Page 64 of PortCity Killers

I shook my head, trying to hide my smile with a sigh.

That sound held the weight of the world, swirling and bubbling inside me like a tumultuous sea of anger and doubt. “I just feel mad. Mad at my brother, mad at you, at Don for not stopping it. Mad at myself maybe, so mad I could burn up everything around me.”

“And your rage is beautiful, muñequita. You should have seen it in your eyes that night. A rage to rival our own. You have every right to be mad. To be infuriated at us, all of us, and me especially.” This time it was her turn to sigh, and she put into it the weight of whatever shadows she was carrying. It felt nice not to be the only one with demons to release. “If I were another woman, I might have pretended to bump into you on the street and slowly pulled you into my orbit. I would woo you and wine and dine you the way Don does his women, with pretty words that hold nothing more than what I have to offer in the moment, but sound so sweet when they roll off his tongue.”

“But you are who you are.”

“And I will never change.”

I shrugged, “I wouldn’t want you to.”

And I wouldn’t. Valentina was a strange bird. Spoiled and entitled, sure, but it almost seemed she was that way because she wasn’t given much of a choice otherwise. I couldn’t imagine living the life she did; there wasn’t much of another way to come out.

It didn’t matter though because what I did know was that people who said they would never change, much like those who always promised to, rarely did. I liked predictable. I could handle predictable. Even if it was a little scary.

Valentina took me back down the secret staircase and through the wide stone archways. I expected her to call a car and send me on my way but instead she took me down a winding hall that soon led to a garage filled with more cars than fit in the parking lot of the bar.

The obscenity of wealth wasn’t something I would ever get used to. It felt too sticky, but I tried to squash the little bug that reared its ugly head every time their wealth was shoved down my throat. I decided I would enjoy every goddamn cent spent on me. And why shouldn’t I?

I didn’t have to be like the heroines who shunned the riches of their lover because they wanted to make a point or because their pride overrode their sense. I liked pretty things, didn’t I? I certainly deserved it more than half of the people in PortCity who had them. If I was going to be dating the Giovenni’s, I would damn well enjoy it.

“Pick one,” she swept her hand across the expanse of the garage.

Yes, I would soak up every inch of the experience that was Valentina and Don Giovenni in all its mother-fucking glory. I would relish in the lavishness that I got while I got it, because once it was gone, that would be it.

I’d go back to living in a tin can with a brother who had more pride than sense, and I was tired of denying myself things for the sake of those around me.

I picked a sleek, red model that was so out of my range, so bright and rich in color that I could lick the finish. I wouldn’t feel guilty for accepting these moments from them. I would just let it happen.

I could be cautious and still give myself grace, which is exactly what I did as Valentina peeled out of the garage, her own hair wild and breezing behind us as she raced us down the long winding road to the dock.

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