by Cora Reilly
“You are late,” he said, a slight slur in his voice.
“I had to work. The bar is open late,” I said, wanting nothing more than to go into my bedroom and let him sleep off his intoxication. He pushed himself off the sofa and came around it and closer to me.
“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore.”
“I’m not,” he said. “Most of the time. Today wasn’t a good day.”
I had a feeling the good days were few and far between. “I’m sorry,” I said automatically.
He waved it off. He took another step in my direction and almost lost his balance. Memories of all the fights between him and my mother that I’d witnessed resurfaced one after the other. I didn’t have the energy for them now. “I should probably go to bed. Tomorrow will be another long day.”
I turned when I heard his uncoordinated steps and then his hand clamped down on my wrist. I jumped in surprise.
“Wait,” he slurred. “You have to give me some money, Leona. Roger must have paid you by now.”
I tried to slip out of his grip but it was too tight, and painful. “You’re hurting me,” I said through gritted teeth.
He didn’t seem to listen. “I need money. I need to pay off my betting debts or we’ll be in trouble.”
Why would we be in trouble if he didn’t pay his betting debts?
“How much do you need?” I asked.
“Just give me all you have,” he said, his fingers on my wrist as much a way to keep me from leaving as a way to keep himself upright.
I knew how it was going to be. Mom was the same way with her addiction. She stole every penny she found in my room, until I had no choice but to carry it on my body at all times. Not that that ever fended her off on her more desperate days.
“I need to put money back for college and we need food.” I didn’t hold much hope that he’d use much of his own money for grocery shopping. The donuts had been a one time exemption.
“Stop thinking about college. Girls like you don’t go to college.”
I finally managed to free myself of his crushing grip. Rubbing my wrist, I took a step back from him.
“Leona, this is serious. I need money,” he said.
The despair on his face made me reach into my backpack. I took the fifty-dollar note and handed it to him. That left me with a little over one hundred dollars after Roger had paid me today. Tips were decent in the arena.
“That’s all?”
I didn’t get the chance to reply. He staggered forward, catching me by surprise. He ripped my backpack out of my hand, shoved his arm inside and began rummaging. I tried to get it back but he pushed me away. I collided with the wall. When he found the rest of the money, he dropped the backpack and pushed the notes into his jeans pocket.
“A good daughter wouldn’t lie to her father,” he said angrily.
And a good father wouldn’t steel from his daughter. I picked my backpack off the ground. One of the straps now had a rip in it. Fighting tears, I rushed into the bedroom and closed the door.
Tired and shaken, I sank down on the mattress. Of course, nothing had changed. I’d lost count of the times my mother had promised me she’d start anew. The drugs had been stronger than her willpower and her love for me. And here I was with my father who battled his own addiction, and I was stuck with him. Why did people in my life always break their promises?
I had no money to leave Las Vegas and even if I did, where would I go? I couldn’t afford an apartment anywhere, and I had no friends or family I could turn to.
I undressed, putting the dress carefully on the ground. Without money, I wouldn’t be able to buy new clothes, but there was no way I could wear my dress again. It smelled of sweat and had a ketchup stain on the skirt. I took jeans shorts and a plain white shirt out of my backpack. They were crumpled from Dad’s rummaging but they’d have to do.
Tired, I lied back.
College isn’t for girls like you.
Perhaps I was silly for dreaming about it, but my dreams were the only thing keeping me going. I wanted to get a law degree. Help people who couldn’t afford a good lawyer. I closed my eyes. An image of Fabiano popped into my head. Nobody would ever take money from him. He was strong. He knew how to get what he wanted. I wished I were like that. Strong. Respected.
Early the next morning, I washed my summer dress, then hung it over the shower stall to dry. Even though I still had a few hours until work, I left the apartment. I didn’t feel comfortable there after the incident with Dad yesterday. He hadn’t scared me. Too often had I been confronted with the same blatant despair from my mother.
Luckily, I’d found a few dollars in coins that I’d gotten as tips yesterday at the bottom of the backpack and wanted to grab breakfast for myself.
With my coffee-to-go and a Danish, I strode through the streets without a real purpose. When I noticed the bus, which was heading toward the Strip, I used my last money to buy a ticket. I wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t as if I could ask for a job anywhere there. They would laugh in my face.
I got off near the Venetian, and just kept walking, marveling at the splendor of the hotels, at the lightheartedness of the tourists. This was a different Las Vegas than the one I’d experienced so far. I stopped eventually in front of the fountains of the Bellagio. I closed my eyes. How was I ever going to get a good job around here when I couldn’t even buy myself a decent dress?
I had seen the security guards keep an eye on me when I’d wandered through the hotels. They had pegged me a thief from one look at me.
I knew Dad would keep taking my money unless he suddenly stopped losing his bets, which was highly unlikely. The bank always won.
I asked a passerby for the time since I had no watch or mobile. I had only thirty minutes until I had to be at work. There was no way I was going to be on time, considering that I’d given my last money for the bus ticket to the Strip and would have to walk back. That would take at least one hour, probably longer. With my luck, it would even start raining again.
I started walking away from the luxury of the Bellagio, feeling more and more out of place on the Strip with my wrinkly white shirt and second hand jeans shorts. To top it off, I was freezing my butt off. Perhaps Dad had been right. Perhaps I’d still work in Roger’s bar when I was old and bitter. I almost laughed, then shook my head. If I stopped believing in my future, it was lost, but days like yesterday made it hard to stay hopeful.
I spotted Leona the moment I stepped out of the Bellagio. The doorman handed me the key to my car and I slipped in, never taking my eyes off the girl. The engine came to life with its familiar roar and I pulled out of the driveway, heading down the street toward Leona.
She didn’t notice me until I pulled up beside her and let the window down. My eyes traveled down to her fucking flip-flops. “Shouldn’t you be wearing your new dress today?” I shouted over the noise of the engine and the traffic driving past as I leaned over the passenger seat to get a good look at her. She was dressed in a wrinkly white shirt that was stuffed into old jeans shorts. Though I appreciated the first glimpse of her lean toned thighs, I was annoyed that she hadn’t bought a new dress for herself. I wasn’t used to people ignoring my wishes like that.
She shrugged. She looked obviously uncomfortable. I pushed the passenger door open. “Get in,” I ordered, trying to reign in my annoyance.
For a moment, I was sure she’d say no but then she dropped her backpack from her shoulder and sank down on the seat. She closed the door and put a belt on before finally meeting my gaze, almost defiantly.
I let my eyes wander over her body, coming to rest on the faint bruises on her left wrist. I took her hand and inspected the bruise. She pulled away and hid her wrist beneath her other hand.
“I lost my balance in the shower this morning,” she lied easily.
“Are you sure you didn’t fall down the stairs?” I asked in a low voice. Anger began to simmer under my skin. I knew bruises. And I knew the lies women told to hide they were
being abused. Father had hit my sisters and me almost every day, especially Gianna and myself. We were the ones he couldn’t control, the ones always doing wrong in his eyes. And I’d lost count of the times I’d seen my mother cover up her bruises with make-up.
The bruise around Leona’s wrist was from a too-tight grip.
She gave me a look, but her expression faltered and she shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Who did this?”
“It’s nothing. It doesn’t hurt or anything.”
“Your father.”
“What makes you think that?” she asked, her voice a bit higher than before.
“Because he’s the only one you have reason to protect.”
She licked her lips. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. He was drunk. He didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping me.”
Did she really believe that? Or was she scared of what I’d do to him? And by God I wanted to tear into him like a starved bloodhound.
It wasn’t like it was my business what her father did to her. It shouldn’t be. But the mere idea that he was hurting her made me want to pay him a visit and give him a taste of what I was capable of.
“Is that why you’re dressed like that?” I asked with a wave at her clothes. I pulled the car away from the curb, crossed four lanes to reach the turning lane, then did a U-turn, followed by a cacophony of car horns and raised middle fingers from drivers on both sides of the street.
“What are you doing?” Leona asked, gripping the sides of the seat. “That’s the wrong way.”
“It’s not. We’re buying you a dress, and fucking new shoes. If I have to see you in those fucking flip-flops one more time, I’ll go on a rampage.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “Don’t be ridiculous. I need to get to work. I don’t have time to go shopping.”
“Don’t worry. Roger will understand.”
“Fabiano,” she said pleadingly. “Why are you doing this? If you expect anything in return, I’m not that kind of girl. I’m poor but that doesn’t mean I can be bought.”
“I have no intention of buying you,” I told her. And it was true. Something about Leona made me want to protect her. It was a new experience for me. Not that I didn’t want her in my bed, but I wanted to make her want it too. I’d never had to pay for sex, and never would. The whores in Vegas were on the Camorra’s payroll anyway.
She watched me for a long time. “Then why?”
“Because I can and because I want to.”
The answer didn’t seem to satisfy her but I focused on the street and she didn’t ask more questions, which was a fucking good thing, because I really didn’t want to analyze the details of my fascination with her. She reminded me of my sisters. Not in a kinky way. More like she reminded me of a longing I’d buried deep in my chest. Fuck me.
“So your father stole the money I gave you?” I asked eventually, my fingers bearing down on the wheel, and wishing it were his fucking throat.
She nodded. “He seems to be in trouble.”
If he were in real trouble, I’d know it. The money he owed us, it couldn’t be much yet. If Soto still handled him, he was a lucky man.
“Men like him are always in trouble,” I told her. “You should get away from him.”
“He’s my father.”
“Sometimes we have to let go of our family if we want to amount to anything in life.”
Surprise and curiosity registered on her face. I gritted my teeth, annoyed at myself for my words.
I parked at the curb in front of one of the high-class boutiques I knew the society chicks frequented I occasionally fucked when they felt like adding a thrill to their fucking pampered lives.
Leona looked toward the storefront then back at me, her lips parting in disbelief. A small crease formed between her brows. “Don’t tell me you want me to go in there. They won’t even let me inside looking the way I do. They’ll just think that I’ve come to steal their clothes.”
Would they? We’d see about that. I got out of the car, walked around the hood and opened the door for her. She stepped out, then reached for her backpack. I stopped her. “You can leave it in my car.”
She hesitated, then stepped back so I could shut the door. She looked around herself nervously. She felt fucking uncomfortable. I held out my hand for her. “Come,” I said firmly.
She put her palm in mine, and I closed my fingers around her hand. That Leona trusted me despite what she knew about me, made me want to be good to her, which was surprising. I rarely wanted to be good to anyone. But I had enough money, so one dress wasn’t going to kill me. And new shoes were really more for my own sanity than anything else. These flip-flops had to go.
I led her toward the store. The shop-window was decorated with silver and golden Christmas bubbles. The security guard, a tall, dark-skinned fucker, gave her a once over but let us enter as he registered my face. The vendor couldn’t hide her disdain at Leona’s appearance. Her red painted lips twisted and Leona’s hand in mine tensed. My eyes slanted to her. Her free hand fidgeted with her wrinkly white shirt; shame washed over her face and her freckles disappeared among her blush.
She shifted closer to me, seeking shelter. She sought fucking shelter with a man like me. I doubted she noticed. But I had. And I raised my eyes to the vendor’s face, letting her glimpse behind the mask I wore when I wasn’t handling business, let her see why I was the Enforcer of the Camorra. Why some people begged before I’d even put my knife against their skin. She stiffened, and recoiled.
I smiled coldly. “I assume you can help us.”
She nodded quickly. “What is it you’re looking for?” she asked me.
“You should ask her,” I said in a low voice, nodding toward Leona.
“A dress,” Leona said quickly, then added, “And shoes.”
The vendor took in Leona’s flip-flops. But this time her expression didn’t betray her disdain. Good for her.
“What kind of dress?”
Leona sought my gaze, helpless. I gestured for the vendor to give us a moment. She scurried off to the back of the store where another vendor was standing behind the cashier desk.
“I never got to choose. I don’t know anything about dresses or shoes. I got whatever fit me from Goodwill.”
“You never had a new piece of clothing?” I asked.
She looked away. “Clothing wasn’t my priority. I had to put food on the table.” Her eyes were drawn to the line of dresses to our right.
“Try on whatever catches your eye.”
It became obvious pretty quickly that she wasn’t going to touch any of the dresses, and so I pulled a dark green dress with long sleeves out and held it out to her. She took it and followed the vendor toward the changing rooms in the back. I leaned against the wall, keeping my eyes on the curtain that hid Leona from view. It took longer than getting changed should. “You okay in there?”
She came out, grimacing. I straightened. The dress hugged her body in all the right places and flared out until it reached her knees. And the back, it dipped low, revealing her delicate shoulder blades and spine. She looked completely different. She regarded herself in the mirror and shook her head, her lips setting tight. “This feels like a costume,” she said quietly. “As if I’m pretending I’m someone I’m not.”
I moved closer. “And who is it you’re pretending to be?”
She glared. “More than white trash.”
“White trash,” I repeated in as calm a voice as my anger allowed. “Who called you that?”
“I’m the daughter of a junkie and a gambling addict. I am white trash. I’m not this.” She gestured at her reflection.
“Nobody will ever call you white trash again, you listen? And if they do, you will tell me and I will rip their throats out, how about that?”
She tilted her head, again trying to read me, to understand. “You can’t change my past. You can’t change who I am.”
“No,” I said with a shrug, my finger trailing down her throat.
She wasn’t breathing, and I, too, held my breath at the feel of her soft skin. “But you can. I can only force people to treat you as you want to be treated.”
She tore her gaze away from mine and took a step back. I dropped my hand, then went back out and selected another dress. She took it without a word and slipped back into the cabin.
I sank down on one of the too soft armchairs. She looked fucking good in every dress she tried. Nobody would take her for white trash dressed like that. Nobody should take her for white trash dressed in her fucking second hand clothes either. “Buy them all,” I told her but she shook her head firmly.
“One,” she said, raising a single finger. “I’ll get one because I promised you. But no more.” She lifted her chin and straightened her spine. Stubborn and brave, despite what she knew of me.
“Then take that one,” I pointed at the dark green dress that she’d put on first.
“Isn’t it too revealing?” she whispered.
“You have the body for it.”
A pleased flush spread across her freckled cheeks, but there was still hesitation. “I don’t want people to get the wrong impression.”
I tilted my head. “What kind of impression?”
She looked away, fumbling with the fabric of the dress. When the vendor was out of sight, she said quietly, “That I’m selling more than drinks. Cheryl mentioned that a few customers pay her to do other things.”
I rose from the armchair and moved closer. She peered up at me. “Nobody will try anything, Leona. They know you are off limits.”
Her brows drew together. “Why?”
“Take the dress,” I ordered.
She stiffened her spine again. Stubborn. I softened my next words. “You promised.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
I turned to the vendor, who was hovering outside the changing rooms. “She’s going to put it on right away. We still need shoes.”
She hurried off and came back with the matching flats in dark green leather. I’d hoped for stilettos but I doubted Leona could walk in them anyway. I nodded my approval and she handed them to Leona. Her eyes met mine, and again the question, then she disappeared behind the curtain once more.
