The cool, early-summer breeze hits me as soon as I step onto the pavement and I immediately feel better. Until I notice him waiting for me on the opposite side of the street like a great, towering, marble statue. He makes his way over through the stream of people and I stuff my hands in my vest pockets, mentally preparing myself to say my piece about Sosa. I mean Stephanie!
"I saw what happened," he says in his brisk tone before I even have a chance to open my mouth. "I got you some water and pastizzi. I didn't know which ones you prefer so I got two of each." He holds up a greasy, white paper bag and two bottles of cold water. My mind goes back to the conversation Sosa and I had earlier in the bar and the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach is back.
Maybe I shouldn't have let Derek take her away like that. I check my phone. No texts yet. No calls either. I turn my attention back to the task at hand; Mr Cordina and his bag of treats.
"Thank you. You didn't have to," I say quickly as I try to focus on what I really want to say. "Listen, I know what it must have looked like back there, but Stephanie is just having a rough night and-"
"Don't worry about it. It's none of my business," he shrugs. I narrow my eyes at him. None of his business? Who is this man and what has he done with The Boss? "Whatever you do when you're not at work, is none of my business," he corrects, a cheeky glimmer lighting up his eyes.
Oh, Superman reads minds too!
My little bubble of rage quivers inside me, but I manage to hold my tongue remembering how rude I was earlier. I don't want to push my luck. I check my phone again. Still nothing from Sosa or Derek.
"Call her," Mr Cordina prompts. "It's no use worrying. Just call her."
As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. I dial her number. One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
"Hello?" Sosa's voice chimes into my ear.
I sigh out a breath of relief. "Hey, it's me. Are you okay? Are you home?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, I'm sorry. I'm still with Derek." She sounds better. Calmer. "Can I call you back?"
"Oh," I say taken aback. "Uh... Yes, sure. Of course."
"Don't worry we're just talking." I feel her smiling on the other end of the line and I automatically smile back, comforted by the thought that she's safe and cheerful again. "All right. I'll call you tomorrow then. Bye."
I hang up.
"Is everything okay?"
I gasp startled. I turn around to find Mr Cordina hovering close by. "You're still here. Yes, she's fine. They're talking," I add, letting out a short, sarcastic laugh.
"Talking?" he asks raising a sceptical brow. Then, he makes a face as if to say 'If you say so.' "Good. Now, pea cake?"
I stare back at him, completely nonplussed as I try to wrap my head around the scene in front of me. The Boss, cold, ominous, distant, someone akin to a mythical creature, is standing a mere three feet away from me, in the middle of Paceville, with a greasy bag in his hand and a hint of a smile on his lips.
His light blue, steely eyes are focused on me, like two ice-cold laser beams beneath his dark eyebrows. His pale skin is almost translucent under the neon lights, contrasting spectacularly with his black hair, a perfectly orchestrated mess on top of his head, the parting a perfectly straight line. He has a short stubble across his perfectly symmetrical face, which makes him look older than I remember. His slim-fitting crimson shirt and light-coloured trousers enhance how perfectly tall and lean he is, but they also make him stick out like a sore thumb against the throng of drunken young apes around us.
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Starting Over
Storie d'amoreHave you ever sunk so low that you actually felt relieved, knowing that it couldn't possibly get any worse? Well, I have... Many times. I lost everything. My family, my future, my home... I swore I would never depend on anyone ever again. And he...