"I'm seeing someone. Roman knows and he wasn't happy. He's giving up on me. At least in that way," I admitted, taking a deep breath, the pain of hurting the person I cared about probably the most causing a sympathetic agony inside me.
"Stock broker? Lawyer?" she was teasing me, but there was a hint of malice there too. I had dated mostly professionals in the past. It was what I knew. It was what was familiar. I never thought there was anything wrong or close-minded or ridiculous about it.
"Tattoo artist," I corrected with a chin lift.
"Look at you, still doing your little rebellions," she mocked.
"Oh for God's sake. Not everything is about Dad. I met a man. We hit it off. Dad was never a factor."
"He's always a factor. Every time I went on vacation, he had something to say. Every time I went to a charity event with a man he didn't like, he made his feelings known. Every time I went to buy a new car, he had to bitch about the one I chose..."
And that was about all I could take of her woe-is-me-ing.
"Oh, poor little rich girl," I hissed. "I feel so bad for you that you got some flack when you bought a car worth six figures and you got some lip about it. And it must really suck to travel the world and go to swanky charity balls and date handsome, successful men. I feel so bad for you."
"Don't you dare go..."
"No. Don't you dare go trying to convince me that this little stunt of yours is anything other than the actions of a privileged, entitled, spoiled little girl. You wanted to stick it to Dad and be free... you'd have left every cent of that trust, let the bank have your house, the dealer have your car, and you'd take off to some new city and bust your ass building a new career and a new life free of him. That is how you stick it to him. This," I said, waving out one of my damaged hands, the blood crusty and filled with dirt, "this is just a little girl begging for Daddy's attention."
"I never wanted his..."
"You always wanted his attention. You wanted his attention and approval and it ate at you that you never got it. So what did you do? You looked for that attention and approval in the revolving door of men in and out of your life."
"Shut up!" she yelled, advancing toward me. It should have been scary and maybe, in a small part of my brain, it was. But while she might have been some criminal and drug dealer and God-knew what else, she was also my sister. It was hard to be truly terrified of someone you once watched throw up two bushels-worth of cotton candy when she got off a roller coaster and sing into her hairbrush while belting out Beyonce. There was just no way I was going to shrink away from the person I had shared my entire childhood and adolescence with.
"What are you going to do if I don't?" I challenged. "Hit me? Send D in here to rape and kill me like he was hoping you would let him do?"
She froze mid-stride, jerking backward like my words landed with impact. Her pretty features twisted up in a mix of shock and disgust. "Jesus... no," she said, her voice small. "God. Do you really think I'd let him do that to you?"
"Well I never thought you'd become a thief or drug dealer either," I said with a shrug.
"There's a big difference between what I choose to do with my professional life and what I do with my personal life."
I fought a snort I felt building when she said 'professional life'. "What personal life, El? You left me. You left all of us, let us worry sick about you, create God-awful worst-case scenarios in our heads."
"I was going to call and explain..."
"When? When we could legally declare you dead and bury an empty casket? When El? Because it's been weeks."
"I've been a little busy, Else!" she yelled, swinging away from me. "Do you have any idea what it took to do what I did?"
Still seeing no real way of getting out of my situation, I figured gathering more information was at least productive. "Do what?" I asked, sounding only mildly interested.
She took the bait. Of course she did.
"Do you have any idea how un-trusting a street gang is? How violent? And not to mention, unwilling to take orders from a woman. Luckily for me, they've been having some issues locking down a reliable heroin supplier. It was making the dealers antsy, worried about their income. It was easy to get some of the small timers with the promise of a truckload of cold medicine to make meth and create a new, steady source of money. Once I got them, got them working, got them some cash in their pockets... fake at first, just money from my trust because I didn't have any product on the streets yet like I told them I did, they started talking to the more important guys. They got on board. Then pretty soon, I had everyone but Enzo on my side."