Breaking Hollywood(31)

I drop my arms and take a step toward him. "Nothing could change the way I look at you."

He lets out a laugh, but it's hollow and humorless. "That's an easy statement to make when you don't know everything."         

     



 

"So, tell me."

He shakes his head, like he's having an internal battle with himself.

"Gabe … "

"I used to sleep with women for money."

"What?"

"And my parents are in prison for drug trafficking, racketeering, and murder."





Ava


"I'm sorry, what?" Reeling from what he just said, I reach out for something to hold on to, but there's nothing but air.

"Ava, do you need to sit down?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

I walk over to the sofa on wobbly legs and sit down on the edge, fingers gripping it.

Gabe stays standing by the window. The light frames him, making him look incandescent. And beautiful. So very beautiful.

He's not looking at me. His dark eyes are on the floor.

His words keep echoing around in my head.

"I used to sleep with women for money."

"And my parents are in prison for drug trafficking, racketeering, and murder."

I thought his parents were dead. Apparently not.

He's not saying anything. I think he's waiting for me to speak.

Honestly, I don't know what to say.

But I go with the latter, as that seems more important. "So, your  parents aren't dead. They're in prison," I say in a quiet voice.

"Yes." His voice is rough.

"Both of them?"

"Yes."

"How? Why?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got all the time in the world."

His eyes finally meet mine. Emotions are running riot in them. It makes me ache for him.

He looks away from me. "My dad is originally from Italy. He was born into the Russo crime family."

He glances at me, a question in his eyes, and I shake my head, not familiar with their name.

"My grandfather was the head of the family, my dad his eldest son. And  my grandfather built up a business relationship with a Jewish mob boss  who pretty much ran Las Vegas. My grandfather sent my dad out to Vegas  to secure the deal with the Jews, and he was to head up the running of  it.

"My dad met my mother, who was the niece of the Jewish mob boss. She  worked in one of his casinos. They got married. I was born a few years  later. Tate, five years after that. Together, they ran several casinos.  Or so I thought. The casinos were a front for the money laundering and  drugs they were filtering through the casinos."

He comes and sits down on the sofa chair beside me. I shift to face him.

"I knew they weren't squeaky clean. I knew my dad's family history. I  knew they did some dodgy dealings. Kids would say stuff about them to me  at school. The police came calling at home a few times. But, honestly, I  didn't know the true extent of it. I didn't know they were mixed up in  drugs or … that they'd killed people.

"I was seventeen when the house was raided, and my parents were  arrested. It was the middle of the night. Tate and I were dragged from  our beds, put into the back of a police car, and driven to a boys' home  ran by social services. We weren't told anything. We only knew what we  read in the newspapers in the following days. They wouldn't let us see  our parents. Tate was devastated. Then, I heard that my mom and dad were  being charged with racketeering and the murder of several people. I  knew that Tate and I were never going home. At seventeen, about to turn  eighteen in six months' time, I was smart enough to know that I'd stay  in the boys' home, and with Tate being twelve, they would try to rehome  him.

"I'd just lost my parents. I wasn't going to lose Tate as well. So, we  left. My parents' assets had been frozen by the government, but I had  some savings in my account. So, I withdrew everything I had, and I  bought two bus tickets to Los Angeles. I thought the idea of living near  the beach sounded good. So, we rode the bus here, and I decided to  change our surname to Evans in case anyone came looking for us."

"So, your real name is Gabriel Russo?"

"Yes."

"Why Evans?" I ask him.

"The bus driver had on a name badge that said Evans."

"That simple."

"Yeah, Speedy, that simple." He grabs his smokes from the table and lights one up. He takes a drag and exhales the smoke.

"I managed to find us a studio to rent, using the rest of my savings.  And I got a job waiting tables. I got Tate enrolled in school. But the  one job wasn't bringing in enough money, so I got another. In the end, I  was working three jobs.

"There was a guy I waited tables with. The night he quit, he told me all  about how he'd scored this job being an escort, and he was making a  shit-ton of money doing it. So much that he didn't need that job  anymore. He said I should give it a try. He gave me a card with the  number of the place he'd started working for. So, I gave them a call.  What could it hurt, right? And, if taking some women out for dates or  whatever would give me more money to give Tate a better life, then it  was all for the better.         

     



 

"So, I went in for an interview. Told the woman I was twenty-one. I  looked it. But she laughed and said I had to show her ID. So, I told her  I was eighteen. She said she had no problem with that. That her clients  liked younger men. Said they would love me. She hired me on the spot.  But said there were rules. Under no circumstances was I to have sex with  a client. I told her that wasn't something I was looking to do. So, she  sent me off to HR, which was basically an overweight middle-aged woman  behind a desk, smoking a cigarette. She took my photo for the database. I  was given a form to fill out. Then, it was done. I was signed up with  the agency and told they'd call me soon. I left, and they called three  days later with a job for me.

"A woman needed a date to her friend's wedding. It was her first time  using an escort. And my first job, so it worked well, as we were both  nervous. I picked her up in a cab, took her to the party. We danced and  drank. Had fun. When the night was over, I dropped her back home, and  she thanked me for a great evening. Easy. Then, a few more jobs started  to roll in, and I was getting more and more popular.

"Then, one night, I was out with this woman. She was in her forties. But  really good-looking, you know. She oozed class, and the jewelry she  wore could have fed Tate and me for the rest of our lives. She started  telling me how her husband didn't pay her any attention. She was sure he  was screwing his secretary. She mentioned how lonely she was. Then, she  reached over and slid her hand up my leg. She stared me square in the  eye and said she'd pay me a lot of money to make her feel good about  herself.

"I knew it was against the agency's rules, but I was young, and I  thought, Hey, here's a beautiful woman offering to pay me to fuck her  when I would have fucked her for free.

"So, I said yes. And, the next thing I knew, we were going to a hotel.  Then, we were in the room, and we were fucking. And, when it was over,  she kissed me on the mouth, thanked me for a great time, and told me  she'd be telling all her friends about me. Then, she left a thousand  bucks on the nightstand.

"A thousand bucks." He laughs, but it's a sad sound. "I was eighteen  years old with a thirteen-year-old brother depending on me for  everything. So, I took the money with a smile on my face. The next  morning, I took Tate out for a huge breakfast and took him shopping for  new clothes."

"Does Tate know-"

"No." His eyes snap to mine. "And he never will. Understand?"

"Of course." I swallow. "You can trust me, Gabe."

He holds my stare. "I wouldn't be telling you all of this if I didn't think I could."

Knowing that warms the ache I feel for him in my chest, but it doesn't soothe it completely.

"Anyway, a few days later, she called me, asking to see me again. So, I  said yes. Why wouldn't I? It was easy money. After I fucked her in her  hotel room, she told me she had some friends who wanted to spend time  with me, too."

It's hard not to wince when he talks about having sex with those women.  His voice sounds empty of emotion. Honestly, it makes me want to bawl my  fucking eyes out.

"I kept escorting with the agency for a while," he tells me. "But, soon  enough, I was too busy to take jobs they had to offer, as my own  clientele had grown fast. I quit with the agency and became a full-time  hooker. Screwing rich women for money.

"And, for a long time, it was easy. Fun even. Fucking hot women for money-what's not to like about that, right?"

He laughs, but it's hollow, and my heart hurts at the sound.

"I moved Tate and me out of the tiny studio we had been renting and into  a two-bedroom apartment. I got a car. I put money aside for Tate's  college tuition fund. Life was good. Or so I thought. After a while, it  started to not feel good anymore. It just felt empty. Soulless. There  was nothing fun about it anymore. I just started to feel dirty. Even  spending the money felt dirty. And I guess, somewhere along the way, I'd  fooled myself into thinking that these women actually cared for me." He  makes a self-deprecating noise. "That was stupid as fuck because, of  course, they didn't care about me. I was just a monetary means to a  great fucking orgasm.