Page 3

C ontessa

My head is full of dark memories as I leave the dance studio the next evening. My bones and muscles ache from trying to get the routine right. Antonio made me repeat the moves over and over for what felt like a hundred times.

It’s no secret he thinks I’m a loose cannon on the dance floor. If I got a dollar every time he told me I “simply won’t be taught,” I certainly won’t need to dance for the money.

I’ve always been this way. Expressing myself in normal ways—talking to friends or having a good cry—doesn’t come easily to me. Instead, I bottle it all up then release it through the movements of my body. Antonio says I’m “too wild,” that I’m “ untrainable.”

It’s become a part of my identity, for better or for worse.

These days, he accepts the way I come alive in all the inconvenient, unconventional ways, but tonight, he said I was “unhinged.”

That’s a new one.

I wonder if the reason I was unhinged in this evening’s class is because I couldn’t hear the music over the ringing of gun shots in my ears. Or because I couldn’t sleep last night. My mind seemed to prefer replaying footage of the Di Santo’s entering Fed’s home and killing his uncle.

I hate that the Di Santos are everywhere . It’s not often they are seen but my God they are felt. Their presence penetrates everything. New York seems to be in a permanent state of collective anxiety.

I’m certain that’s the reason I haven’t slept and not the bronze eyes that saw me watching as the Di Santo’s shot Mario Falconi, an innocent man. What if the owner of those eyes tracks me down? What if me witnessing the killing is inconvenient for them?

A tremble vibrates down my spine until I remember that I’m a complete nobody. A shadow who lives in dark corners. They won’t care that I saw anything. I don’t matter, and that’s just the way I like it.

The street is quiet. It’s tucked away in the heart of Alphabet City, just a few blocks across from Mr. Falconi’s offices. I’m about halfway down it when I hear the sound of footsteps not far behind .

Slow, deliberate, measured.

My heart sticks to my chest, making its beats reverberate through my torso. Maybe I do matter after all.

I walk faster, focusing all my attention on the sound of the footsteps.

They’re still behind me, inching closer.

I dare not look around, but pick up speed until I’m almost jogging. The footsteps quicken slightly but they sound like they might belong to a much taller person who can take longer strides, moving faster without taking more steps like I have to.

I pull my house keys from my pocket, shove one of them through my fingers, the jagged edge pointing outward, and curl my fist around the rest. The end of the street where cabs usually pass is still a few hundred yards away. My breaths quicken with adrenaline.

A long thin shadow stretches across the road. Whoever is following me isn’t far behind. I pull out my phone and dial Allegra. Even without the speaker switched on I can hear the dial tone.

It just rings and rings.

Shit .

A quick flick of my gaze across the street again and the shadow is even closer.

I end the call and break into a jog. I just did three hours straight dancing and I’m exhausted, but I force my feet to move quicker, harder. Blood thumps through my dormant muscles making them ache .

I’m breathless when I finally round the corner. A couple of cabs are heading my way, only one with its light glowing. I run out into the road, my lungs burning. Thankfully, the cab stops and I jump in the back, breathlessly announcing my address.

As I squint in the direction of where I’ve just run from, I can’t see any movement. Whoever was behind me didn’t turn the corner.

When we near the end of the block I glance sideways and see the same shadow stretching across the street. There’s a man standing on the corner, just out of sight. I jerk my focus back to the road.

It's only when the cab is over the Brooklyn Bridge that I properly exhale, and the reality of what happened makes my blood run cold.

I’ve just been followed.

In the heart of Alphabet City under a thin veil of darkness.

My cell buzzes in my fingers and my aunt’s name flashes up. Now that I’m out of immediate harm’s way, I debate whether or not I should tell her what just happened for all of five seconds. Allegra became a surrogate mother to four spirited, strong-willed girls just three years ago when Mama was killed. We are a daily cause of anxiety to her. The guy who just followed me… it could be nothing, and I don’t want to give my poor aunt any more reason to worry about us.

I press the speaker. “Hey Allegra.”

“Hi Tess. I got a missed call from you. Is everything okay? ”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine. I’m sorry, I must have butt-called you when I got in the cab. I’m on my way home.”

“Okay, honey. There’s some lasagna on the side if you want it, just help yourself.”

“Thanks Allegra. I’ll be there soon.” I hang up and push the guilt of lying deep into my gut. The further we get from Manhattan and the closer we get to my home, the more I realize the guy might not have been following me. It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m still processing what Antonio meant when he called me ‘unhinged.’

I slide my phone into my bag. I’m probably just being paranoid.

As the cab pulls up to the house, there’s a familiar vehicle blocking the drive. I pay the driver and make my way to the car. A door opens and I slide into the passenger seat, lifting my gaze to meet Federico’s.

“Hey,” I say softly. “How are you doing?”

News of his uncle’s murder has spread quickly. I’ve only had to eavesdrop on Papa’s calls a couple of times today to know that people are already cutting ties with Mr. Falconi and his business.

Fed leans forward until his eyes are lit by the glow of the street lamps. I gasp at what I see. Rings of fire, swollen skin, a hard, bitter jaw.

“Wha—?”

His forefinger presses against my lips. “I can’t stay long, Tess.” His voice has thinned, like fragile glass, sharp enough to cut through flesh. “I shouldn’t even be here. If my father finds out I’ve left the house, he’ll go crazy.”

“What are you talking about?” I whisper round his finger.

His gaze roams my face erratically, and his eyes are filled with more than pure panic. There’s a kind of desperation there… almost like hunger.

“We’re leaving…”

I go to speak but he presses his finger to my lips harder.

“Tomorrow night. No one knows. And you cannot tell anyone, Tess. Do you understand?”

I swallow a large knot in my throat. Then I nod.

Federico sighs heavily. “The Di Santo’s have shut us down…”

“What?”

“According to Papa they’ve been chipping away at him for months, taking clients away and shutting down premises so he loses business. He’s been struggling to pay the lease on the warehouse and he missed one month. One month, Tess. And that’s all they needed. It isn’t enough that they’ve killed my uncle—they want to ruin us. So, we’re leaving.”

Bitterness clenches its fist around my heart.

Fed’s lip curls in disgust. “The don couldn’t even grace us with his presence yesterday. He sent his fucking consigliere …”

My eyes narrow.

“Benito Bernadi,” Fed clarifies.

I realize who he means. The man in black, with the bronze eyes and heated gaze. The man who saw me through the gap in the door. I try to mask the shiver that coasts down my spine at the memory.

Fed blinks down then lifts his lids revealing soft, sad eyes. “I thought I had forever to do this.”

The air inside the vehicle shifts, taking away a little bit of oxygen. His finger slides down my lips and a short smile teases his mouth when he glances over my shoulder into the distance. “I don’t know when it happened.”

I somehow find my voice again. “When what happened?”

His Adam’s apple moves and his expression turns somber before his eyes fall back to mine. “When I fell for you.”

I swear my heart stops beating.

Federico fell for me?

I can’t decipher which emotion wants to rise to the surface first—shock, because I had no idea anyone could fall for me; guilt, because I’ve never thought of Federico that way; or despair, because breaking someone’s heart was not on my to-do list this evening.

I swallow all of them down.

“I had so many plans for us…”

For us ? Shock roots me to the seat.

“Starting with this…”

I don’t have time to take a breath before his lips are on mine.

Cold, bitter, fragile.

I suddenly feel so remorseful and so guilty and so broken for him, I only pause for a second before I kiss him back.

At first he seems surprised that I’ve responded, but he loosens slightly and his lips part. It feels clumsy and unnatural, but I’ve never kissed anyone before. Maybe it’s supposed to feel this way.

I jump when his tongue probes at my mouth. Nerves dance across my skin at the unfamiliarity of it, then I let him in. I’m not sure I like having someone’s tongue inside my mouth, but somehow I know that barfing or spitting it out isn’t the most encouraging reaction, so I hold my breath and let him do it.

In all honesty, my head is reeling with the thought of him leaving town. I might not have fallen for him, but he’s still my best friend. He’s still the one I go to when I’m sick of being treated like a baby by my aunt and sisters, which is most days. He’s still the one I call when I’m so exhausted by the punishing dance routines I question whether I want to continue with the only thing I’m passionate about. And he’s still the one I can laugh with until my stomach feels like it’s splitting in half. These memories are what keep my lips parted, my mouth open and my throat from gagging as he swipes his tongue across mine.

Despite not being as into the kiss as Federico is, I still feel a strange sensation unfurling between my thighs, like I’m opening up, liquifying. I kind of like it, but it also feels strange. I’m relieved when he pulls away and I look up.

His eyes are no longer red. They’re dark and strangely un-sated. My heart thumps a little harder as I drift my fingers across my lips.

“Fuck, Tess. That was amazing.” The ice in his voice has thawed some, but his knuckles are like cold shards when they brush against my skin. He must have been sitting in the darkness with the engine cut for an hour at least.

He lifts his hand to my cheek and just as he pushes an escaped strand of hair behind my ear, someone else’s face flashes across my lids.

Bronze eyes, heated gaze. Unaffected .

The contrast between the hard man in black and the soft boy sitting before me makes my breath stutter.

Darkness and light, heat and ice.

And a question so big I can’t comprehend it. Why, did my brain pick this moment to recall that beast of a man?

He’s the reason Federico has to leave, and he’s the reason I now have a terrible feeling in my gut.

“I need to ask you something, Tess.”

My pulse thumps through my ears.

“I was hoping I’d have plucked up the courage to make you my girlfriend before asking this of you, but I don’t have any more time.”

My head feels light.

“But there’s something I’ve always wanted to do and this is my only chance.”

I swallow. “What is it?”

He smiles and for a moment looks uncharacteristically bashful. “I want to make love to you, Tess.”

That’s it. My heart has actually stopped and if I weren’t already sitting, I would be passing out on the passenger seat. It isn’t unheard of. I have freakishly low blood pressure and fainting is a fairly regular occurrence.

“I— um…” I swallow again. “I’m a virgin, Fed.”

He strokes my hair again and smiles. “I know.”

“You, um…” Oh God, I feel really faint. “You want to take my virginity?”

He drops his hands to mine and squeezes them. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

When I don’t respond, a look of panic slants across his brow. “This one thing. It’s all I’m asking. I have to leave tomorrow, Tess. For good. Forever .”

I can’t do anything but stare back at him. I thought I was going to die a virgin, or I’d have to pay someone to take it from me. I’m just weird Tess, wild Tess, unhinged Tess.

The thought of someone wanting my virginity, and that person being Federico, has stunned me into silence. Maybe I should feel grateful that someone has seen through my emo aesthetic and liked what they’ve seen. Maybe this is the only chance I’ll get to rid myself of the innocence that the underworld surrounding us seems to prize so highly.

“Please Tess.” He’s begging. “Just this one thing. Please. For me. For our decade of friendship. Please .”

He leans forward and presses erratic kisses to my temple and cheeks. “It’s all I dream about, Tess. This is our last chance. Please let me give us something to remember.”

His kisses are fervent, scattered.

And so desperate he almost doesn’t hear my reply.

“Yes.”