DINNER PLANS
1099 Words
VALERIA
A few minutes later, the car door swings open and Dante slides in.
"What happened?" I ask. The door slams.
"Made a call," he says, voice cool and even like he didn't just order me into this damn car.
"Oh," I say quietly. I sneak a glance at Dante whose eyes are glued to his phone, his expression poker straight.
"Was it about what Alex said?" His fingers still mid scroll. A tic running along his jaw.
"Yes, Valeria." He lets out a rough breath. "To find out how she's is getting her information."
And here I was thinking he was giving her a piece of his mind, not that Dante looked like that kind of guy but still. The silence in that car is daunting, and for once I embrace it.
My phone buzzes, cutting through the quiet. Diego's name flashes across my screen and I end the call. Beside me, I feel Dante's eyes on me and I press my forehead to the glass, pretending to enjoy the landscape when another call rings–still Diego. My stomach knots, dread coiling tight inside me. I stare at the screen, indescively, Diego wouldn't call me twice in a row if it wasn't important but there's no way I'm speaking to him with Dante around. The call ends on its own.
"Why aren't you picking?" Dante says, clearing his throat.
"It's not import–" my sentence dies with the third ring and I curse myself for not placing my phone on Do Not Disturb.
"Pick up," Dante says icily.
My throat bobs as I gulp hard. I swipe to answer, placing the phone to my ear.
"¿Si?" I say, switching to Spanish.
"Don't use that tone with me, Camila; why didn't you pick on the first ring?" Diego snaps.
"Some of us are actually busy in case you didn't notice," I say slowly, careful — incase Dante has a translator on.
"Whatever. Just wanted to let you know I'm in town."
"You're not supposed to be in New York, Diego! It's not safe!" My voice rises before I even realise I'm shouting, and I bite my lips.
"I'm here for a couple of reasons but mostly because of you. You're not as safe as you think. Don Mojito knows where you are." Panic grips me right on the spot and I forget how to breathe.
Fuck. A zinging sound rings in my ear. Diego's voice blurs. My lips part, yet the words stay stuck in my throat. Don Mojito... but how? This wasn't supposed to happen now.
"Camila?" Diego asks aloud. I blink twice, shaking my head. "Are you okay?"
"I–m, I...yes," I respond, massaging my temples.
"You zoned out," he says, voice full of concern.
"I'm alright," I insist through a shaky voice.
Goddamn it! Just when I thought things were finally going smooth this had to happen. But then I should have known everything was too damn perfect to be true. I mean, I'm a trouble magnet aren't I? I'm the girl who's always had to think three steps ahead to survive, the girl who thrives on Chaos. Camila Alvarez. The thought alone makes me boil with the anger I've carried since I was sixteen–
"You're going to be alright, hear me? We should meet this evening. I can't say much over the phone. I'll text you a location. What time would you be free?"
"Six should be okay,"
"Alright. Take care of yourself." There's a short pause, then, "They send their love."
"I send my love too, talk to you later," I whisper before hanging up.
"Didn't know you had friends," Dante says observantly; his voice is calm, too calm to decipher any undertone in it.
I chuckle, slipping my phone into my purse. "You didn't ask, bedsides we're not close."
Dante leans back gingerly, gaze still locked on mine. "If I tell someone I send my love, sounds pretty close to me."
"Right. You used a translator, I don't even have my have my own privacy," I mutter dryly uncrossing my legs.
"I'm multilingual. You weren't exactly discreet either," Dante says, stretching his long legs forward.
Multi lingual? Great. And here I was bothered about a translator.
"So what other languages do you speak?" I chirp, eager to steer away the conversation from Diego.
"I send my love?" He tips his chin at me, his voice is teasing, yet there's not a single trace of amusement on his face.
" Don't be so confident in your translation. You're not a native speaker," I say quickly. Dante studies my face long and hard in silence, pinning me down with his x-ray eyes. I shift awkwardly in my seat, patting my hair.
"Invite him to dinner." He says finally. His tone is light, almost lazy, but his gaze doesn’t waver– like the calm before a storm.
I rack my brain for an excuse but nothing comes to my mind. I really should have picked my words more carefully.
"Pft," I wave a hand. "He'd feel out of place in your house,"
"Then we can eat out, go somewhere Lowkey," Dante waves it off, sounding almost bored.
Right.
I wipe off my slick palms on my romper, fidgeting with my bracelet when I catch myself and stop. Yeah, eat out my ass, if Diego's info checks out, then there's a mole in Dante's circle and the last thing I need is anyone seeing three of us in public, it won't be difficult for someone to trail Diego back to his hotel and if Don Mojito finds out we're walking together he'll be dead...
"You know what," I hold up my index finger, "we'll do dinner at your place instead,"
Dante's eyes widen slightly, the faint twitch of his lips hinting at a cruel smirk. " Won't he feel out of place?"
I ignore the obvious jab, forcing a smile that feels stapled on. "He'll have to adjust."
Dante stares at me, an unreadable expression on his face before he looks away, returning to his phone and my smile drops.
This isn't good. So f*****g wrong. I can't let Diego come as he is to visit Dante. Diego works for Don Mojito, who answers to Nacho Belluci. And everyone knows Nacho is Dante’s enemy.
I don't know if he's ever seen Diego back when he and Nacho used to work together but I can't take chances.
If he recognizes him we're definitely going to end up dead. I make a mental note to phone Diego as soon as I get home.
- Writer
