CHAPTER TWO
1136 Words
GABRIELLA
A few hours later, I’m in a sleek, off-the-shoulder dress, my makeup done lightly, sitting in the backseat of my father’s car while his driver takes me to Dine, an upscale restaurant in the heart of the city.
The drive to the restaurant is quiet, as always. None of Papa’s employees are allowed to speak to me unless spoken to, and I don’t feel like making small talk.
We arrive in no time. The restaurant is dimly lit and way too formal. But it’s Papa. I’m not surprised. When I step inside, I spot him almost immediately. He’s sitting at a table close to a window at the far right corner of the room. As always, he’s in a black suit, his greying hair is slicked back, and he is nursing a glass of wine.
As I approach, I notice his men scattered around the room like they’re just regular customers. You would think this is a business meeting and not a birthday dinner.
I sigh and slide into the seat across from him. “Do you really need men stationed at every corner like this is a war zone?”
Papa barely looks up from his glass. “You’re late.”
“I was getting dressed. The birthday girl has to look pretty.”
He finally looks at me, and his expression softens. “As always, you look beautiful, bambina mia.”
I cross my legs, and despite my sour mood, a smile takes over my lips. “Thanks.”
He reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a small black box.
“Happy birthday.” He slides it across the table.
Excited, I grab it and open it. Yes, I am a sucker for gifts, and Papa is a big gifter. It’s how, despite how annoying he can be, he always manages to stay on my good side.
A soft gasp leaves my lips as I see the content of the box. Inside is a gold bracelet, delicate and glittering with small diamonds. It’s stunning, just like everything else he gives me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome.” He lifts his glass. “To my daughter. My pride.”
I sip from the flute the waiter brings me as I watch him over the rim. He seems relaxed, which is good because Papa is never relaxed. He’s always stressed about business, a business I know little about. I just know he deals in imports and exports, which is why he travels so much and makes a lot of money.
“How have your meetings been going?” I ask, twirling my glass.
He hums. “Productive. Tedious.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be done with this particular project by now?” I think I overheard one of his men saying something about an important shipment days ago. “They usually take around one to two weeks.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Trying to get rid of me?”
Guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.
I smile. “No… I was just wondering when I could finally start experiencing the real college experience. You know, without my father or his men lurking over my shoulders.”
He laughs again, and it’s a deep, genuine sound that catches me off guard. He seems happy. Work must really be as ‘productive’ as he put it.
“You should be grateful. I already compromised enough by even letting you come here.”
“Yeah, yeah, you say it all the time.” I roll my eyes.
Our main course is served. Papa is having some roast duck with red wine sauce while I’m having a simple truffle pasta. We eat and talk, mostly him asking questions and me giving safe, generic answers. School is fine. The professors are okay. I have friends. He seems pleased.
What I don’t mention is how confusing everything is, how people talk so casually about things I’ve only seen in movies, how I don’t know how to drive, and how I’ve never been in a Walmart. I’m not naive, exactly. But there are gaps in my understanding, things I’m only just realizing everyone else already knows.
My mind starts to drift as Papa answers a phone call and begins to speak in hushed Italian. Business, of course. Business over everything else. Why am I here then? I should be shaking my ass at my birthday party or something.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes in my purse. I slip it out to see a message from Lisa.
‘The party is already in full blast, and Jack is here,’ with several heart emojis.
I chuckle softly, then glance up to see Papa still very engrossed in his phone call. Now I’m starting to get pissed. I glance at the clock on the wall behind him. Almost ten. The night is wasting away. My eyes drift to the window beside our table, searching for anything to distract me.
A glint catches my eye from through the glass window. At first, I think it’s just a reflection, but then I see the faint outline of a figure on the rooftop across the street. There’s something long in his hands. Something metallic pointed directly at our table.
I might not know a lot, but I watch a lot of movies to recognize a f*****g sniper rifle.
I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out fast enough.
“DOWN! GET DOWN!” The sharp and urgent voice that belongs to one of Papa’s men bellows out.
The following events happen in a split second. Papa yanks my hand and pulls me under the table just as the glass window shatters. Papa’s wine glass explodes, and shards of glass rise in the air.
Screams erupt. I hear chairs scraping, people diving to the floor, and some rushing out of the room. One of Papa’s men is yelling into an earpiece as two others rush out of the room.
I can’t speak or move. Willingly, that is. My body vibrates on its own accord, trembling like a leaf while my heart thuds like a drum.
Papa is barking out orders while shielding me with his body. Within seconds, his men surround the table, and we’re on the move. He drags me up and pulls me toward the back exit. His men close in around us as we sprint outside.
A car screeches to a stop before us, and I’m immediately shoved inside with Papa following closely. As we speed off, I twist in my seat and glance up at the rooftop.
The figure is gone, but the crackling panic in my chest doesn’t fade.
Because someone just tried to kill my father, and I think I was supposed to die with him.
- Writer
