I think about that. He’s more mysterious than I’d prefer. To the point of being a red flag, I feel.
But I also know New York City men well enough to know that they can be a lot. And strange. Northeastern people have a reputation for being distant.
Still…
On the way home, I check my texts and messages. There’s one from Eliza and I pull up the stream.
ELIZA: Hey. I was wondering if you could check in on Bella.
AMARA: Of course. Is everything okay?
ELIZA: She’s being extra lately.
AMARA: Extra teenagery? Extra spicey? Extra Bella?
ELIZA: All of the above.
A pang of guilt nestles into the pit of my stomach. I know she’s struggling, more so than the other two. Eliza and Gianni are old enough to somewhat be able to rationalize the B-rated action movie that has become our life. Bella, on the other hand, is still a kid. And all of this must seem like pointless drama to her. Not to mention traumatic.
I have about twenty minutes before we get back to the estate, and even though I’m not alone, I really don’t care if Ivan can hear my phone conversations. As odd as it is, with everything he’s been around for, I can pretty much call him family now.
Bella answers on the third ring. One more and it would have gone to voicemail. In today’s avoidant day and age, I consider myself lucky.
“Hey,” she says with little to no expression or enthusiasm in her voice. Although that’s not really new.
“Hey!” I say with too much of both, and I’m sure I’ve earned myself a cringe.
“What’s up?” she asks. Meanwhile, I can hear music in the background, Nineties grunge from the sounds of it.
“I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” I say.
“You mean, you want to know why Eliza and Gianni think I’m crashing out?”
Teenage slang, I swear. Translation: she’s acting a little crazy.
“Yeah. I’m worried about you.”
“I don’t see why it matters. No one listens when I say what’s going on anyways,” she says, and I frown.
“Well, I’m asking because I care. Now what’s going on?”
“What can you do from over there?”
I have to shield myself from a lot of spikes. I knew this going in. This whole conversation is booby-trapped, but I’m ready for it.
“I can love you. And if it comes down to it, Icanhelp. I have resources.”
“Your rich and powerful mobster boyfriend. Right.”
“Don’t call him that,” I warn her, though the longer this conversation carries on, the more I realize there’s not a lot I can do from here after all.
“Your rich and powerful mobsterbaby daddy. Right.”
I bite back any argument I have left in me. If there is anything I have learned about Bella, it’s that she has the horsepower to go around in circles forever if I argue with her. If there’s anythingelseI’ve learned, it’s that if I stop arguing she will eventually soften up and tell me what’s on her mind.
So I wait.
And sure enough, I hear the sigh.
