Page 62 of PortCity Killers

??T W E N T Y??

“Come, muñequita.” Valentina petted my hair, brushing back the sweaty strands, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

My breathing had evened out, but the warm languid feeling of liquid bones had yet to subside. I took her hands though, allowing her to pull me up. She pulled my shorts back on for me, buttoning them with care as she pressed little kisses to my bare shoulder.

I had to fight not to let the butterflies take over, deciding to instead steer the direction of our conversation to something I could control much better than my libido, “I thought you didn’t have any family left?”

Valentina’s eyes widened, like she was shocked I would even ask such a thing, making me cringe at my tactlessness, “Fuck, that was insensitive. I’m sorry I didn’t mean-”

“We don’t.” She chuckled, waving away my half-assed apology, “It is not our blood relations, but those who gave us the Giovenni name. They took us in at a young enough age that we couldn’t remember what it was like to be without, but not old enough to have been molded by the world too permanently.”

“Do they visit often?” I asked as she led me down another hallway, one opposite of where Don left us.

Valentina shook her head, “No. It is not a social visit. They must speak business.”

“Will you be joining them?”

“Women are not allowed.” She rolled her eyes, but I could tell the thought bothered her.

“Oh.”

From what I knew Valentina was just as much a business man as Don, maybe even more so given the way he acted as a sort of front man as he had with me, screening people before he allowed them to even see Valentina. Of course, that could be because of her unstable reputation, but it seemed she did more of the book keeping, the brains behind things.

“Yes.” She shrugged, as if reading my mind, “Unfortunately my family does not know my place in our business. Don is very progressive for our famiglia, and we are compagna in all things. But to the famiglia, I may do other business, but not this business.”

“The mafia stuff?” I clarified.

“Si.”

“I see.”

She turned to me, opening a door and stepping up into a dark staircase, “Oh, do not look so blue, my love; it means I may spend some time with you. I do not care to spend my time with a bunch of old men measuring dicks. Men are not unlike wine: they’re delicious, and you can have them every day, but too much and you’ll lose yourself—especially with men like our beloved Don…Remember that.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet. We fell into a companionable silence as we took the stairs, the sconces once again lighting our way. When she reached the end, the door creaked open, and we stepped out into...a fucking closet?

Surely something that belonged to the princess of Genovia herself. The door was situated in a tucked away alcove. As Valentina closed it, I could see it blended nearly seamlessly into the wall.

She gestured to the elegant, cream and white room, “Do you like it?”

“It's beautiful.”

And it was. Another chandelier hung over a large island of draws, there were two love seats, diagonal to each other and several racks built into the walls for shoes and clothing.

“The restroom is right through there,” she pointed to one of the open doors. “I will get you something more comfortable for your journey back.”

The bathroom was more of a bath house. The tub sat in the middle of the room, centered between four tall marble pillars. Flanking either side of the bath against the wall were marble counters with a sink each and gold fixtures.

An actual toilet was nowhere to be found, however, until I found the narrow door separating it from the ornate tub. A shower stood, perfectly content across from everything else, with the same gold fixings.

It was all very beautiful, but the tinge of salty unease that I felt settle in my stomach did nothing for any of us. I wasn’t one of those broke bitches who would refuse things on principle. It just wasn’t practical, especially having grown up with nothing.

If someone richer than me wanted to give me something? Have at it, friend; you’ve got my number. You won’t see me turning it down, but seeing the reality of Valentina’s living, knowing that my studio apartment could probably fit in the whole damn bathroom? Something about that had my throat a little too tight.

By the time Valentina came back with a pair of sweats and a big shirt, both of which I assumed were Don’s, I had swallowed down the bitter pill and made whatever sense of peace I was going to make with it for tonight.

I took the clothes gratefully, as Valentina settled herself on the marble edge of the tub. It wasn’t just a small railing but a whole foot and a half ledge that bordered the massive cauldron. She pulled a brush out of a hidden drawer and held it, waiting for me to change.

I tried to shrug it off, reasoning with myself that we were both women, and we both had the same parts even if I had a hell of a lot more to love. I had changed in front of my colleagues all the time in the break room, slipping on shirts here, switching out pants when something got spilled there.

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