Page 10 of Vigilante
I regale her with the details, catching her up, and she is rapt.
“But then he didn’t ask for my number.”
“He could have been nervous.” She offers, and it does little to calm my anxiety over it.
“True,” I say warily.
“But he knows where you work. With a night like that, I’m sure he’ll be back in soon.”
After chatting for a few more minutes, we hang up, and her words linger. I hate to admit how desperately I want that to be true.
Before I go to sleep after getting ready for bed, I search for the words he spoke to me. After misspelling it several times, I try speaking it into my phone. Immediately, a host of results pop up and I zero in on the first translation I see. “In another life, maybe.”
Any hope I had of seeing him again turns to dust, and my heart shatters. He doesn’t think we’ll work out. Tears sting at the corner of my eyes, and I scold myself for getting so emotionally attached to a guy I’ve just met, taking him to my sacred space. What was I thinking?
Frustration follows me, and I know no matter how much I try to boost my self-confidence, telling myself I’m better off, there’s still a voice wondering why he thinks I’m not good enough for this life.
CHAPTER 6
Maximo
ONE WEEK LATER
It’s beena week since I kissed her, knowing full well that I needed to stay away from her. It’s not right, and fuck me…it isn’t fair. Did that stop me from watching her through the tinted windows of my car? No. Has the memory of her soft lips on mine halted any sexual thoughts I’ve had about her? Also no. The sad look on her face as she watched the door to the coffee shop she works in, waiting for me to walk in, about killed me.
Every time the small bell above the framework of the door dinged, I saw the excitement drain from her eyes as she realized it was not the face she wanted to see. Every night I’ve been late to meet up with my cousin, and every night he scolds me about the same fucking shit. I knew not going back to her would be impossible, especially with her smile and big doe eyes.
The night I walked away from her, I promised myself I would keep my distance, yet again, I can’t seem to do it. I can’t afford to get distracted. I can’t afford to let the plan I’ve worked so heavily on go to waste.
Rocco nudges me, holding his cigarette in front of me, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, “Here, take a drag. It will calm your nerves.”
I shake my head, pushing his hand away from my face and grimacing. “Smoking is bad for you. Besides, every cigarette you have takes?—”
“Thirty minutes off your life. I know.” He rolls his eyes, and I chuckle as he finishes my sentence in a feminine, nagging tone. “You sure you want to do this,cugino?”
I try to quell the anger rising in my stomach, “Come dio mi è testimone.”I repeat the words my mother would always say to me when I would act up as a kid ‘As God is my witness.’” God, I miss her, but I’ll be home soon. I need a few more weeks. That’s all. Just to make sure everything is done and then I can fly home.
“Andiamo,”Rocco taps my shoulder, flicking the cigarette from his fingers and out the car window. Watching as that sick motherfucker leaves the office building and climbs into his car. We know his route home like the back of our hands, but tonight, he won’t make it. Rocco starts the car, swiftly turning the steering wheel and pulling out of the parking space. John is completely unaware of his surroundings, scrolling through his phone with a smile on his face, I wanna punch it off—no doubt looking at all the emails of dying people that are begging for his help.
“We need to make this quick,” I tell my cousin, “I don’t want to be seen by anyone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, we are in this together. You fucking know that. After what they did, there’s no way I’m messing this up.”
“Hm.” I hum in response. Snorting a laugh when I look at him, my gaze lingering for a moment.
“What?” He asks, confusion marring his face.
“You look like Uncle Alfredo in that fucking suit.”
“Uh, fuck you very much, Alfredo was a pervert.”
“Well, if the suit fits.” I chuckle louder. “And by the looks of that fake Armani suit…it does.”
“Vafanculo!This isn’t a fake suit. It’s real!”
“Bullshit. Where did you snag it from?”
Rocco clears his throat and makes the universal Italian hand signal, “From Uncle Alfredo.”
