Reckoning (Vincent and Eve #2)

by Jessica Ruben

  “I’m not wearing your shit.” I crack my knuckles one at a time. “You ask me all the time, and the answer is always the same—no. You need me to come out, smile for a damn photograph, fine. But wearing the clothes you choose? Fuck no.” I clench my jaw and she immediately pulls back.

  She drops her lips into a frown. I can sense she’s going to try a new tactic. Daniela is nothing if not a great actress.

  “Vincent, you don’t have to wear any of it, okay?” Her voice is five times higher than it was a moment ago, her eyes spelling out disappointment. But I know the only real thing behind her gaze is calculation.

  I let out a cutting laugh. “I’m not your bitch, Daniela. I never will be. I don’t wear what you tell me to wear. I do what I want, when I want. Feel me? I may be stuck in this fucking lie of a relationship to keep your father happy, but remember that you and I are nothing in real life. Don’t delude yourself into thinking otherwise.”

  She tries to put her hand on mine, but I tear it away before she can touch me.

  “I know, baby. Calm down. You’re too wound up. It’s because classes have started, right? I know how serious you get about school.” She looks around, making sure no one is watching us argue, the idea that anyone might see us gets her nervous. “Tell me what I can do to relax you, huh?” She licks the corner of her lip seductively.

  I practically snarl. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I throw my napkin on the table and push my chair back, wanting to get the hell away from her.

  “Come on,” she purrs with a gleam in her eye. “I know we haven’t fucked in ages, but it doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind—”

  I grip the side of the table, my knuckles turning white. “I will never touch you again, understand?” I take a deep breath, doing my best not to flip the table and walk out. Luckily, the waiter brings the two cappuccinos and a tray full of gourmet desserts, none of which she plans to eat. I’ve actually watched her take bites of food only to spit it out after the photograph has been taken.

  The waiter glances at my hardened face and drops the dishes in front of us before speed-stepping to the back of the room.

  “But why, Vincent? We were so good together!”

  “No. We weren’t.”

  “We used to fuck like crazy! You loved it. I know you did. I just don’t understand—”

  “My life isn’t for you to understand,” I growl in frustration. She can’t take a hint.

  She sits up with her lips pursed, knowing no matter how much I hate her guts, I’m not going anywhere. “Anyway, sit back. I don’t want your shadow in the pictures. Oh, actually, do you think you’ll eat a dessert for me? I think everyone would love to see you opening wide for something white and creamy.” She raises her brows, smirking. Does she think she’s funny?

  I breathe hard, trying not to tear the hair from her skull. “You’re a sick bitch. You know that?”

  “If I remember clearly, it didn’t bother you too much before. In fact, I think you liked it.”

  Daniela Costa is into some kinky shit—and that’s saying a lot coming from a man like me, who has done it all, and then some. When we started out, I was nothing but a cocky kid, willing to lay it on her for two reasons: one, she was hot; two, the family wanted someone to keep a close eye on the business we had with her father—owner of the largest bank in Central America. Costa houses and cleans our dirty money. Daniela and I went to school together, and it was damn obvious she wanted my dick. It was no surprise my father tapped me on the back to handle it.

  We all hate Alexander Costa, and everyone knows he’s a loose cannon, but there really isn’t another option to working with him. Not yet, at least. As our operations continue to grow and give off cash, the small-time pawnshops and strip clubs aren’t enough to launder all of our money. Costa, on the other hand, has the capacity to clean tens of millions a year. The situation seemed easy; I fucked Daniela, kept an eye on business, and all was well.

  And then I met Eve. She’s genuine and smart and somehow, perfect for me. She just got me. The real me.

  I knew I couldn’t touch Daniela anymore. It’s not that I was ever faithful to her and she easily accepted it. Once I met someone real, the thought of another woman wasn’t appealing anymore. Simple as that.

  I spoke to the family, letting them know business dealings between Costa and the family were functioning well, and we had no reason to keep such a close eye on him anymore. The man was making a huge percentage off our business; none of us thought he’d be dumb enough to jeopardize that kind of cash flow. But when I made it clear to Daniela that she and I were done, she went insane. I don’t think anyone in her life has ever told her “no” before.

  It took only an hour for Costa to call my father and go berserk, threatening the family. Keeping his princess Daniela happy was necessary, or he’d stop laundering and holding our cash. Apparently, she was in the midst of growing her social media empire, and my face was essential to her growing fame. A family vote was called, and everyone insisted I make it right with her. I was told to do whatever it takes to keep her happy. That is, until I build a new business to take over Costa’s use of ours.

  I’ve spent this past year working to build out my own hotel and casino complex on the Tribal Lands in Nevada. As the son of a Masuki Tribe member, I have some inalienable rights, which I plan to capitalize on. And if the numbers turn how I expect them to? Our dirty cash can easily be laundered within the hundreds of millions we’ll be making per year in clean money.

  Once I get the family out of Costa’s grip, I’ll be free of him and his leech daughter. And then, maybe, I can find Eve again.

  The terms between Daniela and me right now are simple: I have to look and act as though I’m still with her. She doesn’t care whether or not we fuck anymore, so long as I play the part. But if I refuse to smile for the damn camera? She’ll get Daddy involved, and the family would be left with a boatload of cash that the FBI would love to get their hands on. I’m stuck being her public boyfriend until Gaming gets off the ground.

  Daniela shifts a bony shoulder and shuffles in her seat, bringing my attention back to her. “I think the red raspberries look best against the white cup, don’t you?” She moves the cappuccino slightly askew and snaps maybe twenty pictures of each dessert with the frothy drink. Standing up to get other angles, her jeans hug her flat ass. How do millions of girls look up to this shit?

  Daniela stops taking pictures, putting her fancy iPhone down on the table and bringing the cappuccino up to her glossy lips. “Okay. Talk to me. What’s going on, Vincent? You’re brooding and more pissed-off than usual.” She rolls her eyes, putting down her cup.

  I clench my teeth. “Just take the fucking photo already.” We both know why I’m here today, and it isn’t to chitchat.

  “Okay, if you insist.” She smiles. “Turn to the side and lean back on the chair with your foot crossed at the front.”

  The flash goes off and I grind my teeth together.

  CHAPTER 3

  EVE

  The next morning, I decide I will do everything in my power to forget Vincent goes to school here. I do my best to focus on starting my day, one small step at a time. After washing up and getting dressed, I take a quick trip to the dining hall for a gigantic coffee and a bagel. Bringing the food back to my desk and sitting quietly to eat, I do my best not to get any crumbs on the floor. Finally, I crack open my economics textbook.

  My room is a simple square, located on the third floor of one of the old gothic buildings making up the freshman quad. The desk next to mine is empty; I was supposed to have a roommate, but she decided last minute to defer admission for a year. After living in the Blue Houses—where I could hear my neighbor’s conversations and smell everyone’s cooking twenty-four seven—this room has become my own little sanctuary.

  Staring at the supply-and-demand curve, I again reread the same passage. I need this shit to make sense! I drop my head on my desk and groan. It’s only ten in the morning, and I alr
eady feel tired.

  And then, like a three-dimensional puzzle with a gaping hole in the center, my brain finds the missing piece and places it right where it belongs. “Oh, thank God!” I exclaim out loud. “I understand! I get it!”

  I jump up from my chair, dancing to music that isn’t on, shaking my ass left to right. My phone buzzes mid-dance, and I smile wide when I see it’s Claire. After my weird stunt yesterday, I was worried she’d write me off.

  Claire: Meet me at my dorm @ 10. Brearley Houses. Come earlier if you want to pre-game!

  Me: I’m planning on studying today, not sure if I’ll be feeling up to going out later. Can I text you?

  Claire: Come on, girl! We’ll have fun! Come out!

  I look back at the economics book. I deserve to go out, right? I promised Janelle last week that I’d do my best to get out more at night. Now that I’m living in relative safety, I don’t have to be a hermit. And, while it’s hard to change my old ways, it’s something I’m consciously trying to modify about myself.

  “You know what?” I exclaim loudly into my empty room. “I’m going out.”

  Me: Okay. I’ll be there. See you later!

  The day goes by with my head in the books, my only break to run down to the campus deli to pick up a turkey sandwich and another large coffee.

  By evening, my brain feels completely fried. I lift my hands to my hair and try to pull the rubber band from my ponytail. When it gets caught in a knot, I whimper, trying to pull it free. I finally remove it, but not without ripping out a bunch of hairs in the process. Ouch.

  Looking at my old worn-out clothing, I take stock of my situation. I seriously need to revive myself if I’m going to be seen in public tonight. I quickly undress, slide on my blue robe and Old Navy flip-flops, and grab my lime-green shower caddy. Peeking out of my door to make sure the hallway is clear, I sprint to the girl’s bathroom, praying with each step that I won’t bump into someone. I know it’s only girls on this floor, but I’m self-conscious about being seen in nothing other than a terry-cloth bathrobe.

  After shaving and scrubbing as best as I can, I grab the fancy shampoo Janelle brought me from her swanky salon and massage my scalp with my fingertips. I inhale, smelling the creamy coconut scent. After rinsing, I take out the conditioner and let it sit in my hair for three-minutes, exactly as the instructions suggest. I’m standing and waiting for the time to pass when I hear a few girls walking into the bathroom, giggling.

  “…saw them at the business center!”

  “I seriously can’t even—”

  “You can’t?” another voice interrupts. “Well, I can! Doesn’t Vincent look like he’d be a total savage in bed? God, I bet he fucks like—”

  Laughter.

  I hear a swishing sound in my ears. I want to turn away, pretend that I didn’t just hear his name in the context of sex with someone, but I can’t un-hear the words.

  Their high-pitched voices taper off until I hear the door clang shut.

  My face contorts into an ugly cry. No sound is coming out of my mouth, but the silent moans wrack my chest. Tears run furiously down my face, mingling with the shower water. My heart moves low into my stomach, my mother’s voice barging into the forefront of my mind. She’s railing. I can hear her words echoing against my skull. “You’re nothing! A zero!”

  I lean my hands against my knees under the spray, trying not to heave as my stomach twists. I slightly turn my head and come face to face with my beautiful shampoo bottle. Even with Janelle’s salon discount, it was still crazy expensive. But, she wanted me to go to school with “good hair.” According to her, it would help me do better in my classes. Somehow, I manage a small chuckle along with my tears. Then Angelo forces himself into my mind, too. Angelo, who thinks I’m destined for great things. They’re the scaffolding to the strong and independent woman I want to become. I need to lean on their opinions of me, and not let some asshole tear me down.

  I put my hands back to my sides and stand taller. I rinse my hair, and with as much strength as I can muster, open the shower curtain and put my robe back on. Gathering my wits, I leave the bathroom with my head held high.

  After getting into my room, I slide on an old band T-shirt that one of Janelle’s ex-boyfriends gave her. I conveniently took it along with a few other items before moving out because, well, sisters! I take out my blow-dryer and a round brush, placing it on my desk while I separate my hair into sections, drying my hair piece by piece, just as Janelle taught me.

  I look in my mirror, relieved that I managed to turn thick dark hair into something relatively smooth. I drop the brush at my desk, exclaiming, “Fuck love!” Better yet, fuck Vincent Borignone! I’m going to work as hard as I can while I’m here, and I’m not allowing a man to take advantage of me again. I’m a freshman with my head in the books, and it seems that he’s the most notorious bad boy on campus. Why would our paths ever cross? They shouldn’t. And thank God for that. I couldn’t bear for him to see me. Would he laugh? I’m sure he would. I was so stupid.

  I pull out a pair of tight black jeans and a simple white tank from the top from my closet. Sliding on a stack of gold bangles I bought from H&M, I finish myself off with some clear lip gloss and a little mascara. I feel casual, but a hell of a lot better than I did an hour ago.

  I’m no longer that pathetic girl who hides behind her sister and her books. I’m new. I’m improved. And Vincent Borignone can kiss. My. Ass. At the end of the day, all that shit is behind me. It’s done. And I’m… over it!

  Like a horrible thunderstorm, memories of the two of us flash through my head. But this time, I inject my newfound knowledge into every past moment. We met at the fight, but he was with Daniela—who probably gave him a blowjob in the bathroom. He brought me to the skating rink, but he likely went home that same night to Daniela, who was waiting for him, wearing nothing but sexy black lingerie and high fuck-me heels. He took me to pizza but shot those Russians in the head while Pauli distracted me with conversation!

  The Borignone mafia is nothing if not arrogant and powerful. Just last month, I read a newspaper article about an explosion killing an FBI agent and his wife in their car. Apparently, this agent was garnering evidence to bring forward a case against the Borignone mafia. And Vincent is part of this? I shake my head side to side, disgusted that I ever touched him. I vaguely wonder what part he plays. Is he simply a soldier at the lowest rung? No way. He’s too intelligent for that. Maybe he’s one of the Capo who reports to the boss? Even that feels like it isn’t enough. As the son of Antonio, I have no doubt that he plays a crucial role in their sick schemes.

  I grab the small black bag Janelle bought for me as a graduation gift, filling it with some essentials: lip gloss, cell phone, my ID, and some cash. I leave my room, taking the steps to the lobby. Pushing open the building’s large wooden front door, I inhale the scent of flowers. The campus is simply beautiful and perfectly maintained—an oasis in the city.

  I take my time walking to Claire’s. Even though it’s evening, the entire school is lit up with huge streetlamps. I pause to read a silver engraved plaque located on the back of a wooden bench: IN LOVING MEMORY OF DAN BROWNING, WHO ALWAYS LIKED TO SIT. I chuckle, rolling my eyes to high heaven. These rich people have so much money, and they spend it on this shit? I shake my head at the absurdity of it all and finish my short walk to Claire’s dorm.

  “Hey,” the guy at the front desk stares at his phone intently. “Who are you here for?” His hair is long in the front and covers most of his eyes.

  “I’m waiting for Claire, um, I’m not sure her last name. But she’s a sophomore.”

  He finally lifts his head and pauses, his mouth hanging slightly open and cheeks turning pink. I look down at my clothes, self-consciously wondering if there’s something wrong with me.

  “Do you want to w-wait here, or go up?” His eyes flicker between my eyes, lips, and boobs.

  “Uh, I’ll just wait here,” I mumble, pulling my tank higher to cover me better.
I take a seat in one of the lobby’s plastic chairs, typing out a message to Claire that I’m waiting downstairs.

  I try to relax. I’m still unsure about the best way to cope with this new world. It’s hard enough to sit in class with these entitled rich kids, but it’s even harder to have to go out socially and try to act like I’m the same as they are. In my heart, I’m still the poor girl from the ghetto. I know technically, I’ve left my old life behind—I’m a student here, just like everyone else. But still, the past remains with me. The result is a sense of not really belonging anywhere. Maybe if I just pretend to be like them for long enough, my new persona will become me. Eve Petrov, Columbia-educated woman. Eve Petrov, attorney-at-law. I like the sound of that.

  I look back up again at the guy sitting at the front desk. He doesn’t look much older than I am. I once read that every passerby has a life as vivid and complex as my own. I wonder if that could possibly be true. He looks like any other preppy white kid, but then again, he’s working here tonight instead of chugging beers at a frat house.

  Claire walks out of the elevator. She looks beautiful in a fitted jean jacket and a long black cotton dress with a high slit in the thigh. Her outfit is casual but still manages to show off her toned body. When we look at each other, I feel a combination of relief and happiness. I know we’ve only just met, but it feels like we could be good friends.

  “Hey, girl! I’m glad you decided to come out.” Her voice is upbeat. I stand from the chair, and we head out into the night.

  “Where are all of your friends?” I rub my hands up and down my arms. Since I left my dorm, it seems that the weather has dropped fifteen degrees.

  “They may meet us there later,” Claire replies. “It’s just the two of us for now. Oh, by the way, the party is close, so we can walk. Totally beats having to get in a cab, right? Maybe we should go downtown to a bar in the West Village later if the party here sucks. Did you bring an ID by any chance?” Her voice is hopeful.