Unforgivable Ties

Chapter 9

Stephanie

I was insane. I had just agreed to live with a high ranking—Lapo? Kapo? I couldn’t remember what he called it—mafia member, and quite possibly, one of the most dangerous men in the city.

Worse than that, I was drawn to him like a magnet to iron. Vincenzo’s long hair was always tied back carelessly, as if he had no time to be bothered by such things. His chiseled jawline and piercing eyes added to the sheer perfection of his handsome face, making my heart skip a beat just looking at him.

This man, the walking embodiment of danger and seduction, was now my housemate.

We hadn’t even reached his apartment yet and it was already awkward. He told me he had been meaning to turn the spare room into a guest bedroom, but he never got around to it, so we needed to stop at a mattress store. I told him I’d just sleep on the floor, but he wouldn’t listen.

So there we were, standing in the middle of a mattress store, arguing about beds.

“Just get this one!” My finger pointed to the most economical option in the store, a plain mattress with a tag that read “basic comfort”. It wasn’t really fine. It was too soft and lumpy, and I would definitely have a sore back from sleeping on it.

“Pick the damn one you want!” he said, frowning at me.

“That one is fine!”

“I know you’re picking it because of the price. If you aren’t going to pick, I’ll pick for you,” he said exasperatedly.

Vincenzo started laying on all the mattresses, one after another, disregarding the wary glances from the store staff. His face remained stoic as he pressed down on the plush fabrics, judging the softness, firmness, and overall quality of each.

“Do you like this one, or this one better?” he asked, pointing at two mattresses.

I nearly choked. One was $3,000, and the other was $3,400.

“And don’t pick the $3,000 because of the price. They’re almost equal,” he added.

His tone suggested that he was used to spending money this way, brushing off price tags like they were insignificant. After testing them out, I sighed and pointed at the $3,400 mattress.

“That one,” I muttered, feeling a flush crawl up my neck at the sheer extravagance of the choice.

We purchased the mattress without another word and arranged for its delivery, then headed towards Vincenzo’s apartment. I had to admit; I was curious. Where did mobsters live? It certainly couldn’t be any worse than where my apartment had been.

To my surprise, he drove into the Upper East Side. The grandeur of the area was noticeable, a stark contrast to the poorly lit streets and rundown buildings I was accustomed to. As we cruised past towering apartment complexes, luxury boutiques, and upscale restaurants, my eyes widened even further.

Vincenzo pulled into the parking garage of one of the nicest high rises in the area. It was a sleek modern building made of glass and steel, shooting high into the New York skyline. I tried not to gawk as we made our way through the posh foyer, complete with a large fountain and an impossibly high crystal chandelier.

“You live here?” I asked as the elevator doors shut behind us.

“Is that so surprising?” he asked, scanning his keycard instead of pressing a button.

“A little,” I said meekly. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured a mobster’s home.”

“Oh? And how did you picture it?”

“I don’t know. In a place that looked more violent than Manhattan, maybe?” I admitted.

“Don’t be fooled,” he said gravely, his eyes meeting mine in the elevator mirror. “This place hides violence far deeper than any back alley.”

“Of course,” I sighed, leaning back against the cool metal of the elevator wall.

He shot me a side glance but didn’t comment. Instead, he looked at the elevator buttons as we continued to ascend.

I almost choked when the elevator doors opened. The sight that greeted me was worlds away from the dingy, cramped apartment I had been living in. Vincenzo lived on the penthouse floor, the New York City skyline vast and breathtaking through floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around the living room. The furniture was minimalist, modern, and fit him perfectly. It was all dark leathers, clean lines and a muted palette of greys and blacks, an atmosphere of control and authority echoing throughout the space.

“Vincenzo...” I said, momentarily losing my train of thought as I gaped in awe. “This place is amazing. Why are you letting me stay with you?”

“I have spare bedrooms,” he shrugged, picking up my suitcase. “C’mon.”

Spare bedrooms was an understatement. It seemed that he wasn’t sure what to do with three of the five bedrooms in his house. He slept in the primary, and had thrown gym equipment in another, but every other room was bare.

“What are you going to do with all these spare rooms?” I asked, peeking my head in each one as we walked by.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he responded.

I wanted to scream. He was paying—presumably—tens of thousands of dollars for rent on rooms that sat empty. It was an enormous waste of money. But, for someone like him, it was probably pocket change.

“Here,” he said, stopping at a room. “It’s the second primary bedroom.”

It was completely empty. I knew the mattress wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, so for tonight, I’d be sleeping on the floor or the couch. I looked around the vast, echoing room, the city lights illuminating the streets below with more of those floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “Is it ok if I sleep on the sofa for tonight?”

“Just sleep in my bed,” he said nonchalantly. His statement was so sudden, I thought I had misheard him first.

Oh god. Did this offer to stay at his house mean I had to have sex with him? Maybe he had hinted at it, but my mind was so preoccupied with thoughts of my apartment that I didn’t catch on. I mean, he was super hot, and I wouldn’t mind having sex with him. But it just felt wrong doing so in exchange for a place to live.

He must have seen the horrified look on my face.

“Tch. I’m going to be out tonight. The bed will be free,” he said, rolling his eyes, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ll be alone.”

A pang of unwarranted jealousy hit me. Was he going out to see a woman? Was he one of those notorious playboys who brought different women home every night?

I tried to brush off the feeling, reminding myself that I had no claim over him. And I never would. From the offhand comments he had made, he made it clear he was not the type of guy to commit to a relationship.

“Well...” I said, biting my lower lip.

“Well, what?” he asked, a note of impatience creeping into his tone.

“Are the sheets clean? I wouldn’t want to sleep in it after you’ve recently done it with someone else,” I blurted out. The moment the words left my mouth, a wave of embarrassment washed over me. My cheeks turned crimson, and I looked down.

For the first time, I heard Vincenzo laugh. I was so taken aback by the sound; it was almost musical. A rich baritone that echoed in the cavernous room, filling it with an unexpected warmth.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he said, “But I don’t bring women home. I take care of that outside of the house. And tonight, I just have work to do—luckily, you’ll be here to patch me up if anything happens.”

Relief rushed through me, knowing I wouldn’t have to listen to him have sex with other women, followed by another unwarranted pang of jealousy.

“Of course,” I muttered under my breath, the color still high in my cheeks. I didn’t dare to meet his gaze after such a revealing statement, but I felt it burning into my side as he continued to chuckle lightly.

“Here’s a key,” he said, taking another keycard out of his wallet and giving it to me.

“Thank you, Vincenzo,” I said, sincerely grateful yet still feeling awkward. The keycard was cold and heavy in my hand, a symbol of his trust perhaps—or simply a token of our strange arrangement.

“No worries, Doc.”

“You’re living with him?!” Jessica’s voice screeched through the other end of the phone.

“Only temporarily,” I responded.

I was working another shift at the warehouse. I had begun to grow accustomed to life here; there were unspoken rules and habits the mafia members followed that I picked up on. Greet each other with a nod, but never carry a casual conversation. Never ask questions about the cargo being moved in and out. I just had to keep my head down and do my work.

It wasn’t bad for paying my $100,000 tuition. I didn’t mind the work—if anything, it was beneficial to me. I had been getting better doing everything on my own. There was no doctor breathing down my neck and I was doing way more procedures than in my classes.

“Only temporarily,” she scoffed. “That’s how it starts.”

“Trust me. I’m going to be looking for my own place immediately.”

“I mean, it’s not terrible, though. I really liked him when I met him,” she said, her voice softer now. “He’s leagues above Preston. I couldn’t stand that guy.”

Following my breakup with Preston, I discovered that no one I knew liked him. My family, friends, even the man that lived on the first floor who I talked to once every couple months.

“You and everyone else,” I grumbled, feeling the prick of repressed memories.

“So what does his apartment look like?” she asked.

Shit. When I told her “he lives in a giant penthouse” it would be an information overload for her brain.

“It’s nice...” I said, trying to figure out how I should break the news.

Suddenly, a tall man with a stab wound in his arm waltzed into the room. For someone who had a giant gash in his arm that was dripping blood, he looked surprisingly unperturbed.

“I’ll call you back,” I said, pressing the end button.

The man was almost as tall as Vincenzo, but was far more lean. He had brown, wavy hair that was still held perfectly in place despite the obvious fight he had just gotten into.

“Hello, Miss Doctor!” he said airily, sitting down on the table, taking off his expensive suit jacket. “New patient.”

“I can see that,” I said, slipping on a pair of gloves. “Can you take your shirt off, too?”

“Oh ho ho. Most women ask me my name before I take my shirt off for them,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “You can call me Tall Dino.”

“Calling you Tall Dino implies that there’s a Short Dino,” I responded, examining his arm.

The stab wound was shallow, and it wasn’t in a dangerous spot like his torso or neck. I’d be able to take care of this one by myself and wouldn’t have to bother Cesare.

“Correct! He’s a little quiet, but I’m hoping one day he’ll come around,” he paused. “What was your name?”

“Stephanie,” I responded, grabbing gauze and pressing down on his wound to control the bleeding. “Hold this.”

“Oh, does this make me your medical assistant?”

So far, Tall Dino had broken every unspoken rule I had learned about the mafia. He was nonserious, enjoyed chitchatting, and had a sense of humor.

“Unpaid,” I responded, grabbing sterile saline to clean the wound.

“Eh, got to start somewhere, I guess,” he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Anyway, I was listening to your phone call—”

“You were listening to my what now?!” I sputtered, almost knocking the saline over.

“Well, y’know. Through the door—”

“You just stood outside and eavesdropped, instead of coming in and fixing your gaping stab wound?” I said, gritting my teeth.

“In a word, yes,” he replied nonchalantly, his light brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

This strange mobster had heard me talking to my best friend about how I had moved in with Vincenzo. Fortunately, I hadn’t referred to him as my “boyfriend,” and Jessica wasn’t on speaker, so he wasn’t able to hear her side of the conversation.

“I hope you’re satisfied with what you heard, then,” I muttered, cleaning his wound with saline.

“Oh, it was interesting. Vincenzo doesn’t strike me as the type to settle down with a girl.”

“It’s not like that!” I hissed, hoping Cesare wasn’t listening through the monitor. “I’m just temporarily living there until I find a new apartment.”

“Temporarily?” he looked like he believed it as much as Jessica had.

This guy seemed to like gossip. I launched into the story about my old apartment, embellishing every detail of its dilapidation to make my situation seem dire. I recounted the perpetual leaks from the ceiling, the questionable splotches on the wallpaper, and how the building was almost falling apart. Tall Dino went crazy when I mentioned how the stair fell right as the worker was condemning the building.

“No! That’s like a sitcom,” he exclaimed, his brows raising in surprise.

“It was,” I said, finishing the last stitch on his wound. “Now, you have to keep this clean.”

I launched into my spiel of how to keep the wound clean so it would heal. Tall Dino nodded along, and actually seemed to listen, unlike many other patients I had had.

“Thank you, Dr. Stephanie,” he said, sliding off the examination table. “I hope we meet again, just not under these circumstances.”

I hoped so, too. But in a life like this, the chances were it would be under this circumstance. And unfortunately, it might even end with him six feet under.