Seven Years of Omertà

"Hey, where are you?" he asked, sounding almost… concerned.

"What's up?" I asked, sidestepping his question.

"Nothing much," Dominic replied, his voice softer now. Softer than I'd heard it in months. The Don's voice, stripped of its authority, was just a man's voice. Just a voice. "I just wanted to say… the cake you made was delicious. As always."

There was a brief silence on the line. I pressed my thumb against the inside of my ring finger, feeling the bare skin where nothing had ever been placed.

Then he added in a lower voice, "Thanks. I know it was a lot of effort."

Before I could respond, I heard Penelope's sugary voice in the background, and the softness in his tone made sudden, sickening sense. He wasn't calling because he was grateful. He was calling because she was watching, and even a Don needs to perform generosity when his audience expects it.

"Olivia!" she called out, her tone light and overly sweet, pitched to carry. "I heard from Dominic that you made my birthday cake today. Wow, you're so talented! I wish I could do that… but I'm so clumsy, Dominic's always calling me his little dummy."

I could picture her pouting as she spoke. Could picture her tucking that strand of hair behind her left ear with that slow, deliberate motion, the one that looked like shyness to anyone who hadn't learned to flinch at it.

Before I could even process her words, she invited me to the party.

But I didn't get a chance to respond before Dominic's voice returned to the line. "Well, you don't need to come," he said, a bit firmer this time, before hanging up.

The line went dead. I set the phone face-down on the table and stared at my plate.

But just a few minutes later, my phone buzzed again. A message from him, with his location pinned and a note attached: If you do stop by, grab a bag of tomato-flavored chips for Penelope from the convenience store.

I sighed and couldn't help but let out a sarcastic faint smile. Seven years, and I'd been reduced to an errand runner for the girl who'd replaced me in everything but name.

The private room was in a Sloane-owned establishment on the east side, one of those places with no sign on the door and a man built like a refrigerator standing outside it. He recognized me and stepped aside without a word, though his eyes tracked me with the particular pity reserved for women who belong to powerful men who don't want them.

When I pushed the door open, I spotted Dominic immediately. He was feeding Penelope a slice of cake, her eyes wide and doe-like as she looked up at him. The scene was lit by low amber light that made everything look warmer than it was. A few associates lingered at the edges of the room, drinks in hand, their laughter dying the moment I appeared.

The moment he saw me, his expression shifted into one of irritation. His gaze darkened, and I knew what he was thinking.

Why did I show up?

I knew already that Penelope had been the one to send the message, not him.

But I'd come anyway. One last time. For my own reasons.

"Olivia!" Penelope greeted me with a wide smile, her voice as sugary as ever.

Dominic's eyes narrowed at me, and I could feel the tension rise in the room. The associates went still. Glasses paused halfway to mouths. The particular silence that descends when the Don's displeasure becomes visible.

"Didn't I tell you not to come?" Dominic snapped, his irritation breaking through.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Penelope quickly jumped in, pouting dramatically. "I'm sorry, Dominic. I just wanted some chips, so I tricked her into coming," she said, her voice dripping with superficial innocence.

Dominic's hard expression softened as he reached out, ruffling Penelope's hair affectionately. "You little munchkin," he muttered with a fond smile.