I don’t know how or where I’ll find it, but I will.
After dropping my phone on the couch, I rub my eyes and fight the panic attempting to swallow me whole. When I suck in a big breath, I draw in the familiar sweetness of a pie Dante came home with earlier this week. It’s a slice of my favorite pie from the café—the same café where Luna offered me a job.
It’s a private gig no established dancer wants, but it pays exactlywhat I need.
Ten thousand dollars.
Again, my stomach twists. This time, it’s an unhinged blend of surrender and survival tangled together.
Before I lose the nerve, I snatch up my phone and call the café.
Luna’s phone rings twice before she answers.
“Cici,” she greets, surprised. “I thought all those pies Dante ordered today would keep you in a food coma for a month.” Her laugh slices through the dread sluicing through my veins. “What can I get you?”
“I need the details of that job you offered last week.” I swallow down my unease. “Is it still available?”
“The private gig?” She must hear me nod. “It’s available, but I thought you said you didn’t want it.”
“I didn’t, but something came up, and I need money fast.”
“Okay.” She waits a beat before continuing. “I don’t have all the details, but when I pressed the booking agent, she said it’s a high-end gig.”
“If you want it, you can take it. I won’t?—”
“I don’t want the gig, Cici.” She breathes out noisily. “I was considering it, but… something came up, and I don’t need it anymore.” After another worried sigh, she continues. “I was more cautioning you that you can’t show up to this gig in everyday clothes. Your outfit needs to be special.”
“Special?”
When she murmurs in agreement, my mind jumps to the clothes Dante bought me—the ones I gave away before Camille showed me their duplicates folded neatly in the closet.
On autopilot, I go to Camille’s closet and pull out the boutique bags. As I open the top bag, something slips free and crashes to the floor.
My nose tingles from the moisture that pricks my eyes when I realize what it is. It’s the model plane I was eyeing at the boutique weeks ago, the toy plane that costs more than my rent.
It was sitting on top of the clothes Dante bought me.
My heart lurches painfully. Does this mean what I think it does? Does Dante know about Gabriele? Is that why he’s been cold and distant? Did he find out about my child and decide I was too much trouble?
“Cici?” Luna’s voice crackles through the phone. “Are you still there? You need to hurry if you want to accept this job. If the entertainment isn’t there by seven, they’ll go to the Viper Room at Pepenero Privè.”
Swallowing hard, I shove the plane back into the bag,grab the first “special” clothes I see—a dress, shiny heels, and lingerie too soft not to be expensive—then race out of Camille’s room.
“I’m coming.”
Backpack in hand, I sprint out the door, my mind spinning with fear and unease. I don’t know what awaits me at the address Luna just gave. All I know is that I have no choice.
I was a female born into the Cosa Nostra, and my mother wasn’t the love of my father’s life. She was his housekeeper.
My puppet strings were tied before I took my first breath.
I just foolishly believed cutting them would change the rules.
Silly me.
