Chapter Five - Fiona

Two days later…

"You gave him the wrong number? No fucking way!" Rachael exclaims, sucking down her orange juice, right along with the blow-by-blow details of my hot one-night-virginity stand with an absolute stranger. It's a mild enough Chicago day, but nothing about my feelings are mild. Rachael and I are seated at the back of a popular Chicago eatery—Charge—and it's only a hop, skip, and a jump from my work offices.

I've been itching to give the girls the juicy details of my sordid night, even though I already texted them both once I arrived back home. It was a strange cab ride home as the scent of Ruslan clung to my clothes. I think I'm supposed to feel differently inside, but all the night did was leave me feeling even more confused having done the deed. Thankfully, my article rewrites are minimal this week, and everything else is reasonably calm in the office.

Biting into my chicken sandwich, I chew a little more, chuckling a little at my phone number switcheroo. It's not as if I directly planned to evade Ruslan, but when he handed me his phone, I panicked, launching into quick-thinking mode.

I turn my attention back to my overeager friend. "Yes way, Rachael. The guy's a player, and he's too handsome and charming. He's like a big hot mistake. Great for virginity loss, though," I reason with a nonchalant shrug. I shimmy around in my seat, still conscious of the imprint of Ruslan in my core from the night's escapades.

And now, the way I see the Nobu Hotel will never be the same again after this. A thrilling shudder skates through my veins, recalling the night's events because he knew exactly where to touch my body, and how to elicit sensations I've never experienced with any man before. Sure, I've dated boys in my life, but mostly it was innocent and short-lived, especially the Midwest Ohio boys.

There was this one guy—Brody, who was a soccer player, and I was stuck on him back in high school. I had high hopes. We dated when I was sixteen for a couple of months, until he wanted to go all the way.

"We like each other; let's just do it. You're kind of behind all the other girls, and it will be fun."

"I just want to wait a bit. What's wrong with what we have now? I think it's important to build a friendship first. No?"

"Nah, we've been friends long enough. What's to learn? Come on, let's do it."

And that's when he ghosted me, and the following day I spotted him on campus with one of the Ohio girls who was known for her "reputation," on his arm. Both of them walked straight past me as if I didn't exist. After that disappointment, Ohio boys ended up at the bottom of the shit heap in terms of men to date.

Chicago men were worse and none of them produced the same electric current buzzing through my body like I experienced with Ruslan. A rush of fiery heat floods my system as I dial up the memory of Ruslan's dark controlling gaze, and his tongue performing small miracles on my body.

It was puzzling at first when he handed me the phone, but I quickly switched on to his game, punching in the wrong number. There's no way in hell, I planned on giving him my correct number. Ever.

Racheal jumps into my pervasive thoughts, pleading her lost cause of a case. "You could have given the guy more of a chance, don't you think? You lost your virginity to him!"

I giggle at Rachael's disbelief, personally feeling as if I dodged a serious bullet. "No. I couldn't have. You should have seen how expensive his shoes were, and his watch had more diamonds in it than I can count. Had to be a Cartier," I reason, remembering the glint shining off the top of it from the nightstand.

" Oh my God! If it's a Cartier, then you definitely should have let him have your number. I mean, why not? He could have wined and dined you—which you so deserve." You could have let him take you to all the fancy restaurants, and for sure he could have taken you shopping. You could have gotten some good jewelry out of him!" Rachael's animated gestures don't change the fact that Ruslan came across as a total player, and I've decided I'm not about to be the unsuspecting spider caught up in his web.

Scoffing, I laugh again, but deep down inside, I wonder what it would be like to date him, even if it's a crazy fantasy. "That's exactly why I don't want him to have my number. He can have anyone he wants."

"Yeah, but he chose you. What does that say?" In many ways, I admire Rachael. She doesn't overthink things too much and likes to have fun, including when it comes to men, but I've seen her tears when she's cared about someone, and they haven't reciprocated her feelings.

"I don't know what it says, but everything he had on looked expensive," I tell her dramatically as I look out at the Chicago foot traffic along the busy sidewalk. "His watch looked as if it cost more than my yearly salary! There's no way," I insist, Rachael's eyes growing incredulous and her lips curving into a cheeky smile.

"And you're counting yourself out because you looked expensively hot babe. And that's because you're worth it. Can't you see how perfect a fling it could have been for you?"

I stare at her as if she's gone cuckoo. I don't know who she's trying to convince, but it's certainly not me. "No, I really don't. There's no way—and with his good looks, he wouldn't be capable of taking me seriously, but the simple matter of fact is, I can't get Ruslan out of my head. He left so abruptly; it's been lingering in my thoughts as to why. What was so urgent he had to get up and leave in a hurry? I don't say it, but his hasty departure left me feeling jilted.

Rachael shakes her head in defiance. "No. You should have just given him your number. It could have been a great opportunity. You looked so good with him, and man he was into you. You were the femme fatale, the quintessential lady in red," Rachael praises, waving her hands about.

Giggling, I almost spit out my sandwich. " Stop it! But I did look good in that dress, didn't I?"

"Sure did. But it's more than just the dress. It's you, babe. It's like you can't see yourself or something. Guys were gawking all over the place."

"It's not like I didn't see them. It's just that I'm not interested in all those player types. Not long term anyway. They're not for me," I remind her, still processing my thoughts and feelings from the night.

"And come on—think about it. Let's just run a hypothetical for funsies."

" Let's not. It was a dare, and you know it was fun and stuff, but now it's over. He would have never called me anyway."

"You're not doing a good job of convincing me. My hypothetical is… if he's rich like you say and he asked for you to put the number in his phone, then he wanted to take you out."

"I have so much going on with work, with dragon lady, Alex—I can't," I explain. "Nothing good comes from dealing with bad boys. Both you and Sophia have dealt with your fair share of bad breakups."

" Ugh. Sure, but don't let that stop you. Forget about us. We're only young anyway. You're twenty-one! We've got plenty of time to make fun bad mistakes with men. Now how is he going to call you?"

" Rachael, give up already! I'm not getting together with the guy, but I've finally been relieved of my virginity, so hey, there's something. I'm not meeting anyone else I like. Next time it's your shout for drinks too, because I so won this bet by a mile."

Falling into laughter, I look at my watch noting it's time for me to get back to work. " Pfaff! I mean, I would shout you anyway. Your dare did shit all over mine and Sophia's— but God, he was a dangerous kind of hot! He could have almost been a muse for a painting." Rachael fans herself, pretending to fall off her seat. If nothing, my free-spirited friend is always entertaining.

"What a painting that would be," I murmur, slightly amused by how emotionally invested Rachael is.

"Exactly, and that's all of the problem.

"What problem? I don't see how having a little fun with the dangerously hot man is an issue."

" Alright. We can agree to disagree on this situation."

Finishing my sandwich, I wash it down with soda, my phone ringing from inside my purse, prompting an eye roll. "Gawd, this better not be a call from work, otherwise, I'm going to throw up. I knew it was too good to be true," I groan, but Rachael raises a curious eyebrow in response.

By the time I fish my phone out of my bag, the caller ID reads as an unknown number. Who can it be? A little flitter rumbles around in my belly, anticipating if it's Ruslan.

"I will hunt you down." Ruslan's words ring in my ears as I frown down at the phone with seconds to spare in answering.

" Ooo! Who is it? Do you think it's Ruslan? Answer! Didn't you tell me he threatened to find you?"

Nodding a yes in her direction, I let it ring a few more times, but she eggs me on, nudging my elbow. Eventually, I pick up to a rough masculine voice on the other end of the line.

"Meet me at Clementine's off W. 45th Street in Sleepy Hollow tomorrow evening at six." Before I have time to reply, the gruff, yet familiar caller hangs up.

Shit. Shit. Shit. It's him. The flitter of possible excitement that existed in my stomach switches to a turbulent whirlpool of emotions, but I don't have the space to process them.

"Who was it? Was it him? That guy?" she asks excitedly.

"No. I didn't even answer. It was a wrong number that's all." Producing a fake smile, a knife cuts through my stomach as I tell her the bold-faced lie. I know exactly who the caller is.

Every time I think of my father, packed layers of resentment, latent rage and the icing on the cake of heartbreak and abandonment lead me into despair, so I do my best to forget him—just like he's forgotten me.

I told my friends I didn't know the man, and that I've never met him, but Luca Marino— the Don of one of the most cold-blooded mobs in Chicago is not a man you relegate to the trenches—his reputation precedes him.

I wish he wasn't my biological father, but his blood runs through my veins, and it sends chills barreling down my spine after the call.

What could he possibly want now?