Chapter 8: Ow!What was that for?.

Four years later.>>>>>

I glance at the clock on my phone and immediately groan.

"Oh, shit."

I’m late.

Not I’m running five minutes behind late. I’m someone is about to murder me late.

I stare at the time again as if glaring at the screen might magically reverse it.

It doesn’t.

"Fuck."

I shove my phone onto the coffee table and look around my apartment.

There’s books scattered everywhere,ther is a half-empty mug of coffee beside me that has gone cold approximately three hours ago.

My laptop is open, my hair is a disaster and I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts that have seen better days.

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

Tonight is apparently supposed to be important....for whatever reason. Which is precisely why I have spent the last two hours pretending I had all the time in the world.

I gather the books into a messy pile and shove them onto the coffee table.

The second I stand, the buzzer downstairs sounds.

I freeze.

"Oh no."

The buzzer sounds again, lnger this time.

That’s Olivia’s I’m already annoyed with you buzz.

I hurry toward the front door, nearly tripping over one of my books in the process.

"Ow."

I rub my shin and continue moving. Before opening the door, I glance through the peephole out of habit to find Olivia standing on the other side with her arms folded across her chest.

Her expression tells me everything I need to know.

She’s pissed.

Beside her stands Cassian with Sandy-blond hair slightly messy from the evening breeze.

His hands are tucked into the pockets of his dark trousers, and his expression is far too amused for someone who knows he’s about to witness my murder.

I put own my best cutie face and unlock the door. The moment I pull it open, Olivia’s eyes sweep over me.

Her eyebrows climb then slowly descend.

"Nerissa."

I smile innocently.

"Hi, Oli."

She stares at me and I stare back.

Her eyes travel from my messy hair to my oversized shirt, then down to my bare legs.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

I glance down.

I honestly don’t see the problem.

"My clothes."

"I can see that."

"Then why did you ask?"

Her eyes narrow.

"Don’t play smart with me. Because we’re leaving in ten minutes?."

I look at my phone.

Eight minutes.

"Technically, we have eight."

"That is not helping your argument."

I step aside.

"Let’s go then."

Olivia doesn’t move. Instead, she points at me.

"You’re not leaving this apartment dressed like that."

I look down again.

"But I’m comfortable."

"That’s not the point."

"Comfort should always be the point."

"Not when we’re going to uncle’s house."

I groan.

Oh. Right.

I lean against the doorframe.

"Do I really have to go?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Uncle specifically asked for us."

I make a face.

"He’s just going to lecture me."

"He lectures everyone."

From behind her, Cassian clears his throat.

"To be fair, he lectures you more."

I turn toward him.

"Cas."

He lifts both hands.

"Don’t look at me. I’m staying out of this."

"You’re supposed to be on my side."

"I am."

He looks me up and down.

"But you’re definitely not going dressed like that."

Traitor.

I point at him.

"You were supposed to back me up."

Cassian shrugs.

"Your uncle wouldnt allow me hear th rest of it if I allowed you go like that. I like spiting him but I’d rather chose my battles."

I roll my eyes as Olivia grabs my wrist.

"Come on."

"Wait."

"No."

"I haven’t even...."

She pulls me into the apartment.

"Olivia!"

"You have exactly five minutes."

"That’s impossible."

"That makes it four."

She drags me down the short hallway toward my bedroom.

I stumble after her.

"You know, I’m twenty-four."

"I know."

"I’m an adult."

"I know."

"So you know I can dress myself."

"I’ve seen you try."

I gasp.

"Rude."

She pushes open my bedroom door.

My room looks exactly like the rest of the apartment.....littered with books. What? I’m a book girlie.

Olivia stops in the middle of the room and looks around.

Her expression slowly changes from irritation to horror.

"How do you live like this?"

I shrug.

"Comfortably."

She turns toward me.

"Where are your dresses?"

"In the closet."

"Why aren’t they hanging properly?"

"Because they’re resting and chilling."

"Clothes don’t rest."

"They do in my apartment."

She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for patience.

Then she starts digging through my wardrobe.

I sit on the edge of my bed and watch.

"That one."

She pulls out a dress.

"No."

"Why?"

"Too uncomfortable."

She throws it onto the bed.

"This one."

"No."

"This?"

"No."

"Rissa."

"Oli."

She slowly turns around.

"Do you want me to choose?"

I consider my options.

"No."

"Too bad."

She reaches deeper into the wardrobe and I sigh. This is exactly why I don’t tell her when I’m shopping.

Eventually, she pulls out a dress and holds it against me.

I stare at it.

It’s elegant, deep wine-colored, simple, but expensive-looking. The cut is flattering without being overly dramatic, and the fabric falls beautifully from the waist.

I shake my head

"Absolutely not."

"Absolutely yes."

"I’ll look like I’m attending a royal wedding."

"You’re the daughter of a mafia Don, you need to dress like it."

I stare at her.

"Was Oli."

Her expression changes slightly.

Our father had died a year ago and Sometimes I still expect to hear his voice from the study downstairs. Sometimes I still catch myself thinking about what he’d say if he saw the way I’ve chosen to live.

But time has changed everything.

Our father is gone.

The Luciano empire changed hands, th title of Don no longer belongs to him and neither Olivia nor I need to parade around pretending we’re still little princesses of a criminal empire.

I gesture toward the dress.

"Papa’s dead, Oli."

Her face softens.

"I know."

"So we don’t have to keep dressing like we’re still the Don’s daughters."

She stares at me for a moment. Then reaches over and smacks the back of my head.

"Ow!"

I rub the spot.

"What was that for?"

"For being annoying."