Page 35 of Rome: The Ballerina

“Good evening, Sac.”

“For you,” he said, extending the roses in my direction. “Fresh from the garden. Handpicked.”

“By–”

“Me,” he responded.

“You’ve done well.”

“I was hoping you approved.”

“I do.”

I tried accepting the flowers, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“They’re too heavy.”

“I can take them u–”

“No. You can’t, actually. Reservation is at 7:15p.”

He stepped around me, forcing me to turn my body to figure out where he was headed. He walked out of the back doors of the building and up to the awaiting vehicle. August stood with his hands folded in front of him.

Sac extended the flowers in his direction. He didn’t budge. With a shrug, Sac opened the door of the SUV.

Oh God.

August’s change of position forced me toward the double doors. As they opened, I strutted to the SUV. With a balled fist and cinched lips, I warned August against whatever was going on in that head of his. The deflation of his chest let me know he’d gotten the message.

“Sac, it’s fine. I ca–”

“You can’t, Rome. But, they can. And, when they’re finished securing your roses they can meet us at Georgio’s. We’ll be waiting.”

He sat the roses on the backseat and shut the door behind him.

“They need oxygen to live,” he informed them.

“So do you, my nigga. Keep playing tough and it will be extracted from you faste–”

“August!”

He closed his eyes, lowered his head, and sucked in a heap of air. Sac was near his side before I could protest. With his hands now folded in front of him, he tilted his head downward, matching the nasty glare August was shooting in his direction.

“I’m not the enemy. Neither am I a threat. I’m just a man who has encountered a good thing he intends to keep. Do what you’re being paid to do but consider it a free punch on the clock every time we’re together.

“Because, I’d hurt my damn self before I hurt her. Make sure you tell that to the man who hired you. Let them know their precious gem is in good hands. So calm down, my guy. I got her, just like you do.”

I could sense the shift in the atmosphere. I looked to Koen for help, but he was uninterested in halting the exchange. He was listening, intently. Studying, studiously. Analyzing, attentively. When his head lifted and fell, I was able to pull new air in my lungs.

He passed.

Whatever test Koen had put Sac through, he was pleased with the results.

“August,” he called out, finally, “Let the girl get to dinner. She hasn’t eaten since the last time he fed her.”

“Enjoy your night, Balle,” August released. The smirk on his face was condescending.

“She will,” Sac assured him, taking me by the hand.

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