling to it like oxygen.
“We can swing by a party later, if you want to,” he says.
I laugh into my cup. “How did a guard for a mafia don end up with regular friends who go to college?”
“For a while, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I looked into going to college and everything,” he says, his breath fogging in the cold. “But my dad reminded me of how kind the Conti family is. How loyal they are. It’s not the worst life.”
I wrap my hands tighter around the cup, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. “You must be braver than me.”
He grins. “How so?”
“I think I would’ve chosen a simple life over the mafia,” I admit. “Something quiet. Definitely something safe.”
