Twisted City: (Twisted City Book 1)

by Rebekah Vasick

  “Is that him?” I whisper, though I don’t have to ask.

  She nods, her glare never retreating from them. Is she harboring all this hate because of what she read in the papers or did she fail to mention other secrets?

  Though he speaks in Italian, his smooth voice beguiles me, more than it did during our phone conversation a week ago. He switches to English and speaks to the Goliath man.

  “Thanks, Frankie,” he says, then turns to us. “Can I offer you ladies something to drink?”

  Just when I expect to converse through Frankie myself, Frankie steps to one side, allowing me to behold the full appearance of Mr. Cappellini.

  My breath catches in my throat. Alice underestimated his allurement. His long, slender, clean-shaven face has a strong jawline leading to a rounded chin. His lips, neither full nor thin, lay slightly parted from one another, revealing a slither of white teeth. His long nose curves at the tip, enhancing his masculine features. He wears his raven hair short, parted to the right, and swept across his brow, where the tips of his hair kiss his left eyebrow. Even though he hides in the shadows, darkened circles expose the intensity of his ocean-blue eyes, where I find myself mesmerized, locked within his gaze.

  “I’ll have a Coke, thanks.” Alice liberates me from the hypnotic state.

  “Same for me, please,” I say in a small voice.

  “Get these ladies Cokes,” he orders the angry barman before sliding off the bar stool to stand at his full height, about six feet.

  He swaggers towards us with his hands hidden in his pockets.

  Clearly, Mr. Cappellini has expensive taste. He’s wearing a black Armani suit with a matching vest and a deep purple silk tie.

  He offers a hand as he introduces himself. “I’m Angelo,” he croons.

  I glance at his hand to find a series of scars along his knuckles.

  Is he a hard-working man or something far more sinister?

  Abandoning the thought, I slide my hand in his, while my eyes flutter back up to greet him. The smoothness of his skin connects with mine, creating warmth that dances along my skin.

  “I’m Eva,” my timid voice replies.

  With the distance of a foot between us, I distinguish his cologne from the combination that infuses the room. The intoxicating scent is a blend of woodland, spices and leather. My entire body awakes at his touch, his scent, his voice and his looks.

  Alice was right. I’m in serious trouble.

  His eyes glimmer as his lips curve into a smile, revealing a small crease around the corners of his mouth. “What are you singing for me?” he asks.

  “‘In My Dreams.’”

  I sense Alice’s disapproving stare boring holes in the back of my head as she exhales loud enough for me to hear.

  “I haven’t heard that one before,” he says.

  “It’s a song I wrote myself. I have a CD with me, for the music.” After retrieving it from my bag, I place it into Frankie’s outstretched hand. “Track one.”

  With an open hand, Angelo gestures towards a series of tables to my right. “Let’s sit down and talk.”

  On each side of an expansive hardwood floor, are square tables. Each has an ebony, corner sofa, curving around the table to form an L-shape.

  Alice hooks her arm in mine, guiding us towards the nearest table. She slides along the sofa, curving around the corner, leaving adequate room for me to sit beside her. As I slide in, the soft, velvet fabric caresses my fingertips. The plush cushions show no signs of wear from occupants.

  Are these sofas new or highly expensive, preserving them for years to come? Based on Angelo’s appearance, I’m guessing the latter.

  Angelo settles on the sofa, facing the stage, and rests his clasped hands on the table. My own hands remain hidden under the table, in my lap, finding comfort in one another.

  The sound of my heartbeat thrums in my ears as silence imbues the room.

  A set of footsteps pierces the stillness. However, I can’t convince myself to search for the owner. I remain mesmerized by Angelo’s ocean-blue eyes, even though he is gazing elsewhere. As I scrutinize his features, I detect white flecks, like the whitecaps on ocean waves, within the blue of his irises.

  The angry, skinny bartender breaks the spell when he enters my peripheral vision beside the table. He lowers a tray and removes three glasses to place them beside their respective owners.

  I greet him with a smile, but soon regret it, as he still wears the furious sneer. Though intimidated by his demeanor, I observe how his already crooked nose wrinkles as his lip curls, baring his yellowing teeth. Through the slits he creates with his eyelids, two onyx stones peer out.

  Alice and I thank him for his service, though Angelo pays him no heed.

  “Tell me more about yourself,” Angelo says. “First, your accent. Where are you from? England?”

  “My parents came from England, but I was born here,” I tell him. “I guess I adopted my accent from them.”

  “Why did they move to Twisted City from England?”

  “We’re originally from Cinderwoods. I moved here.”

  He arches his eyebrows. “Oh really? Cinderwoods wasn’t exciting enough for you?”

  A nervous giggle escapes my lips. “Something like that.”

  He chuckles. “Well, you definitely get all the excitement you can handle in Twisted City. How long have you lived here?”

  “Just over three months.”

  “And you’re still here? Must like the place then.”

  A curve dances along my lips while I secure a lock of hair behind my ear.

  “You have a beautiful smile, Eva. The dimples in your cheeks are very becoming.”

  Heat rises to stain my cheeks.

  A hard nudge against my leg dissolves my smile.

  I turn towards Alice and find her glaring at me. My stomach wrenches, intensifying the glow in my cheeks.

  I collect the cold beverage in front of me, resisting the urge to cool my burning cheeks with it. The condensation from the chilled Coke streaks down the glass. After taking a sip, I replace the glass over the circle of water, concealing it once again.

  OCD much? I hear Alice silently ask.

  “You mentioned writing that song yourself,” Angelo says.

  “Yes, I started it a few years back. Alice encouraged me to finish it once I moved in with her.”

  “It must be good if your friend wanted it finished.”

  “It’s a beautiful song,” Alice interjects.

  “I guess I’ll find out soon, won’t I? What about you, Alice? What can you tell me about yourself?”

  “I’m not here for an interview. I’m here to…” She pauses, contemplating how to finish her sentence without being too insulting, I’m sure. “For moral support.”

  “It’s hardly an interview. Just getting to know you, that’s all.” He collects his tumbler and raises it to his mouth.

  “Okay, well, I’m Alice Price.”

  With the tumbler hovering just before his lips, his eyebrows raise. “Price? As in the richest family in Twisted City?” After taking a sip, he returns the glass to the table.

  “One and the same.” Alice sighs. She’s never comfortable talking about her parents.

  Angelo rests back against the sofa. His arm creeps along the back towards me, where his fingertips drum rhythmically.

  “What’s it like being the only child?” he asks. “You probably get anything you want, right?”

  Another unknown insult.

  I turn to offer her support, only to discover she already wears a grimace.

  “It’s not as fun as you would think,” she says. “My father wanted me to join his business. I chose not to, so they kicked me out. And now, I’m living with my best friend.” One corner of her mouth hitches up as she glances sideways towards me.

  “There’s always a job here if you want one. Do you have any talents?”

  Angelo gathers all her attention once again as a tight, awkward grin spreads acro
ss her lips.

  “I have a job. Thanks for the offer though,” she chuckles tensely.

  He smiles. “So, Eva, I suppose we better let you get on the stage, huh?”

  The moisture depletes from my mouth. I take another sip of my Coke to replenish it. With my free hand hidden under the table, Alice gathers it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “You’ll be great,” she whispers.

  I wish I had her optimism.

  I take small, hesitant steps towards the stage, clenching my fists and tighten my jaw to refrain my teeth from chattering. My heels clap against the hardwood floor, echoing around the room.

  Please, feet, don’t trip on anything, I silently beg.

  The stage seems so far away from Alice and Angelo. How many tables have I passed? Six or seven on each side?

  Frankie waits for me by the stairs. I wondered where he disappeared to.

  “You’re all set. Let me know when to hit play,” he says.

  I smile at him though it isn’t returned.

  My heart pounds against my chest, desperate to flee from its confinement. My body quivers as thoughts of failing blitz through my mind, causing me to falter. I reach out for the rail to steady myself as I climb four steps onto the stage that is neither large nor small, but adequate for a band with all their instruments.

  As I cross the stage towards the microphone, I chant Alice’s words, you’ll be great, repeatedly in my mind. A spotlight shrouds me, creating the illusion I’m alone. I use this to my advantage and pretend I’m not performing for anyone. Nevertheless, my relentless nerves command my body to quiver.

  Moisture forms in the palms of my hands and I wipe them on my dress, instantly regretting it. A quick inspection shows no marks. I close my eyes and exhale a haggard sigh of relief. I grip the microphone as I steady my erratic breathing.

  Get it together, Eva, I scold myself.

  I gesture to Frankie that I’m ready.

  The music pumps through the surrounding speakers. I close my eyes, open my mouth, and allow the melody to flow.

  If I could fly, I’d spread my wings

  And journey on to better things

  But my feathers are torn and here I remain

  And everything feels the same

  I want to scream, I want to shout

  I open my mouth but nothing comes out

  Sometimes I hurt just to feel the pain

  Instead of the emptiness that consumes my brain.

  I’m just an empty shell, in my lonely hell.

  But when I sleep, you come for me

  And take me by the hand

  You whisper words of love

  Until I understand

  Oh, it seems so real

  And life will never be the same

  But when I wake, the truth remains

  You’re only in my dreams.

  In a crowded world I feel so alone

  And I pray to God to take me back home

  To take me away, far from here

  Where I live in nothing but fear

  I wish to close my eyes, to never awake

  Without you, this life I can’t take

  I’m just a foolish girl with nothing to gain

  But a fantasy that drives me insane

  Why can’t you be real, for me to hold and feel?

  

  But when I sleep you come for me

  And take me by the hand

  You whisper words of love

  Until I understand

  Oh, it seems so real

  And life will never be the same

  But when I wake, the truth remains

  You’re only in my dreams

  Only ever in my dreams.

  Two pairs of hands applaud me when the music stops.

  I raise my hand to shield my eyes from the light that now seep through, between my fingers. As the applause intensifies, their silhouettes emerge.

  “You were sensational,” Angelo says.

  Alice stands beside him, concealing her excited giggle behind her hands. She palms her hands together under her chin, lacing her fingers together, allowing her smile to shine. You were fantastic, she mouths.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into the microphone. My voice echoes through the speakers, inducing a hot blush to stain my cheeks.

  “Come down. Let’s talk about your hours,” Angelo instructs, turning on his heel to retreat to the table.

  My hours?

  The butterflies in my stomach flutter throughout my body. My head spins as I comprehend his words.

  I have a job!

  On the outside, my body maintains its composure as I descend the stairs and gracefully return to the table. On the inside, however, I cannot stop my elated heart dancing to a rhythmic beat that seems to sing, I have a job. By the time I reach the table, my joy seeps through my skin, causing my limbs to quiver. Once I slide in beside Alice, I hide my jittery hands under the table.

  “Can you start tonight?” Angelo asks. “Alice, you’re welcome to stay.”

  “I don’t have work tonight. I could stay. You know, for moral support,” she says.

  “Then it’s a deal,” Angelo says, not waiting for my answer. “Chad, bring us some champagne.” He looks over his shoulder towards the bar.

  As Frankie settles himself beside Angelo, Chad positions himself beside the table to pour four glasses of champagne. This time, however, I refuse to greet him, reluctant to allow his scowl to ruin my joyous moment. Whatever his problem is, he can deal with it alone.

  “Wasn’t she fantastic, Frankie?” Angelo asks. His face beams almost as much as mine.

  One side of Frankie’s mouth curves, accentuating the scar on his lip. “She was, Angelo. She was.”

  My wide eyes dart back and forth between the pair as they speak about me like I’m not present.

  “You mentioned writing that song a few years ago,” Angelo asks. “Did you write it with someone in mind?”

  “Not really. I went through some difficult and lonely years. I guess my imagination juices flowed and created this song.”

  “I really enjoyed it.” His gaze lingers on mine as silence permeates the room, mesmerizing me once again.

  “Eva, I need to get some information and a form of ID from you,” Frankie interjects, breaking the spell. He slides a manila folder with a pen clipped to it across the table.

  While the others continue conversing, I scribble my information on the various forms. When I’m done, I close the folder and retrieve my ID from my purse, laying it on top of the folder before sliding it back to Frankie.

  He flips through the forms and glimpses at my card. “Great. You’re officially part of the Stang family.”

  I cannot suppress the wide smile from emerging or the frenzied beat of my heart. I glance at Alice and find her mirroring me. Frankie rises from his seat.

  “I need to make a copy of your ID,” he says before walking away.

  Angelo slides his jacket sleeve a little way up his arm revealing a Rolex. “It’s five o’clock now. We still have three hours before opening. Are you ladies hungry? I’d like to take you somewhere for dinner.”

  I sense Alice begging me to say no, that we will eat somewhere alone, but how can I say no to my new boss? I chew on my lip as I debate my answer.

  “I know somewhere quiet. No one will bother us,” Angelo continues.

  I gaze at Alice, pleading silently.

  She tilts her head, wearing her you owe me big time look.

  My lips hitch up as I return my gaze to Angelo. “We would love to.”

  With my nose pressed against the window of the taxi, I observe the delights of the little restaurants and shops lining the street.

  I had no idea a quiet corner existed in this bustling city.

  Fascinated, I watch people wave or engage in friendly conversation with one another. In our neighborhood, the only waves or words exchanged are angry or obscene gestures, since everyone is in a great rush to get anywhere.

&nb
sp; The taxi idles outside a quaint Italian restaurant. It’s bedecked in white paint and a burgundy awning stretched along its front with Piccolo Italia printed in off-white letters.

  An unexpected intrusion of butterflies flutters around my stomach. I remain beside Alice as we follow the two men inside.

  Within seconds, a short, plump woman welcomes us.

  I’m not one for stereotypes, but this woman is clearly Italian in her physique and attire. She wears a simple black dress with a white apron. Over her short, curly raven hair, she wears a white, flowered kerchief that reveals the fullness of her face. Her thin lips curve into a smile, revealing deep grooves around her mouth and eyes. With her arms open wide, she greets Angelo and Frankie, who bend their knees to lower themselves enough to embrace her.

  Even though they speak in Italian, it’s obvious Alice and I are the subject, since the motherly woman smiles at us despite conversing with the men.

  “Let’s hope they’re saying good things about us,” Alice whispers.

  The woman abandons the men and gathers mine and Alice’s hands.

  “Welcome to my restaurant. You are good girls, yes?” she asks in a thick Italian accent.

  “Thank you,” Alice answers. “And yes, we’re perfect ladies.”

  All I can do is smile at the dear-hearted lady.

  “Come. I give you the best seat in the house,” she says, leading us towards the back of the restaurant away from the other guests.

  The soft, burgundy carpet muffles the sound of our steps as we weave around tables bedecked in red-checked cloth. I remain close to Alice, even as we stand by our table. I study the room that bleeds Italian lineage.

  “Do you think she misses Italy?” Alice whispers, voicing my thoughts.

  “Yes. But it’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

  She nods.

  I feel the warmth of another body.

  Heat stains my cheeks when I acknowledge Angelo standing so close.

  “May I?” he asks, pulling out a chair.

  I take my seat and watch Alice. She looks bewildered as he offers her a chair too. Clearly, she’s re-evaluating her opinion of him.

  While Frankie continues to converse with the lady, Angelo occupies the chair opposite me. He rests his hands on the table and laces his fingers. Instantly, his eyes linger on mine, capturing me once again.