“I don’t know,” I mumble, the night air slapping me cold as I try to steady myself up, brushing my long hair out of my face.
“Looks like we’ll be blacklisted from here.”
Mel hails a taxi for us to slide in. The city lights blur past the window as we drive through New York. His words hang heavily inmy thoughts:“See you soon,Principessa.”I wonder what he meant by that…
After the chaos of last week’s encounter at Pulse, I decided to bury myself deeper into work and accept extra shifts at Doug’s Diner. It’s nothing glamorous—the owner’s a sleazeball, kind of obvious since his company is an innuendo for a DD cup size—but it’s enough to cover rent and scrape by.
When my father died last year, I didn’t continue my major in business. I was only doing it because my father insisted, and I would’ve done anything to make him happy. But after he died, I lost all motivation, I dropped out of my major and moved to New York City. The Big Apple. The place my dad had always forbidden me to visit. Growing up, it felt strange. Everyone else’s families frequently visited the city, but not mine. Dad would always make excuses or take us elsewhere.
I stumbled into the waiter job at Doug’s Diner by accident two days later. Forgetting to bring an umbrella on a walk through the city, I found refuge in the diner while waiting for a storm to pass. After chatting with the waitress, she offered me a job on the spot. I’m smart enough that I could get a good assistant job, but it’s not my passion. Although, if I’m being honest, I don’t even know what my passion is, what I’m meant to be in life.
Tonight’s slower than normal, and there’s only one person left. I’ve been patiently waiting for him to leave so I can lock up early, but he seems to be taking his time. Wiping my hands on my apron, I stroll over to his booth in the back corner of the diner.
“Can I get you anything else?” I politely ask.
He looks up at me and smiles cheekily in his sleek, all-black Gucci clothes, his blonde hair pulled tight into a flawless top knot. He almost has an eternal edge to him, but his brown eyes don’t miss a thing; sharp and calculating, scanning the quiet diner with deadly intensity, even though we’re the only two out the front. He seems out of place in a diner like this.
“Just another cup of coffee,” he says, raising his mug for me.
“You’ve been here for four hours and all you order is coffee. I’ll be surprised if you can sleep at all tonight,” I laugh, refilling his cup.
“Care to join me and find out?” He winks.
Blushing, I hesitate, half considering his offer, but decide to quickly make up a lie instead when my mind trails back to the man front the club. “My boyfriend wouldn’t be happy with that,” I say, leaving the bill on his table before I turn to walk away.
“I don’t see no boyfriend around here. Do you?” he says seductively, stopping me in my tracks. I turn as he skulls the cup of coffee and throws some money on the table. “See you soon, beautiful.” He winks and walks out the door.
I sigh while I pick up the bill from his table. Men…That’s the second one in a week to tell me I’ll see him soon. My hand freezes as I reach to collect the tip. $300? For just drinking coffee? Is this a joke? I quickly run outside, but he’s nowhere to be seen. He just disappeared into thin air. That’s strange… he only walked out the door a couple seconds before me. How could he vanish this quickly? Too bad if I was going to change my mind.
I ring out the till and lock up for the night before I start the eerie walk home.
I sold my car when I moved to New York, deciding that walking and catching public transport would be easier—live in the NewYork lifestyle everyone talks about. But I didn’t factor in the late-night walks home. Just past midnight, the city is still a buzz with noise, but the couple of blocks walk back home feels extra lonely and always has me on edge.
But tonight feels odder than normal, the air feeling colder and unshakable, every step towards my apartment feels heavier. I keep glancing over my shoulder only to be met with empty streets, but the hairs on my neck stand on edge, as a chill snakes down my spine. Someone is watching. I can feel it, even if I can’t see them.
I quicken my pace.Keep it together,I tell myself. Reaching for my apartment door, my hands are now trembling as I go to unlock it.
Hurrying inside, I drop my keys into the bowl by the door and quickly lock it. My apartment is deadly silent, just how I left it… thank God. Kicking off my shoes, I quickly move down the hallway, unzipping my skirt and peeling my shirt off on the way to the bathroom. A noise from my dining room halts me in my tracks. My heart starts slamming hard in my chest.
From the darkness of the dining room comes a voice, cold and stern. “Miss Charlotte O’Reilly.”
My scream rips through the silence. Hands shaking, I grab the nearest objects I can find in the lounge room and fling them blindly at the mysterious voice. A pillow, TV remote, and a candle. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my home?” My voice cracks, laced with fear. I grab a book and throw it at him as well.
He sighs, irritation dripping from his words as he turns on the light, dropping into my dining chair and sips from one of my coffee mugs. “Miss Charlotte, if you stop throwing things for a second, I can explain why I’m here.”
He doesn’t fit the normal intruder persona. He looks over at me in his four-piece tailored suit, his black hair neatly combed back. I standstill on the spot, but my anger simmers just beneath my fear. How much of my apartment has he violated without permission?
“You have five minutes before I call the cops.” I reach for a pillow to hold over my bra, feeling slightly exposed in front of him.
He chuckles softly. “Joseph Milano.” He straightens the front of his suit. “I’m your mother’s—Caterina Carlisi’s—lawyer. I have an envelope for you.”
From his coat, he produces a large white envelope, placing it carefully on the edge of my table and taps the top of it. I stand stunned, mouth agape.My mother.The words hit me with such force, knocking any response right out of my mouth. Until last year, it had just been me and Dad for twenty-five years.
"Sorry… ” I stutter. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”
He doesn’t flinch. “No mistake. You are the daughter of James O’Reilly and Caterina Carlisi. Inside this envelope is your original birth certificate and DNA proof, amongst other items. These documents should settle it beyond question. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other urgent matters.” He stands and straightens his expensive suit jacket before walking to the front door.
I watch him move silently away. “How do I contact you if I have questions?”
