Page 6 of Brutal Promise

“Sicilians, you can’t beat the nice complexion,” I say as my giggle emerges as a snort. “Are we really graduates? I feel the same, don’t you?”

I hug the dress to me. It’s gorgeous. If it weren’t for the fact that it barely covers my thong panties, it could be used as a wedding dress. The long sleeves will be perfect for a cool night, and it will hide the tattoo on my wrist.

“Yes, that’s the fun of it, we’re young, and we live in a city that never sleeps. Let’s stay up all night. Eventually, things will change, and one day, we’ll wish we had more nights like this…” Her voice trails off as she holds a red dress up to herself, looks at herself in a long mirror hanging on a wall.

“What’s up? You don’t sound happy.”

“Oh, nothing. I mean, Dad will want me to get married soon. I have a degree, but no one expects me to use it.” She tosses the red dress in the discard pile and picks up another.

“Oh, that sucks. I thought you were kidding when you mentioned it before. Isn’t it archaic?”

“Yes, but it is the way,” she says, borrowing a line from Obie One inStar Wars.

“Still, you worked hard for your degree. Don’t you want your independence?”

“Ha, like Dad will allow that. He let me have four years of freedom during college, but that will be over soon,” she replies matter-of-factly.

“All right, well, I have to run out and pick up some stuff for dinner. Do you need anything? I thought we’d make paninis.”

“Oooh, sounds great.” She drags out the “o.” We’re not expected at the club until ten. That’s early, but I thought we’d spend time alone before we meet the guys. You know my father’s men are cock blockers.”

I can’t stop my chuckle as it bubbles out. She’s so flippant about how things work. She’s got all the angles, that’s for sure. I bet growing up in her father’s shadow has taught her as much if not more than, any soldier under him. I wouldn’t put my money on her in a street fight, but a battle with words is one she would dominate.

We discuss the ingredients needed for dinner before I grab my small purse and keys and exit through the lobby. The lobby, with its black and white checkerboard floor and walls lined with mailboxes, is secure, requiring residents to use a code to enter.

As I walk five blocks to a corner grocer, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched creepily. Having Alena as a friend, I’ve gained more street smarts, but I still can’t tell the difference between a stalker and a birdwatcher. If scary movies have taught me anything, it’s that stalkers wear hoodies, not binoculars.

I tell myself I’m being suspicious and paranoid. There’s no abusive or disturbed ex in my background. I’m sure Alena, who is connected, is who they want.Shit!What if they think I’m her?

The store is a few steps away when a customer exits, and I slide through the open door like I’m stealing third base. I feel safer under the glare of the bright fluorescent lights, but I’m still too scared to look behind me.

3

IZZY

“Hi, Marco,” I say as I pass the owner and make my way to the meat section.

It’s an Italian deli, and everything here is sublime. Pricey—but worth it. I sent resumes out to theater companies today and hope something comes through.Crap, if Alena gets married, I’ll need to move out. She’ll rent or sell hers and will probably live in an incredible penthouse overlooking Central Park.

I’m sure she’ll go to a bigger and better place, especially if her dad has money to sink into a nightclub. Even I know liquor licenses are limited and costly. I select pre-cut meats for today, grab cheese, and hear the bell on the door jingle. I see a large man in a black hoodie, his hands are shoved into his pockets. I quickly turn my back and think he won't see me if I don’t look at him.

Fuck.This can’t be a coincidence. Young kids wear those, not men in their forties, right? I grab a loaf of Italian bread. Done. Well, hell, mafia men on the street love joggers.

“How are you, Izzy?” Marco rings up my food.

“Great, you?”

“Good day. Supposed to rain tomorrow. We’ll see.” He’s in his fifties and is always nice, but he’s known me for years. I’ve heard him speak Italian, and it’s such a pretty language it makes me wish I knew one romantic language.

I’m relieved to see in the mirror behind Marco that the stranger has moved to the other side of the store. I wonder how the shopkeeper manages to do his job when the crime rate is so high. I smile at him nervously as I slide my card into the machine and breathe a sigh of relief when it beeps and “accepted” shows on the screen.

“Have plans tonight?”

“Yes, thank you, we’re going to a new club. Thanks, Marco.”

I take the bag filled with our dinner and nervously bump open the door when I exit.Shit, that hurt my shoulder.

It’s in the seventies today, and the walk home is lovely as I pass the park. The trees are getting ready to bloom. I want to turn around and see if the guy is behind me, but that’s too obvious. I pull out my phone, making it appear as though I’m filming a video. Only it is a video to ensure my safety. I push the red record button on the screen and hold it above my head so I can see behind me. I feel like a dork.

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