High Stakes (18 page)

His voice is loud and harsh in my ear. “Oh, yes I fucking am.”

“No. I will not owe you money. There’s no guarantee I’d ever be able to pay you back.”

“I don’t expect you to pay me back. It’s a gift from me.”

The kisses on my neck are supposed to comfort me, but I feel rotten inside. “I will not be like my mother. I can’t do that to someone.”

“You’re not like her. Besides, I have more money than I know what to do with. Let me help you. I want to.”

“I wanted to do this on my own.” My voice shakes with tears and Vince holds me tightly, making the tears flow faster.

“You can’t, baby. Let me take care of you.”

God, I’m not used to this. No one has ever fought to take care of me. Even though it feels so good, I’m fighting against it. I’ve always worked everything out on my own, and I feel uncomfortable relying on anyone else.

“I wish I could give you something in return for everything you’ve given me.”

He wipes the wetness from my eyes, his lips pulling in a smile. “You already have.”

* * *

The check from Vince burns my eyeballs.

Twenty thousand dollars.

I’ve been staring at it all day.

“What are you doing?” Maria stoops over my chair and makes a little gasp. “Wow.”

“I told him not to,” I say in a weak voice.

Standing up, I walk away from the check, the numbers still burning holes in my mind.

“Why?” she asks in an incredulous voice. “You need the money.”

“I don’t want to owe him anything.”

“Oh,” she says. “Yeah, don’t they, like, beat you if you don’t pay up, or something?”

I roll my eyes at her. “He’s not like that. He doesn’t even want me to pay him back. I just don’t want to be like my mom, leeching off everyone with money.”

She still calls me, begging me for money every chance she gets. I ignore her and pay her credit card’s monthly bill. It pisses me off, but what choice do I have? I don’t want her to go to jail.

With Vince and Nicky’s card games every week, I can afford it. Classes have already started and I’m struggling with juggling everything: Calculus, Advanced Statistics, Sociology, and American History. I’ve a full plate and my weekends are normally spent studying. I’m so tired that I can barely think.

“I’m going to drop a few classes. That way I won’t have to take so much from him. Want to go to a café? I’m tired of sitting in here.”

I cram my books in my backpack, stuffing my vibrating phone inside as well.

“Yeah, I’ll come with you.” Maria bends down to pick up her Coach tote bag, which carries all her books. “It’s really nice of him to pay your tuition. Maybe he isn’t so bad.”

It’s overcast outside, but still warm enough to wear a t-shirt so I leave without a jacket. The straps dig into my shoulders as I descend the staircase, heading in the direction of Central Park.

The café is a quaint little place, thick with college students. I find a seat while Maria orders two coffees. I set my backpack on the ground with a small groan and rub my shoulders.

Maria balances two coffees on ceramic plates as she weaves in and out of tables. She drops it down on the marble table.

“Thanks.”

“I ordered some pastries, too.”

Goddamn her.

“You didn’t have to do that!” I already feel guilty enough, but Maria gives me a small shrug.

“It’s no big deal. Relax.”

My eyes widen as the staff begin delivering the pastries she ordered. A German onion bread, Hungarian rolls with poppy seeds, cabbage
pirogs
, little crescent shaped pastries filled with apricot jam.

“Did you buy one of everything?”

Maria shrugs again. “I felt like splurging. My mom always told me that my eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Your ass will be bigger if you eat all of that.”

She flings a flake of pasty at my head.

Eager to try everything, we forget our studies and divide all the pastries, trying bites of each one. I’m having a lot more fun than I’ve had in a long time. A man bumps into our table.

“Oops, sorry hun.”

Something in his voice makes my head jerk up.

A beefy looking man with slicked back hair, wearing a leather jacket stands in front of our table.

“Hey, you’re Cesare’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

My stomach boils as he looks down at me with a predatory smile. “Yes.”

His eyes narrow and he stoops down, blocking Maria as he towers over me. This man, whoever he is, is in my space. My chair scrapes as I push back, and his finger flicks over my mouth.

What the fuck?

“You have some cream on your face, sweetie. I’d like to add to it.”

I suck in my breath as several emotions blast through me in quick succession: rage, disgust, and fear.

“What do you want?”

His voice lowers into a growl. “You tell Vinny I came here. That he better stay in line, or some other fat fuck might shove their cock right up your ass.”

My hand grips my coffee mug and I’m close to throwing it in his face. He laughs and straightens himself, tugging his jacket around him.

Maria’s white face stares at me as he brushes past and leaves.

“Adriana, what the fuck was that?”

A sick feeling grips my guts and I suddenly feel like sprinting to the bathroom to vomit. “I—I’m going to go!”

“No, what if he’s waiting out there?” She grabs my arm.

“I need to get out of here.”

Grabbing my backpack, I leave a bewildered Maria behind and burst outside.

He just threatened to
rape
me.

I run as fast as I can in the other direction as I try to find somewhere—
anywhere
, to hide. My legs scream as I sprint across the street, a car screeching to a halt in front of me. I dive into the stairwell leading into the metro. The machine eats my MetroCard and I sprint into the first train taking me downtown.

The train is filled with Columbia students heading downtown for a drink. The doors hiss shut.

I collapse into a plastic chair, my heart still digging into my chest like a jackhammer. Leaving after a few stops, I vault up the stairs, no longer feeling safe in the metro. I feel like a sitting duck in that cave. Who was he?

I can see his face perfectly in my mind. Whoever he was, he didn’t care if I could recognize him. He knew I wouldn’t go the cops. Would I?

Never have I felt so violated in my life. For a second, I imagine him pinning me against the wall, stripping my clothes. It’s like I’m ten years old again. I crumple in the stairwell, sobbing.

“Hey, are you all right?”

I shake my head, ignoring the people who stop on their way down. I need to hide, but nowhere is safe. Safety. What a fucking joke.

Getting out of the subway is hard, but I feel safer in a crowd. What should I do? Should I stay still or keep walking? He could still be following me. Every face walking towards me could be a rapist. Around the corner is a scaffolding sidewalk and I freeze. I don’t know where to go.

Vincent.

He’ll keep me safe. I’m only a few blocks away. Walking down the street, I take out my phone and see a hundred phone calls and texts from Maria.

I’m safe. Are you OK?

Where are you?

CALL ME BACK.

I text her back:
I’m OK. I went on the subway.

She responds almost immediately:
Text me when you leave.

My breath catches in my throat as I read her text. I’m gasping as I enter his apartment building, waiting until there’s an empty elevator. I run inside one and mash the button. There are other people coming.

God, my chest. It hurts.

The doors shut and I mash the 12
^th
floor. His apartment is right down the hall, but my heart rebels in my chest. I slam my fist on his door.

Hurry up. Please hurry. Please be here.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Open the door!”

Vince rips open the door. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a tank top. “You don’t have to beat down my door, you know.” He grabs my white, shaking face and his voice turns. “What’s wrong?”

My head buries into his chest as I nearly tackle him trying to get into the apartment. I turn around in his arms and then I slam the door shut, my hands shaking as I lock it.

“Jesus, what happened?”

I slump against the door as Vince’s whitened face stares at me in alarm. “A man came in the café. He said I had cream on my face and that he wanted to add to it.”

“What?” he says in a deadly voice. “He said what?”

“He knew who I was, Vince. He knew I was your girlfriend and he wanted me to tell you that he came to see me. That if you didn’t back down, he would shove his cock up my ass.”

Somehow, I’m unable to look at him. Tears drop on the floor as I curl my arms around myself. He bends down and takes me in his arms. He digs his fingers into my scalp and my lungs feel like they’re going to burst. One arm holds me as the other holds a cell phone.

I’m safe.

“Jack, we need to talk. They came after Adriana.” His chest is a barrel of rage. It’s horrifying to hear him like this. “I’ll call you on an outside line.”

He ends the call and makes another one. “Paulie, get your ass over here. Now.”

Then he hurls the phone across the room and it smacks on the wooden floor. I feel it like a jolt through my body.

“Vince, what’s going on?”

The chill freezes my spine when he lets me go and turns away from me, looking quite—
guilty
. Anger creeps into my voice. “He threatened to
rape
me, Vincent.”

He gives me a remorseful look. “Adriana—”

“NO! Don’t leave me here alone!”

I can see his resistance—the burning need for revenge, but I’m still shaking with what just happened and I need him beside me.

“It’ll just be for a little while.”

“This place isn’t safe,” I moan. God, I can just imagine them kicking down the door like it was nothing. They’ll swing an arm to me and suddenly I’ll hear a few pops. The bullets will slam into my chest and I’ll bleed to death on the hardwood floors. Or maybe they’ll tie me up and take turns raping me.

I clutch his shirt and sob into his chest, and he takes my hands, kissing them both.

“Adriana, I swear to Christ nothing will happen to you here. Paulie is on his way. He’ll be right outside the door.”

He just doesn’t get it.

“Fine!” I scream. “Just go!”

My screams ring through the apartment, hurting my ears. Stunned at my outburst, Vince releases me, looking paler than usual.

“Stay in the fucking apartment and don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back later.”

My heart screams as he leaves the apartment, the walls shaking as he slams the door. I run towards the door and lock it, and then I look around.

What can I use to barricade the door?

I move every available chair in front of the door, trying to lean them against the door handle. I even try to move the couch, but it’s too fucking heavy. The racing thoughts, the unpleasant sensation gripping my heart doesn’t go away. Like a seizure, my breathing stops, and my heart races, and it freaks me out even more.

There has to be alcohol in Vincent’s kitchen.

I rip open the cabinets and find bottles of vodka, whiskey, tequila, anything I want. I take out the vodka and pour myself a large glass. Downing it feeds the demon inside me. The spark that was present the whole time is coaxed into a fire, and I drink until I don’t feel anything at all. I take a seat next to the window and watch over the bustle of the city. There’s so much madness in the world, so much unbridled violence, and I feel safe up here. Removed from all of it.

The whole world spins when I try to get up to reach my backpack, so I sit back down. It takes a few seconds for everything to stop moving.

Fuck. I’m wasted.

But the thoughts keep intruding, even when I drown them out with more alcohol.

BANG, BANG.

The door jumps as someone’s fist smashes into it.

“Open the fucking door, Adriana!”

A rough voice yells at me, growing louder. It’s Vincent, I know it is, but the violence scares me.

“Hold on!” I yell back.

I rise to my feet and almost fall flat on my ass as I take a step forward. I make a strange sound, like a sob and a laugh combined together, as I pick myself up. It’s so dark in his apartment, and the swimming in my head makes it worse.

The doorknob twists violently. “What the fuck did you do to the door?”

“I blocked it. Hold on.”

All of it seems funny now. Even Vincent’s rage. I pull all of the shit out of the way. How, I’ll never really know. Vince almost trips all over everything when he bursts inside. He stares at all the chairs. At me.

“You’re fucking wasted.”

I’m on the verge of a nasty retort, but something in Vince’s gaze frightens me and I shut up.

“You have an excellent collection of alcohol.”

He looks like he wants to yell, but he shakes his head. “Fuck it.”

Taking my hand, he leads me back to the chair near the glass window and he grabs the half full glass, downing it in one shot.

“I guess I would get drunk if I were you.” He stares morosely at the bottom of the glass.

“I keep hoping that all this alcohol might burn holes into my brain. Do you want to know why I’m afraid all the time?”

Vincent’s neck bends into his hands like a heron. “Because of me?”

“No, because of my dad.” The tiniest bit of nausea hits me and I remember how silky his blood felt around my knees. I grab the neck of the bottle, but Vince looks up and wrestles it out of my grip.

“That’s enough,” he says in a dangerous voice.

“Oh, it’s not nearly enough.”

He takes a swig of the bottle and keeps it near his feet, so I can’t reach.

Bastard. He has no fucking idea.

“I never told you how my dad died,” I begin, my voice trembling with rage.

Vince’s haggard face looks up at me.

The alcohol makes it easy to forget, but once you’re in the throes of misery it drags you down. “They came into my house and my dad pushed me into my room to save me. They took him by the throat and I ran out because Mom was screaming and then I think I surprised them—that they didn’t mean to do it, but they dragged a knife across his throat. They ran off after that and he bled to death. I had his blood all over my hands. My legs. I can still smell it.”