“So, the reason isn’t related to thoughts of contamination?” she pushed.
“No.”
It was mostly true. When I was agitated or stressed, my issue with cleanliness magnified, but otherwise, I just liked to be clean. I liked a clean space, clean clothes, and not to put dirty shit, like a used communal pen, in my mouth. Not to wake up with bugs crawling on me. Not to have to wash the dirt off my body in a drinking fountain.
“We’re at the end of our meeting, but I have one more question. What is your earliest memory of the number three?”
Knock, knock, knock.
The knocking reverberated in my mind, three heavy thumps I’d still have been able to hear even if I placed my hands over my ears.
“They always knocked three times,” I said.
“Who?”
“The men who made me.”
23 years old
July 2014
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
The shout of a hundred different voices hit me as I pushed open the club door. Confetti fell, sparkling beneath dim lighting and tickling my bare skin as it brushed my shoulders. Balloons floated to the ceiling, distorting the view of a photo of me blowing a kiss to the camera that took up the entire far wall. Birthday by The Beatles flooded the room.
Valentina ran up on stilettos and wrapped me in a hug. “Happy birthday!”
“Do you think you might have overdone it a little, Val?”
“Is it the photo?” She frowned, releasing me. “Too big, you think?”
Laughing, I kissed her cheek. “It’s perfect.”
I maneuvered my way into the club, hugging and thanking people for their birthday wishes until my cheeks hurt. My world tilted as someone picked me up by the waist and spun me around. The spinning stopped, and Luca’s close gaze came into focus as my feet still dangled a foot off the floor.
“You owe me money, Gianna.”
I frowned. “Is this how you wish everyone a happy birthday?”
“Only women that try to wiggle their way out of their debts.”
“Oh, please.” I brushed a piece of nonexistent lint off his shoulder. “You’ll lose the next bet. I’m only saving us time with an exchange, is all.”
A dry breath of amusement escaped him, and he set me back on my feet. “I think you’re the worst cheat of us all, and you’re not even a Russo by blood.” He took a seat back at the bar.
“Oh, look,” I said, stepping between Luca and Nico, who sat beside him. “I’m so popular to be honored with the great Nicolas Russo’s presence at my birthday party.”
Nico gave me a half-smile, nursing a glass of whiskey. “Got a meeting tonight.”
“Ah,” I responded, understanding it would be downstairs in the conference room. “Do you think you could at least pretend to be here for me?”
“You have plenty of people here for you.”
I pouted, looking around the crowded club. “True.”
We hadn’t talked about that night one year ago. Not once, since the morning after. It was like, if we didn’t speak of it, it hadn’t happened. However, the secret had eaten away a large chunk of my soul. Regret was a hungry beast, and every day, it fed.
Nico and Luca’s gazes went to the door. They stood at the same time, and I turned to see a man I didn’t recognize—black suit, black hair, the glint of the Cosa Nostra in his eyes.