I started walking away from the luxury of the Bellagio, feeling more and more out of place on the Strip with my wrinkly white shirt and second hand jeans shorts. To top it off, I was freezing my butt off. Perhaps Dad had been right. Perhaps I’d still work in Roger’s bar when I was old and bitter. I almost laughed, then shook my head. If I stopped believing in my future, it was lost, but days like yesterday made it hard to stay hopeful.
I spotted Leona the moment I stepped out of the Bellagio. The doorman handed me the key to my car and I slipped in, never taking my eyes off the girl. The engine came to life with its familiar roar and I pulled out of the driveway, heading down the street toward Leona.
She didn’t notice me until I pulled up beside her and let the window down. My eyes traveled down to her fucking flip-flops. “Shouldn’t you be wearing your new dress today?” I shouted over the noise of the engine and the traffic driving past as I leaned over the passenger seat to get a good look at her. She was dressed in a wrinkly white shirt that was stuffed into old jeans shorts. Though I appreciated the first glimpse of her lean toned thighs, I was annoyed that she hadn’t bought a new dress for herself. I wasn’t used to people ignoring my wishes like that.
She shrugged. She looked obviously uncomfortable. I pushed the passenger door open. “Get in,” I ordered, trying to reign in my annoyance.
For a moment, I was sure she’d say no but then she dropped her backpack from her shoulder and sank down on the seat. She closed the door and put a belt on before finally meeting my gaze, almost defiantly.
I let my eyes wander over her body, coming to rest on the faint bruises on her left wrist. I took her hand and inspected the bruise. She pulled away and hid her wrist beneath her other hand.
“I lost my balance in the shower this morning,” she lied easily.
“Are you sure you didn’t fall down the stairs?” I asked in a low voice. Anger began to simmer under my skin. I knew bruises. And I knew the lies women told to hide they were being abused. Father had hit my sisters and me almost every day, especially Gianna and myself. We were the ones he couldn’t control, the ones always doing wrong in his eyes. And I’d lost count of the times I’d seen my mother cover up her bruises with make-up.
The bruise around Leona’s wrist was from a too-tight grip.
She gave me a look, but her expression faltered and she shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Who did this?”
“It’s nothing. It doesn’t hurt or anything.”
“Your father.”
“What makes you think that?” she asked, her voice a bit higher than before.
“Because he’s the only one you have reason to protect.”
She licked her lips. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. He was drunk. He didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping me.”
Did she really believe that? Or was she scared of what I’d do to him? And by God I wanted to tear into him like a starved bloodhound.
It wasn’t like it was my business what her father did to her. It shouldn’t be. But the mere idea that he was hurting her made me want to pay him a visit and give him a taste of what I was capable of.
“Is that why you’re dressed like that?” I asked with a wave at her clothes. I pulled the car away from the curb, crossed four lanes to reach the turning lane, then did a U-turn, followed by a cacophony of car horns and raised middle fingers from drivers on both sides of the street.
“What are you doing?” Leona asked, gripping the sides of the seat. “That’s the wrong way.”
“It’s not. We’re buying you a dress, and fucking new shoes. If I have to see you in those fucking flip-flops one more time, I’ll go on a rampage.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “Don’t be ridiculous. I need to get to work. I don’t have time to go shopping.”
“Don’t worry. Roger will understand.”
“Fabiano,” she said pleadingly. “Why are you doing this? If you expect anything in return, I’m not that kind of girl. I’m poor but that doesn’t mean I can be bought.”
“I have no intention of buying you,” I told her. And it was true. Something about Leona made me want to protect her. It was a new experience for me. Not that I didn’t want her in my bed, but I wanted to make her want it too. I’d never had to pay for sex, and never would. The whores in Vegas were on the Camorra’s payroll anyway.
She watched me for a long time. “Then why?”