| 7 | New Friend

[ S E R A P H I N E ]

Drive me home? Is he serious? Why would he do that?

It's probably guilt. Or he pities me because of what happened. Well, almost happened. Maybe he feels guilty for what his father tried to do.

I don't expect him to, but, apparently this guy feels the need to make it up to me one way or another. "You... No. You don't have to." I look away from Dominico and check my phone.

No new calls. No new messages. Nothing. Ugh. Pathetic.

"Angelx30" is still offline. The guy must be tied up with work. Or vacationing somewhere remote. Somewhere I've never been. Hopefully not with his girlfriend. Or wife?

Yikes. I hope I'm not ruining someone's marriage or anything.

Dominico reclines and swallows the pasta in his mouth. "You don't want me to make sure my father's not lurking around?" He looks at me with his expressive green eyes squinting a little, his tone denoting some concern.

A humorless grin follows his question as hesitation grips my thoughts. "No. No need. But, thanks. I can manage."

"You're taking the bus home?"

"No. I'll talk to Alina." I get up from my seat with my phone in my hand. "She's here, too." I don't know where exactly, but I have a feeling she's somewhere I don't wanna be.

She's told me once that she used to be an escort before she applied for a job at the country club. "A high-class call girl," was her description.

Not that I'm judging her. Not at all. I'm an internet whore now. I know better than to judge others for their life choices.

"Who's Alina?"

"I work with her, at the country club," I explain with a feigned smile while Dominico frowns. "Thanks for offering, but I can't just leave. I still have work to do."

"Fine." With a sigh, Dominico refills his glass and gets up from his chair. "Just keep your head down. Call me if he tries to do anything."

•

•

•

[ D O M I N I C O ]

I just met my new pretend girlfriend.

No. "Girlfriend" doesn't sound right.

My new... Fake fuck buddy? I'm not familiar with the newer slangs the millennials and Gen Zs have coined.

I'm not talking about my ex. Not by a long shot. I've learned the hard way, and I sure as fuck won't be backsliding to that toxic cycle again. No thanks.

But Enzo wasn't exaggerating. Seraphine and Lizbeth do share some similarities:

Same physique. Same height. Slim with nice curves. Same long, silky dark hair. A small, delicate face with soft features. Curious and secretive pretty eyes that have seen a lot...

I just met Seraphine, but I'm sure she's a nice, responsible, hardworking girl from a decent middle class family from the South. Her dad's an immigrant from Asia, if my hunch is right.

My parents will say she's quite young for me, but I really don't give a shit. What concerns me is her safety. Getting her out of here alive and unharmed.

At least in the physical sense. I've already gauged how much damage my philandering father has inflicted. Seen the telltale signs with my own eyes.

She's anxious and terrified, although she tries hard to look the opposite. Seraphine was crying in this bathroom for ten minutes straight before she went to bed. She probably thinks I didn't hear any of it.

The girl's trying her best to seem fine. But I know deep in my gut that she's far from okay. She's gonna need at least a few counseling sessions to help her process what my father just did. Then a few more to help her get over it.

I don't know if she's seeing a therapist, or if she plans to seek some professional help. One thing I know for sure: that girl's not gonna survive another week without me being a buffer between her and my power-tripping, chronically abusive father.

If I manage to convince him she's my new motivation and much-needed distraction, he just might keep his hands off her and move on to his next victim. A much more willing victim, I hope.

I'm sure she didn't tell anyone yet. I bet she thinks she has to keep it all a secret because of her job. Because she badly needs money and my family's got a lot of it.

She's heard too much, but she won't admit it for some reason. Do I seem the type to beat up snitches and bury them alive? Or she lied to me because she thinks I can't be trusted at all.

Yeah. "Obviously."

She won't even give me her number.

Not that I blame her. If my ex were here, she'd say I look like a creepy homeless hobo. I smell and feel like one, too. Or it could just be another side effect of the pills.

Before she left, Seraphine said I've taken more than enough pain medication and one too many sleeping pills. Perhaps even a fatal dose.

But I'm not trying to die—yet. I'm just sick of the sleepless nights and the restless mornings.

I pinch the warm flesh between my brows and let out a heavy sigh. My eyes sting. I need more sleep and a cold shower.

I'll deal with Ottavio and my fake girlfriend later.

•

•

•

[ S E R A P H I N E ]

It's seven in the evening.

It's raining hard, and I'm buckled up in his passenger seat with my bag and dusty old boots. My last shift just ended, and now I reek of yeasty malt and whiskey.

But he doesn't seem to mind. A man of his word, too. The type of guy who doesn't like breaking promises.

I don't know whether I should be impressed or start panicking again. When he said he would drive me home, I didn't really expect Dominico would sit by the bar for four hours straight and wait for me to finish working.

All morning, I didn't think he'd show up at the bar at all. Especially after I heard from Alina that his father's in a meeting on the top deck with his new business partners. I just assumed Dominico would be part of it, too.

Apparently not. Thankfully, I haven't run into Mr. Tomassini the entire afternoon. Nearly bumped into him around lunch while he drank champagne with some guests, but of course I made a beeline for the busy kitchen to avoid having to talk to him again.

I haven't seen Ignazio on the lower decks after that. Not sure if his son keeping close to me all day has something to do with it. Maybe. I should thank the guy sitting beside me.

But I don't really have the energy for another tense and awkward conversation about that yacht party, with me sitting right next to him in this sports car.

It's a Maserati, and it looks brand new. Not that I'm surprised. “Nice wheels.” I put on a smile and glance at his profile.

Wearing a loose shirt and dark jeans while he smells of minty cologne, Dominico barely moves and speeds up, the soft hum of the engine quite relaxing. “It's my friend's.”

“Oh.” I nod and make guesses in my head, the thuds in my chest only getting louder by the second. Not because I can see the butt of his gun sticking out from under his leather belt. I'm far more worried about what Alina will be feeding the rumor mill at work after she saw me get off the yacht with Dominico right behind me. “You borrowed it for the weekend?”

“Nah.” A red light makes him stop the car. But not for long. The speedometer's back at 100 before I can think of a relevant topic to chat about. “He owes me,” Dominico mumbles with a meaningful grin.

Money? Or some other favor? “I see.” I grab my phone and hold my breath.

No new messages from "Angelx30". Tsk.

Where is he? I'm hoping he'll send me a selfie tonight. Or something more revealing. But I don't think he will.

Not even a single text? I rub my arm and massage my throbbing temple. Is he ghosting me?

Why? Have I said something that turned him off? The guy probably thinks I'm too boring to sext with.

Ugh. Whatever. I just wanna talk to him about the money he sent. About why he sent me another 500 bucks this afternoon.

Is it payment for chatting with him yesterday? Just because I replied to his private messages?

Wow. That guy's too generous to a complete stranger whose real face he hasn't even seen.

“You cold?” Dominico stops at a busy intersection and flings a look of concern my way.

“A little.” I press my thighs together, close to shivering, goosebumps already dotting my arms. To match my cropped cardigan, I'm wearing a high-waist skort and an old white bikini underneath. And nothing else.

“There. It's off.”

A different kind of unease tightens my insides when his hand stops touching the controls. Did he really just turn off the A/C? I don't want him to start sweating in his nice, pricey clothes just 'cause I stupidly forgot my coat in that room. In that cabin on the top deck. “Thanks. But you don't have to turn it off.”

“I'm good,” he mutters as he stoically drives past a long line of cars.

The unpleasant feeling in my stomach only worsens when we both fall silent. I'm not sure why he's driving me back to the country club himself. To make sure his father's not stalking me?

Why would Mr. Tomassini do that? I'm a nobody. I'm just a tiny blip on his 'potential new mistresses' radar. I didn't even think he's into Asian girls.

So why's his son here with me? Because he thinks my nosiness got me into a huge mess I can't get out of? Does Ignazio believe I heard too much? That I know too much now?

Crap. Now I can't breathe. I can't even feel my hands and feet. It's not just the physical exhaustion. I'm having a hard time psyching myself that I might lose my job this week, even though I'm well aware it's just one of the consequences I have to pay for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Dominico must be thinking the same, hence his warnings this morning.

Classic rock music softly plays through the speakers and fills the dim space between us, our silence painting grisly images in my mind. “Are you still looking for that guy?”

“What guy?” Facing the wet road, he wrinkles his dark brows, his forearm resting on the black steering wheel. He slows down as we approach heavy traffic.

“The one with the blond hair and tattoos.”

“Yeah.”

Okay. So, that blond dude's "Ottavio"? Who is he to Mr. Tomassini? Does Ignazio still want to kill that guy? “Why? I mean, why you?” I squint at Dominico.

“Because the big boss says so.”

Seriously? Ignazio really wants him to find the guy by himself? “Your dad's actually your boss?”

“Always been.”

I hold my breath, waiting for Dominico to say more. But all I hear is another sigh.

Fine. He has his secrets, and I have mine. Like where I live. He doesn't know my address because I haven't told him.

No way. I don't want him to know that much about me. Not because I live in a terrible neighborhood. I just love my privacy.

Also, I don't want him to drive for another two hours in this weather. Or make him think I'm interested in him romantically and have no issues with him driving me home.

It's just a crush. A silly little crush. He seems good-natured and grounded despite his family background. But I don't want anything to do with him.

Having him as a friend won't do me any good in the long run. And vice versa. We're worlds apart. I don't know why someone like him would like hanging out with someone like me.

“You tired?”

“I'm always tired,” I sigh, clasping the strap of my bag while raindrops blur the windshield.

“Yeah? Same,” he murmurs with a tight smile.

I bite on my lip and take a deep breath, unable to sit still. The dark tint blurs my view of the damp road and the signs, but it's a good thing in case we pass by someone who knows me. “You didn't have to wait for me.”

“Told you I'll drive you home.”

“Yeah, but, you really don't have to.”

“I can't, 'cause you won't tell me where you live,” he says with a crooked smile.

Not sure if it's amusement or just something to make me feel less uncomfortable. Maybe a little bit of both. “I told you: it's too far.”

Dominico smirks and gives a slight nod. “If you say so.”

“I'm not lying.” I rub my itchy eyes and recline beside him, covering my smile with my cold hand. I don't wanna keep looking at his face. I can tell he already suspects I'm into him.

Then again, who isn't? This guy's a walking hunk of testosterone. Effortlessly handsome. Manly in every way. Reserved and mysterious, but actually kind and generous.

Now that I've spent almost an entire day with him, I'm confident he's got a line of swooning admirers just patiently waiting for his attention everywhere he went.

But I don't really care. It's none of my concern. I have much bigger problems to lose sleep over.

Since the country club is still an hour away, I face the window and rest my eyes. I need a nap, and this passenger seat feels warm and really comfy.

I'll be fine...

This guy's not gonna kidnap me. Dominico knows we're broke as shit.

•