Page 38 of To Hell

Valerie takes my hand and squeezes gently, her eyes conveying a sympathy that words cannot express. Then she begins turning the pages of the album, displaying one striking outfit after another, their colors and patterns evoking the feeling of balance.

It does remind me of the both of us—Virgilio and me. The way Valerie was able to blend the theme feels much like the friendship we had.

We fit. Two different things that just make perfect sense together.

“I came here to pick up fabrics from your store because my new…” Owner almost makes it to my tongue, but I’m quick to clip it back, “my savior needs some suits,” I glance around. I gaze at the sketches, a lump forming in my throat. “I always dreamed of becoming a fashion designer,” I admit. “But after everything that happened, I never had the chance to pursue it.”

Valerie looks at me with disappointment and empathy in her gaze. “I always hoped you would come to Milan’s Fashion Week,” she says. “You had so much potential.”

My eyes light up with hope. “I want to make something more than the suits.” I flip through another page this time, unsure when or how I took the album from her.

“What?”

“I want to do something for Virgilio,” I breathe, still trembling from the force of the emotions I am trying so hard to suppress, “I want to honor him, and maybe,” I sniff, “if he is alive somewhere, he can see it, like a fire sign.”

“That would be great,” she smiles, then strokes my back, “Your story would inspire millions.”

“I want your help with it,” I mutter, “I can’t do it alone, and I can’t…”

“I can’t help you,” she steps away from me, her eyes drooping to the glossy finish of the countertop, “I lost the power to pull any weight. I went under.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I search my mind for anything that can help plead my case, “I feel like life is giving it back to me. I want to do this. Please help me, you have been my role model my whole life.”

Valerie sighs, shaking her head, and clears her throat, “I wish I could, Zoe, but I’m not as influential as I once was. My relevance in the fashion industry has dwindled, and I don’t have the sponsorship needed to support a debut in the fashion scene. When I drew that collection, I had a sponsor who saw me as an artist, not just a cash cow. We created a joint venture, agreeing that if the collection inspired by your story reached five hundred thousand pieces of clothing sold, I would receive fifty percent of the revenue instead of ten percent. That was over ten years ago, and our contract expires in six months. We haven't come close to that number.”

“There's no chance?” My hope dampens.

Valerie shakes her head sadly. “I've given up, it is impossible.”

I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. “Thank you anyway, Valerie,” I say softly. “I truly appreciate everything you've done for me and Virgilio."

She smiles with understanding, seeing through my façade, “Don’t give up on the fire sign. The world can make do with a lot of fire signs for missing girls like yourself.”

Fire sign. Sounds like the title of a book more than a fashion collection.

But again, I did say I wanted to tell stories through my designs.

Chapter Twenty-One

VIRGILIO

I’m a little agitated that Zoe will be around Valerie.

I don’t know how deep their conversation will go. It’s supposed to be about picking up fabrics, but it can never be just about that—not when it’s Valerie Moore and Zoe.

I swirl the whiskey in my glass, the tinge of the sunlight pouring in from my office window floating on the liquid.

I’m almost done with my work for the day, and I should be heading out any minute now to meet a few business associates. But then, I’m sitting on this couch, mindlessly swiping across icons and apps on my cell phone as I wait for them to return and for Cesare to tell me all about it.

That was why I sent him to go with her. I wanted someone to keep an eye on her and be my ears. Cesare knows how to blend into the background.

I can’t say how he does it, but there is something about him that relaxes people. It makes them comfortable around him. On the contrary, everything about me unnerves people, even when I’m trying to make them relax.

A knock comes on the door, and I know it’s not Cesare. He wouldn’t knock.

“Come in,” I clip dryly, bored out of my fucking mind just sitting and waiting.

“Boss,” Xander steps into my office and stands in front of me. “We are set, whenever you are ready to ship out.”

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