“You should know better, Matteo. I’ll be speaking to your father. Get him out of here,” Fabrizio says, gesturing to one of the men.
“Turn the music back on,” he shouts, and the music comes back on like magic. Everyone goes back to what they were doing before the interruption, except her. She stands there amongst the dancing couples. I take the opportunity to step closer to her.
“Dance with me?”
“You gonna get fresh?”
“Depends.”
“On?” she asks, taking my hand. Her other hand goes around my neck, while mine goes around her back, careful not to touch her ass.
“Whether or not you beg me to,” I say cockily. The tiniest smirk crosses her lips before she schools herself.
“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” she says as we begin to move with the slow Justin Bieber song. It's an old song from before I was born, but he's still making music, so he must be good. He’s not my style of music, but it works.
"I am," I reply. She laughs, and my heart stops.
"You got a name?"
"Kyle Beckner, but everyone calls me Trigger. What's your name?"
"Troy Vitali."
"Your parents named you Troy?"
"T-R-O-I. I'm named after a Star Trek character,” she says proudly. I can’t help thinking that she’s a bit of a nerd.
"Ah. I see. It's unique, that's for sure."
"Uniqueness must be rare for you, Trigger," she says, her voice full of sarcasm.
"Very rare indeed." The song ends, and a faster one plays. You wouldn't know it, though. We keep swaying slowly, lost in our own world.
It’s because of her that I know I will never leave. She speaks to my soul in a way no other woman has or ever will.
Chapter Two
Troi
This is the first man ever to challenge me. He’s the first man ever to turn my head, really. We must look crazy slow dancing to a pop song, but we aren’t stopping. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I like it. My whole life, alright, it’s barely been eighteen years; I haven’t met a man worth meeting until now. He’s tall, so much taller than me. I hardly come up to his chest, even in these heels.
When the music stops again, we stop moving.
“I need a drink,” I tell him. He grabs my hand and drags me over to the nearest bar.
“What will you have?” he asks me. “A bet it’s one of those fruit-filled cocktails like on old tv shows.”
“I’ll have a coke, light ice.”
“You surprise me.”
“I shouldn’t. I’m not old enough to drink,” I reply.
“Please tell me you are old enough to talk to me without a parent or guardian,” he groans, making me smile.
“Those are my parents right over there,” I say, pointing to my parents, who are playing beer pong with my aunts and uncles. “But I assure you that I don’t need their consent. I’m eighteen.”
“Fuck,” he growls.
“Are you alright?” I ask, barely concealing my laughter.
“Yes, of course.” He orders a beer, and we take our drinks over to a quiet area. I sip mine slowly. I can’t stop staring at him. It’s like I am drawn to him or something.
“Why are you staring at me?” I ask.
“You shouldn’t dance with men.” Of all things, I thought he would ask, that wasn’t among them.
“Who should I dance with then?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Me.”
“I did dance with you.”
“And only me.”
“That could prove hard. Will you be here tomorrow? I like dancing.”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If my reason for coming pans out?”
“Oh? What does brings you here?” I ask, needing to know more about him.
“I heard your grandfather might have a job for me.”
“So, you are a gun for hire?” I ask, and he chokes on his beer.
“Excuse me?”
“I know all about my family’s lucrative criminal enterprises.”
“That surprises me.”
“It shouldn’t. Secrets get you killed. Vitali’s don’t keep secrets from each other. The rest of the world… you bet. Locked up like Fort Knox, but amongst us, we know all. We have to. It’s the only way to stay alive at the end of the day.”
“I suppose that’s prudent.”
“It is.” I smile at him.
“You have a pretty smile,” he says.
“Thanks, but that’s a cringy thing to say,” I reply, laughing.
“I know. As soon as I said it, sorry about that. I am not used to talking to women, well people really.”
“And why is that? I have a hard time believing a man such as yourself has a hard time talking to women.” I set my drink down on the table.
“In my line of work, it’s best not to make friends. I’ve been moving from job to job for so long it made sense not to get to know anyone.”
“That’s sad. A man should lay down some roots.”
“And that’s what you want? A man with roots.”
“While that would be nice, what I really want is you,” I tell him.
“Do you always get what you want?”