“Messenger bags, do you guys carry messenger bags?” I asked, my eyes trying to find something that would work for Trace. “Something classy.”
The woman beamed. “Right this way.”
Five bags. But Trace didn’t look super excited about any of the ones the saleslady had brought to us. She examined each bag slowly, like it needed to pass some sort of inspection or test.
I finally lost my patience. “Trace, pick a bag.”
Nodding, she glanced up at me then behind me, and her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree before turning back to the row of pricey objects in front of her.
I turned and saw the object of her affection right away. It was set high away from the rest of the products in the store, and it was in one of those specially lit shelves.
“This one.” I grabbed the blue bag and handed it to the woman.
A muscle twitched in her jaw. “This is a special edition—”
“For a special girl.” I put a possessive arm around Trace. “Then it’s perfect.”
Shaking her head, the woman walked to the counter and rang up the purchase. “That will be one-thousand-seventy-five dollars and eighty-nine cents.”
Trace coughed.
I fought the laugh bubbling in my chest and handed over my AmEx. Pretty sure Anthony was going to wonder why the hell I was dropping money at Prada on a school day.
“Can I see some ID, Mr.—”
The card dropped out of her hands. Shaking, she licked her lips and shook her head. “Never mind.”
“What?” I leaned forward. I could almost smell the fear rolling off of her. “You don’t need my ID?”
“No, Mr. Abandonato. Th-this — this will be fine.” With trembling fingers, she handed over the receipt and the bag. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
I flashed a smile. Good, let her be afraid. She knew I could crush not just her, but her entire store, career, family, life — take your pick. Sometimes it was good to throw your weight around; other times, people just needed to see your name. See, I really was a celebrity in Chicago, just not the good kind. And definitely not the kind you wanted roaming around in your stores if you had a fear of guns. “No, I think we’ve had enough. Thank you for your… help.”
The woman nodded, her face paling further while she pinched the bridge of her nose. You’d think I’d pulled a gun on her or said “boo” for as much as she was freaking out.
“What the hell, Nixon? You like the godfather or something?” Trace laughed out loud and elbowed me. She’d meant it as a joke, when actually it was a reality — maybe not mine, more like Tex’s, but whatever. That was an entirely different story I really didn’t want to think about — that wasn’t going to be a happy ending.
“So, frozen yogurt?” I changed the subject.
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Because I’m hungry?” And because I didn’t want our normal afternoon to be ruined by the Mafia or guns or shooting. I just wanted to go on a date with her. Though I hadn’t established it as a date, I had held her hand, twice. Yeah, I was in deep shit if I was already justifying things in my head. She was an Alfero, for shit’s sake. She was my Juliet, the one girl I wasn’t allowed to have.
And the one I wanted most.
She sighed. “Fine, but this isn’t a date, and it isn’t babysitting detail. You know I can take care of myself, right? You can just take me back to the dorms. I’ve got a paper to write anyways and…”
I grabbed her hand, silencing her as we made our way past the crowds.
“It isn’t safe, Trace,” I said once we were out of the largest of the crowds. “Just trust me, okay?”
“Then why are we getting frozen yogurt?”
I shook my head and smiled. Did the girl ever cease from asking so many damn questions? Couldn’t I just feed her? Like a normal person? For once in my life? Then again, I couldn’t actually come out and say, “I feel better when you eat because it’s like I’m making up for all the times you couldn’t.” And well, when she was little she’d loved ice cream. I just figured frozen yogurt would be a close second.
My men waited outside while we walked into the small store.
“Okay, what do I do?” She held out the cup and frowned, staring at the machines like they were spaceships.
“Uh…” I scratched my head. Was she trying to be funny? “You eat it?”
“The cup?”
“No, not the cup.” I barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding right? You’ve never had self-serve?”
She swallowed and looked down at her hands. They gave a slight shake like she was nervous. “Look, just forget it.”