Gian (Trassato Crime Family #1)(2)
The buzzer rang. I opened the door to find Carmela Trassato’s hopefully cautious face on the other side. I’d met Carmela in a coffee shop a few days after I moved to New York. Hopelessly lost, I’d asked her for directions to an audition, and she’d escorted me there. We exchanged phone numbers, and slowly, she became a permanent fixture in my life.
“Hi, Evie.”
“Hey, Carmela,” I responded, opening the door wider, welcoming her into my soon-to-be ex-apartment owned by my soon-to-be ex-fiancé.
“I guess I’m a little late to stop the shit storm.” Carmela pushed her not quite black hair away from her face as she looked around my normally meticulous apartment.
“Yep, and I already drank his precious bottles of Bordeaux, so I can’t even offer you a really good glass of wine.” I kicked the door shut with my foot, enjoying the black smudge my lace-up pale pink flats made on the pristine white paint. Kevin would freak when he saw it.
Carmela flopped down on the sofa, propping her feet on the coffee table, another thing that would drive Kevin crazy. He never liked Carmela. He said she was too aggressive. Most likely, because she always called him on his lies and pretentious behavior. She saw through everyone. She had to. She came from a huge Italian family that I suspected had more than a few unsavory connections. She never admitted anything, and anytime I questioned her, she changed the subject so skillfully I barely noticed until a few hours later.
“Do you think he’ll let you stay here when he sees the debacle on the sidewalk?” Carmela picked up the empty bottle of wine and inspected the label.
“He says it won’t happen again.”
“And you believe him?” Carmela asked, raising her beautifully sculpted eyebrows, the kind you can only find in a salon.
I sighed. “No. I’m not that dumb.”
“Thank God.” She raised one hand into the air. “Finally. You’ve seen the light. Are you telling me I won’t have to endure another moment in his company?” She never referred to Kevin by his name. She called him the prick, the art douche, or scecco, which I think loosely translated to jackass.
I shoved her shoulder lightly. “About time, huh?”
“No comment.” She tossed the empty wine bottle on the floor. A few deep burgundy drops splattered on the white and black cowhide rug. “So what’s the plan?”
“I don’t have one. I’m done with Kevin, though.”
A disbelieving look flashed across Carmela’s face, and while I hated that she doubted my conviction, I understood. I had overlooked so much of Kevin’s crap in the past six months that I barely believed myself.
“For good this time. I promise.”
Carmela shifted toward me and pointed at my ankle. “How’s physical therapy going? Do you think you can start auditioning again?”
My stomach bottomed out, mirroring the trajectory of my life. My gaze bouncing around the room, I considered my words. I settled on the truth. “I’ve been lying to you. I haven’t gone in a really long time.”
Her almond eyes narrowed. “What qualifies as a really long time?”
I rubbed my tear-stained face. “I haven’t been to rehab in nine and a half months. I haven’t tried to dance since the day I fell.” My voice wavered, and I wondered when Evie from Nebraska disappeared and this weak, pathetic girl hijacked her soul. If someone told me I would be in this position after living in New York for a little over two years, I wouldn’t have believed it. I was better than this. A better dancer. A better actress.
Somehow, after I met Kevin, my life fell apart. First my career, then my ambition, and slowly my friends disappeared one by one, except Carmela. Now, I only had a worthless ex-fiancé to show for my life.
“Do you still want to act on Broadway?”
“I do, except every time I think about what the doctor said, I want to curl into a ball and die.”
The corners of her lips tugged down into a frown. “The doctor said if you finished rehab, you could dance again.”
I rubbed my hands along my thighs. “Not exactly. He said I might be able to dance again, but that he couldn’t guarantee anything.” I lowered my voice. “A ruptured Achilles tendon can be a career-ending injury for a dancer.”
“So you gave up without knowing for sure.”
“I was busy,” I lied. In actuality, the thought of packing up my bags and crawling back to Nebraska scared me to death. When Kevin proposed, I seized the opportunity to focus on something other than the end of my childhood dreams. I put my career on hold and micromanaged every detail of our wedding plans.
Carmela jumped up and clapped her hands together. “Well, let’s pack your stuff and get you out of here before Kevin shows up. I’m not sure you’re strong enough to face him yet.”
I didn’t bother arguing with her. “Where to? I don’t have money to rent my own place.”
Carmela looked pointedly at my finger, where I still wore my two-carat custom-designed wedding ring. “Pawn your engagement ring. It will pay for a few months of your living expenses and physical therapy, and you always have your credit card. In the meantime, you have me, and that means you can stay at my place until you figure out how to put the pieces together.”
Exhaling loudly, I twisted the ring on my finger, contemplating pawning it for cash. I’d never liked it. I told Kevin I wanted a sapphire, not a diamond, and something rough-cut, not refined and uptight like the ring he’d designed for me. He never listened to me. Everything revolved around him and what he wanted.