Mobster's Angel (Mobster Series) (2 page)

*****

Joey slows the car down in front of the party at Brice Talbot’s oceanfront home. He’s the son of one of the Senators of California. I hear he’s popular and pompous. Joey lets us off and goes to park the car amongst the shiny new luxury vehicles that line the private road.

There is major security here
: four guards by the front door alone. Just like the security along the outskirts of the campus, only amplified. Of course, most school attendees have their own private security like Clarissa and I do, so it all balances out.

The driveway is circular and made out of cobblestone
s. I walk gingerly, my heels continuously sinking in between the rocks. All of the landscaping is lit up, and the lights cast a golden glow across the yard. The entryway boasts three huge stained glass doors. A security guard opens the main one for us, and we step in to a palatial house.

I
’m in awe as I take in the grandeur before me. The entire floor plan is open. The stairway that runs from the first floor to the second is made of brushed iron. Below the second floor landing is an enormous fountain, with oversized frogs nestled on the granite sides spitting into the large pool.

My admiration of this home, straight out of Celebrity Cribs, is halted
as Brice greets us. Immediately, the little hairs on the back of my neck rise in agitation and wariness.  His sliminess isn’t obvious, but I see it like a blinking neon sign. He looks at me a little too familiarly and I cringe.

Everyone
here seems to know where I came from. It’s like they can smell it. It only takes them a glance to know and to understand, even though it took me a decade and a shower of quickly formed unpleasant memories. Car bombs, cheating boyfriends, and a gun to your head will do that to you.

The
high-class students here, like Brice, have their noses so high in the air that I’m surprised they don’t drown in one of California’s rainstorms. Famous celebrities, politicians, and other Mob families send their kids to our school. I’ve met all sorts of people. Brice is one type. Upon starting school we were thrust into social categories or classes. It doesn’t matter that our parents have the same amount of money, we’re still whittled down into the lower class, organized crime. You would think because our families have money, Clarissa and I would be accepted and welcomed, but that is so not the case.

There are a select few people that
look down at us blatantly. Clearly, they think they are so much better than us, and they don’t want to be caught with people of our caliber. It’s condescending. It doesn’t bother us though. We know they’re just afraid of us. And besides, we’re just happy and content to be together.

People here have everything they could ever want, but it makes some of them even more lost than I am. Even with the
money and status, everyone at our school is still trying to find themselves or to express their inner spoiled brat.

Desp
ite the divide, Clarissa is in her glory. She’s happy to be around anyone and everyone, whether they like us or not. Her outgoing personality helps her to slip in and be accepted by all groups. She’s been trapped in a cage at her family’s casino since her childhood, and now she's free to roam, conquer, explore. Clarissa has been a great friend to me. She's had to weather a lot over her life-time. She’s given me strength, taught me how to navigate the mob life.

“Brice, your house is unbelievable!” Clarissa g
ushes.

“Thank you,” he says
, falsely. Brice is another breed altogether: high profile, refined, elevated status. He finds Clarissa and me fascinating. Me a little too much.

“Erin, why don’t I show you around?” Brice offers just as a bunch of people from Clar
issa’s math class join us.  Everyone hugs and air kisses like we belong in some movie made for television. It’s phony, but commonplace.

Joey
pops his head around the corner and finds us.

“Hey, Brice,” Joey says
, and they high five boyishly.

Brice’s eyes are
on me. I can tell without even turning my head, even when he’s talking to Joey and Clarissa. It's an ugly feeling. I don't want his attention. He emits sleaziness. He’s that guy every girl with a brain or commonsense avoids. When the sleaziness comes with a title and money, guys like him can be appealing. But even that does nothing for me. I just want him to stay away.

If Joey knew I was uncomfortable around him, he w
ould level the guy. That would be bad. Brice is too high profile and has too many connections. Clarissa and I want to keep our heads down and have a good time. Drama is the last thing the two of us need. Me more so than her.

In the past year, I've learned m
y place. Daughter, sister, friend, student… to the real world. To the underworld, I am the cleaner’s daughter. The girl whose father chops up people who betray the Mafia into little bits and places them in plastic bags. He makes food for the fish in the river. The thought conjures images that make me shudder.

My father was never a warm
or fuzzy guy. He never told us bedtime stories or took us to amusement parks. But he’s my dad, and I love him despite the hard man that he is. The scalding hot truth that my father is a murderer and a liar was just the frosting on the cake of deceit. Even now, months after knowing, I’m having trouble coping and believing.

I chastise myself daily for my ignorance. I didn't even have a clue about
what my life really was. I’m remorseful for the choices that have been made for me without my consent or knowledge. But deep down I know that there’s no use stewing over it or dwelling on it. What’s done is done. What is, is just what is.

I ignore Brice’s offer for a tour.
My shoes click against the hard, polished floor as I try desperately to make myself as scarce as possible. I make my way to the beverage table. Different types of fancy bottles of alcohol and a large punch bowl line the huge tabletop.

In the back of my mind, I can hear Vi
to. He would be angry if I poured a drink from the punch bowl.

An unsecured drink! Don’t touch it!

Sometimes I hear him whispering in my ear as if my conscience has grown and matured into a six foot three dark-haired male. The studying, reading, and listening I did to impress adults is nothing compared to what I learned from Vito. I don't think he meant to do it purposefully. I think he did it out of necessity… wanting me to be able to take care of myself someday. He was “in charge” of me during our stay in South Bend, outside Chicago. He was kind of my bodyguard like Joey is here for Clarissa and me. With Vito though, it got a little more personal than my relationship with Joey. Even though Vito did many of the same things Joey does for us, it felt... different... more intimate.

In a cooler on the floor is bottled water
. Fiji, of course. I reach into the ice and pull one out. I twist the cap.

“Let me make you something
!”

Brice!

“I could make you a mint julep. Yeah, you look like a mint julep kind of girl.” He
moves closer and sidles up to me. I take a step back. Brice laughs lightly, giving it a fake quality.

“No, thanks. Water is fine
,” I answer firmly.

“Come on.
A special girl needs a special drink. How about a martini? I have all of the finest liquors.” I smile my trademark, practiced fake smile at his offer.

“I
’m sure you do, but I’m going to pass,” I say with the same false air I’ve taught myself to exude.

Since we came to school, I've been hiding behind
this smile. I don't really care about these people. They’re a diversion and an escape from a memory too deep and raw to melt away completely. It sits on the cusp of the every day, waiting to spoil whatever comes my way.

“Let me give you that tour.” He holds his arm out chivalrously for
me to entwine my hand around.

“Brice! Oh my God! Your house is awesome!” A girl from my gym class,
who always seems to get out of participating, suddenly gushes all over Brice.

Thanks for the chance to escape, Becky!
I tell her in my head. I smile and excuse myself. I quickly walk away, pretending I’m looking for someone. I head to the living room, where there are mile long couches arranged in a perfect L.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Did u get the flowers?

Connor? Shit!

Yes, they’re in a trash bag.
I want to tell him. I never even looked at the card. I figured they were from Brice: he has sent them before. He’s never asked me out though.
Thank God!

Connor
, my ex-boyfriend, has stepped up his “sorry” game. Texting and calling aren’t working. He’s trying to win me back. I dated Connor, slept with him, he cheated, end of the freakin’ Connor story. Except it was one unrelated shit storm at the beginning of a trail that made my mind check out.

It’s not easy to cope, but I’m trying.
I try to remember what it was like to be normal, and I hold onto that. I don’t want my body to take over again. I don’t understand why is it instinctual to want to run away from bad things instead of facing them head-on.  Danger, car bombs, and having a gun held to my head were all that my mind could take. Connor was the least of my problems after that. It made his betrayal insignificant in the grand scheme of things.  In fact, the thought of him doesn't even bother me at all anymore. He's an asshole. I guess he always was. I'm glad I found out about his true nature sooner rather than later, when it would have hurt even more.

I ignore
his text like I always do. I need to find out how he got my number. This is bordering on harassment.
Asshole harassment!

I could tell Joey or Megan
, but that would just cause more crap. Eventually, it’ll stop on its own.

My phone buzzes with another text
. Speak of the devil, it’s Megan.

Meg:
U at party?

Me:
Yes

Meg:
Fun?

Me:
Yes, just got here.

Meg:
Joey there?

Meg wouldn’t think to ask that!

This is definitely Antonio using Megan’s phone to check up on me. I grin. I love him - he’s awesome. He watches out for me, and he’s great to my sister. He’s attentive, caring, smart, and a little deadly... but, you know, you’ve got to take the good with the bad, like Dr. Howie says. I’ve learned to do that over the past year.

Me:
Yes, Tonio!

Tonio:
You behaving?

Me:
I’m not a little kid!

Tonio:
Well, ur little

Me:
Knock it
off
, I’m trying to enjoy myself.

Tonio:
Not too much! I’ll kill them!

Yikes, he means it. I text:

I’m ignoring everyone & sitting in a corner by myself.

Long pause, I text back:

Just Kidding!

Tonio:
Have fun & stay by Joey

Me:
KK

“Erin!” Brice calls
out. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” I put my phone away and take a deep sip of my water. I use it as an opportunity to stall. “Have I told you tonight how beautiful you look?”

“Sorry, I’m really thirsty,” I tell him, ignoring the compliment and gulping my water. His eyes are mischievous. He holds his
arm out for me to take again. “You know. I should find Clarissa.”

“We can find her together,” he says.

Dammit!
I consider just walking away, but the scene that would cause makes me quickly rethink that option. I reluctantly take his arm and wrap my hand around it.

The arm thing is a form
al gesture, but that’s the way things are here. People hide behind the proper and formal, but deep down they’re just as uncivil as the rest of the world. They think money and breeding saves them from the true nature that lurks underneath their skin. They look down on us, but at least everything with the mafia is out in the open.  It’s not hidden behind smiles and false promises. The Mafia code is criminal, but it follows a code unlike the code of politics. Mobsters don’t smile at you and tell you what you want to hear, they tell you exactly how it is.

Brice and I walk together towards the French doors that lead out to the patio. Ou
tside is an enormous pool with geysers spraying into the sky.  Bobbing up and down are artificial candles that look like red roses. This is what the classic lifestyle of the rich and famous  looks like. I’m truly surprised that this palace is not on a T.V. show. The patio area is lined with tables and chairs, decorated with candles and blood red tablecloth. Music thumps tastefully from speakers hidden in the landscaping.

People are scattered everywhere. Waiters in red jackets weave in and out
, carrying trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Brice snatches a tall drink from one of the polished silver trays.

“
Would you like to try this? It’s a daiquiri.” He’s gleaming. He wants to see my drunk, or at least tipsy.