“Big news,” he starts, and everyone looks at him with great interest. “The New York State Gaming Commission is hosting the Mega State Jackpot next week, and they have hired us to audit the drawing.”
“The three-hundred-twenty-eight-million-dollar lottery drawing?” Eric asks, dumbfounded by this turn of events.
Mr. DeLuca claps his hands and excitedly rubs them together. “After weeks of no one winning, the jackpot has amassed to a fortune that is officially the largest jackpot in the history of the state.” He takes a seat on his desk and addresses the room, “Drawings are usually observed by another firm, but they’re in some hot water with the federal government, so if all goes well, we’ll have the contract. Imagine that! I can just hear the pretty lottery woman announce, Tonight’s drawing is being observed by DeLuca & Associates!”
“Very cool,” Eric says.
“Amazing publicity,” Sarah chimes in.
“And you three, along with myself, are part of the audit team.”
My colleagues and I look around at each other. Eric seems confused and then asks about special compensation. Sarah starts asking questions about what the assignment entails. I sit, surprised. For me, this is a huge deal. I’ve never been part of a selective team, nor have I witnessed a live lottery drawing.
“Why us?” I ask, making Eric and Sarah go silent. I realize I just put a damper on their parade by asking the question. “I mean … I’ve only been here a few years, where so many out there have worked here for decades.”
DeLuca doesn’t seem bothered by the question. “This will be a regular thing, so I have many opportunities to spread the love around the office. You three were the first names out of my hat,” he jokes with a big laugh.
DeLuca continues with some basic details about the drawing, and I listen on. When the meeting is over, Sarah and Eric file out, but I am told to remain.
“Amelia,” my boss says. He closes the door slightly, leaving it open a crack.
He makes his way behind the desk again, this time taking a seat in his large black office chair. He glances at the door, presumably to check that no one is there, and then locks his hands together as he leans forward and speaks in a quiet voice, “I hope you don’t mind that I put you on the audit team.” His eyes narrow in assessment of my reaction.
“I’m honored. This is a new experience for me.”
“Good. Good,” he assures himself. “I didn’t know if you would be here for the news. I need to know you’ll be there on the big day. I can’t have you sick … or away for family business.”
I smile at his odd comment. “Never.”
He looks toward the door again and then back to me. “I heard about what happened with your father. I’m glad he made it out safely.”
My smile fades. “I didn’t know it was public knowledge.”
“It’s not. I heard from a friend. Your father and I are well connected. Goes back to the old days in Long Island City.”
A wave of familiarity at my father’s stories of the good old days warms me. “He always speaks highly of your friendship.”
“And I, him,” Mr. DeLuca says. “That’s why I’d like to send him something as a get-well gift. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Get well?” I ask in horror. “Is he sick?”
“I assumed you’d seen him,” he says, his eyes shifting as he sits back in his chair.
“No, he’s …” I halt. I don’t know where my father is, but that doesn’t mean everyone needs to know that. I reverse course and say, “I don’t live at home anymore. When I talk to him today, I’ll ask how he’s feeling.”
He frowns as he nods into his knuckles that are now resting against his mouth. “Please send my regards.”
My thumbs tap my notebook as we stare at each other in an awkward silence.
I stand from my chair. “If that’s all, then I’ll go back to my cubicle.”
His fingers rise from his clenched fist for a moment to dismiss me. “That’s all. And if you could, I’d like the files you’re working on by the end of the day.”
“Yes, sir.” I walk to the door and let myself out.
When I started here as a junior auditor, I enjoyed the monotony. Going through data with a fine-tooth comb, connecting the pieces of business funds, comes easily to me. With mathematics, you can always find the answer. If it doesn’t present itself on the first try, you can use another equation.
I take a seat at my cubicle and look at the photo of my family that sits on my desk. It was taken at the holiday brunch at Villa Russo. Mom is in her favorite emerald pantsuit while Dad stands, handsome, in a navy pinstripe. Gia and I are wearing different shades of red—a coincidence that made for a picture-perfect family.
What have you gotten us into, Dad?
I call my mother, as I have been all day, as promised. This time, my voice is urgent.
“Is Dad hurt?” I ask as soon as she picks up.
There’s a pause. I can hear the sound of the local news on in the background as she takes a moment to respond. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
“DeLuca made a comment.”
“Ignore him. He’s just repeating gossip. That’s what happens in these situations. These women can’t keep hold of their men, so they gossip with one another about everyone else’s and pass the gossip on to their husbands. Your father is fine.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to worry you. Like the time he got into a car accident and didn’t tell you until he came home without a car.”
She hums, remembering the day. “Raphael is full of surprises. He also always tells me what’s going on.”
“Keep me updated too. I need to know the details.” I look toward DeLuca’s office and grimace. Lowering my head, I place my hand over the receiver and ask quietly, “Mom, is there a reason why Dad wanted me to work here?”
Don’t ask, don’t tell is the Sorrentino way, and I’m punishing her for doing as we’ve only been told. I’m asking; therefore, I’m the one breaking the rules.
“Of course,” she starts, and my heart sinks at the thought of some ulterior motive. “He knows Angelo DeLuca. Your father only wants you around people he can trust. You chose to get a degree in accounting, and he knew a man with one of the top five firms.”
I breathe, relieved. “You’re right. That makes sense.”
“Now, Amelia, come straight home, and we can talk more in person.”
“I love you, Mom,” I say to end the conversation without having to explain—again—that I’m not going back to her house.
We hang up, and I get right on the task of gathering the files DeLuca asked for. I’m efficient in my work, and I can complete a project in half the time of other employees. Some say it’s because I’m a fast reader. My eyes skim over the numbers with ease. I know it’s because I don’t believe in long lunch hours and coffee breaks. Go to work, do your job, go home. That’s the Amelia Sorrentino way.
My files are on DeLuca’s desk by the end of the day, and I’m at the bus stop just in time to get a vacant seat. Everyone who comes on after me has to stand.
Going to work today was the right decision. I needed the normalcy, and it helped keep my nerves relatively calm. Still, now that I’m on the bus, I keep my head alert. Not just for danger, but also for a certain blue-eyed man.
I search to see if Jesse is anywhere in sight. It stings a little that he’s not here, although I did ask him to leave me alone.
With my phone now charged, I close my eyes and listen to the music of The Fray, letting the melancholy sounds soothe me as I look out the window and watch my city pass by. From the narrow streets of downtown Manhattan and the Wall Street Bull to the warehouses along Brooklyn’s waterfront, over the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge and the glistening waters near the Statue of Liberty, and onto the local streets of the borough I call home, I listen to music and find comfort in my city.
I get off the bus and walk to my car. The drive to my building passes in a blur, and I’m relieved to pull into th
e parking spot.
My tenth-floor apartment has one bedroom, a bathroom, and open kitchen, and through my window, I can see the Freedom Tower in downtown Manhattan. There’s no doorman or fancy lobby, but it’s mine, and I love it.
I let myself into my place and am startled by the sight of someone sitting on my living room sofa, causing me to fall backward into the wall and clutch my chest in fright.
“Hey, bitch. Get dressed because we’re going out.” Sienna gets up from the couch and walks toward me in a silver minidress with one shoulder.
“Jesus … you scared the shit out of me! What the hell are you doing here?” My hand is on my heart as it beats in panic mode.
Her long hair is flowing in curls, bouncing as she glides over. “I have a key, obviously. I’ve totally let myself into your apartment a thousand times before. What’s the problem?”
I push off the wall and toss my bag on the table. “I guess I’ve been a bit jittery lately.”
“Understandably! That happens to be exactly why we need to go out dancing.”
“It’s Monday. No one goes dancing on a Monday.” I lower my brows while she raises hers.
“When did you get so old? We live in New York City, the city that never sleeps. You can go clubbing at two in the afternoon if you want. And tonight just happens to be house night at Elektra.”
I walk to the refrigerator and open it, grabbing a bottle of VitaminWater. “I’m not in the mood to go dancing. This weekend wore me out.” Twisting the cap, I take a hefty drink.
“I know. We almost died on Friday night.”
“Correction: I almost died. You left.”
“Ten more minutes—”
“And you would have perished. You’re right. It’s frightening. I still don’t want to go out.”
I walk to the sofa and fall onto the cushions.
Sienna grabs my hand and lifts me up before I have a chance to get comfortable. “Oh no, you don’t. The world could end tomorrow, which means we need to spend every last minute having fun.”
“What about your tail?” I ask, referring to her bodyguards. “Do you not find it alarming that you have private security? Where are they anyway?”
“They’re parked by the hydrant across the street. Super stealthy. And, no, they’re just guys who drive me around. Don’t you remember my dad used to make us have a chaperone when we were in high school and wanted to go dancing in the city? Same thing.”
I let out a laugh. “Not really, Sienna. I think you have them because your father believes there’s a threat.”
“Your dad didn’t hire security for you, so that must mean you’re not! Believe me, those guys outside have more to do with my father keeping tabs on me since he and your dad are out of town. He’s been dying for an excuse to do this since I became an adult.”
Her assessment of the situation makes me feel a little better.
“How do you plan to get past them?”
“They’re coming with. Free designated driver. Who would pass that up? If you’re worried about them telling anyone where we’re going, I wouldn’t fret. Their job isn’t to report where I go. It’s to be there in case there’s trouble.”
“Doesn’t a club at night scream trouble? Besides, you’re the one who, just this morning, chimed in on why I shouldn’t go to work.”
“Work is not worth risking your life. Dancing with super-hot men is.” She does a shimmy, making the light reflect off her sequins. “Watching you walk away from your mom this morning was awesome. I’ve never seen that Amelia before. It was so badass.”
“While I appreciate the comradery, walking out of my mother’s house to go to work is hardly expressing my inner badass.”
“Then let it out. You’re twenty-five, and you live like a nun. Let loose and forget about all the drama. We deserve it!”
I look at her with her blown-out tresses and fresh spray tan, making her look amazing and full of life. She’s right. We should be living. Isn’t that what I told myself this morning on the subway? The old Amelia is gone. Here stands a new, fierce woman.
This is a horrible idea. My father is in hiding. Jesse thinks the Lugazzis are looking into me. I’m pretty sure the guy I’m crazy about is a spy. And still, I actually think getting out and doing something fun might be good for me. I’m officially losing my goddamn mind. I think it’s because we’ll have bodyguards, and that notion makes me feel better.
I can’t believe I’m even considering this.
“Will the guards be with us the whole time?” I ask, making sure she understands them coming is high on my list of reasons why I’m even thinking about leaving.
“Like annoying chaperones at an eighth-grade dance.”
“This is worse than high school.”
“I know! So much fun.” She pulls me up off the couch and down the hallway toward my bedroom. “Now, come on. Let’s get you sexified.”
“Eww. Don’t say that word,” I huff as I walk over to my closet. “What kind of outfit are you thinking?”
“Remember that dress you wore to Anthony’s birthday dinner when you two were still together?” She waggles her brows as she stands by my dresser, looking at my jewelry. “That one but with your knee-high boots.”
“I wore those boots as part of a Halloween costume.”
“A sexy-cop costume. Tonight, you’re going to be sexy Amelia,” she says, holding a pair of my giant hoop earrings up to her ears as she models them in the mirror.
I pull the cocktail dress out of my closet. It’s black with a shiny, metallic fabric that makes the light dance off of it when I walk. Spinning the dress on the hanger, I look at the long-sleeved number. “I don’t want to draw attention to myself.”
She holds the earrings out to me, and I take them. “Wear the dress and whatever shoes you want. I’m just glad you’re going out.”
As I walk to the bathroom to change, I know it’s a bad idea to go out.
I hope I don’t regret this.
Chapter Seven
Ever since high school, when the resurgence of industrial Brooklyn communities morphed into high-end dwellings for Manhattanites, Sienna has made this her stomping ground. Every restaurant and bar has been imbibed by her. And the clubs are her playground.
She’s brought me with her a few times. The food in the area is great. The bars are fun, but the clubs are always too wild for my taste. I wonder why she even asked me to come along. She has a ton of friends, and yet she always attempts to get me to burst out of my shell. This is Sienna’s way of showing she cares.
As we walk to the entrance of Club Elektra, I’m surprised to see a line around the corner.
“Your hair looks awesome,” Sienna says, patting down my flat-ironed mane. “And you look even better in that dress than I remember.”
“I’ve definitely put on weight since the last time I wore it.” I pull my dress up because it’s showing a tad too much cleavage, which only makes the hem creep up my thighs higher. I am definitely thicker than when I dated Anthony.
“That’s because the Italian douche always commented on what you were eating. And you’re too nice of a person to argue with him. I’ve never seen a girl put her fork down so easily.”
I’m not a doormat at all. But there is some truth in Sienna’s words. I find confrontation to be a waste of energy, which is why—in hindsight, I realize—I allowed Anthony to walk all over me. The thought makes me laugh to myself.
“What’s funny?” Sienna asks.
I shake my head. “I was just thinking about how I never fought with Anthony and yet …” I have no problem telling Jesse what I think and feel. I can’t tell her that. Instead, I say, “I gave my mom attitude all day.”
“She was shocked. When you left, she was beside herself with the fact that you actually walked out like that. She told me to keep an eye on you.”
I look at her in disbelief. “Is that what this is? You’re keeping an eye on me?”
She scrunches her mouth, as if she said something she
shouldn’t have. “Well, kind of. I did tell her I’d stay with you and have my guards watch the two of us. Obviously, she doesn’t know we’re out at a club. The only way she’d know is if my guards told my dad, who told your dad, who told your mom, which is highly improbable.”
With an exaggerated breath, I tilt my head at her. “Don’t you think it’s sad that we’re in our mid-twenties and still under the thumbs of our parents?”
She laughs. “At least yours let you get an apartment. Mine will have me live under their roof until I’m married and not a moment before the priest declares before God that we are man and wife. We’re Italian. We’re going to be parented by our parents into our sixties. It’s tradition.”
I laugh at her spot-on assessment as I look down Kent Avenue. “Where are your bodyguards?”
Sienna’s head is buried in her phone as she lets out a wave of indifference. “They’re close. They know not to hover. I can’t stand when they do that. One will be in the club, scoping the place. The other will stay near the entrance.”
“Forty bucks,” the bouncer asks for the cover at the door. It’s a steep price for a weekday, which usually means there’s a well-known DJ in attendance.
Sienna pays for the two of us, and we walk into a dark room with a coat check. Down a long hallway, we can hear the music in the distance. It grows louder as we near the end until we’re in a large ballroom, four stories high with wraparound balconies all the way up.
A DJ is at the other side, up on a metal bridge hanging over a stage. Strobe lights and fog machines ignite the room as it pulsates with the rhythmic beats of Latin house music.
The place is packed, and we dance our way through the swarms of people inside.
At the bar, Sienna waves her arm in the air to get the bartender’s attention. “Two gin and tonics!” she shouts an order for us.
“Make one of those a Stella.” My order falls on deaf ears as the bartender walks away and Sienna is shaking her hips to the music.
While I’m not crazy about clubs, this place does have a really cool vibe. Since it’s an old factory, there are beams running the length of the room. The exposed pipes are painted black, and chandeliers of onyx and glass hang from the rafters, giving it an industrial-glam decor.
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