JESSICA
“What’d you mean you don’t know?” Jack is walking around with me outside on my lunch break. I can’t breathe alone anymore— with him staying in my apartment, reading my texts, and trailing on my heels like a kid with a cart in the grocery store.
I've lied all week about Vince, trying to make him seem the least suspicious I can. If the FBI thinks they’re wrong about him, maybe they’ll give up, and I'll be off the hook. It’s one less person gunning for him… I can't think much more about that because it makes my stomach ache to know he’s still in danger.
I hate that he has that effect on me. Hate caring about his safety.
I let out an angry sigh, stopping in my tracks, so Jack bumps into me.
“I don't know, Jack-ass.” I fold my arms over my chest, and he smirks at my play on words.
“I see whatcha did there.” He nods, still plastering a grin that makes me want to slap him across his pore-less tan face.
“Look, Jess-”
“Jessica.”
“Jessica.” He waves his hands in the air. “I’m just trying to help. You could be a teensy bit nicer to me.”
“Help? How is threatening to put me in jail if I don't do your dirty work helpful? And you're sleeping on my couch. You could be a teensy bit less annoying.” I hit the button on the crosswalk to go back to the office, not looking up at him as he flanks to my side.
“The intel you’ve provided to me doesn’t make him sound like a Mafia leader's son… I’m just trying to understand his whereabouts day-to-day.”
“Well, just stop, okay? I’ve had enough today, and I've told you everything I know so far.” We arrive at the doors of my office, where he’s promised not to enter, so we can avoid unnecessary questions. I wave goodbye in one stiff movement and turn to open the doors.
“Try to get access to his private cell.” I ignore him and swing the door open with aggressive force. Just as it’s closing, I hear him calling, “Okay?!” but I don’t look or respond. Instead, I speed-walk to the elevator with tears in my eyes. Why am I so fucking emotional lately? It’s horrendously inconvenient.
Maybe it’s because protecting Vince is harder than it looks. Or because I shouldn't be protecting him at all. He’s my boss, that’s fucking it, and all it ever will be because I’m not right for him. I don’t mesh with his world.
He’s been disappearing the entire week, and I did try to talk to him over the weekend, clear the air after our fake date, and make sure we’re still on the same page. Something must be up, something bad enough that he’s found it necessary to lock himself away. When I arrive back at my desk, I’m exhausted already from the shitty week I’ve had. I need to do something I haven’t done in a while. My life has been crazy ever since that night in Vince’s penthouse, and I’ve barely gotten a chance to catch my breath, let alone speak to my brother. Now more than ever, it's crucial that I suck it up and tell him what’s been going on. He won’t be happy; I know that much. But things have gone too far, and I need his help.
I spent the rest of my week going through Vince’s files for the new construction project, skimming over them quicker than usual because of my heavily crowded mind. I’m not one for excuses, and mistakes make me spiral into existential crisis, but I can’t help feeling overwhelmed. There is so much to process and so much to protect. I don’t want to lose Vince, but maybe I already have. He’s short and non-communicative on Saturday, which isn’t the worst thing because I’m going to see my brother, and it’s best I don’t have to lie to him about what I’m up to.
It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon on the border of Chinatown, and I turn down East Elm Street, continuing straight past the police station. On the corner at the end of the road, I see it— The Men’s Central Jail of Los Angeles. I take in a steady breath and blow it out in the shape of an O. It always takes courage coming here. It’s the place where my eldest brother, Levi, died and where my other brother, Luca, remains for life. A sick feeling ties my stomach in knots, and I shake a little as I walk into the building.
The lanky man at the front desk raises his head and takes a sip of coffee before greeting me.
“What can I do for you?” He robotically inflects.
“I’m here to see Luca Haan.” The sound of his wheels rolling across the cement follows along with him as he scoots to his computer and types something in.
“Relationship?”
I'm about to say sister, but I remember a critical detail that almost messes up my entire visit. I changed my name long ago to prevent anyone with ill wishes from tracing me. Obviously, it didn’t work with the FBI, or I’d be coming to my brother with the usual recounting of a boring week and my bully boss.
“I’m his cousin, Jessica Lee.” I slip my I.D. on the counter face-up, and he picks it up.
“Let me see…” he slowly says each word while he clicks his mouse, looking between the computer screen and it.
“Ah! Got it.” He presses enter rather drastically, then hands my I.D. back to me. “You haven’t been in a while, Ms. Lee.”
“Work.” I raise my brows at the word, pulling my newly printed name tag from the machine atop the counter before following a security guard to the visitors' room down the hall.
They bring me to a table by the door, closer to the guard at the door than I’d like to be. I wait for a while, unsuccessfully attempting not to listen in on other people's conversations. One of the guys in the corner is meeting with his wife, who says she can’t do this anymore, and now they are going back and forth in a whisper, yelling fight. The other guy is meeting with his son. That is another depressing conversation I try to avoid by staring at the clock. I focus on its ticking noise and silence everything out until the door opens, and they sit Luca down in front of me.
“Luca!” I greet him, and he takes my hands.
“Hi, Flower! How have you been?” His brown eyes seem sad, though his smile reaches them, and I know he wishes I would have come sooner.