"Kid! You made it just in time." Dad's blinding smile made an equal smile creep up on my face as he opened the door to his apartment.
"Flight good?" he inquired, just like always.
My mind took me to the regular check-ins from the flight crew, the expensive wine and the exceptional roasted chicken and mashed potatoes.
"It was perfect."
"That's new. You always have some new story about the person who sat next to you on the plane or how much the airplane food sucks," he laughed.
I couldn't tell him that I came here in a private jet provided by a dangerous man I was in a contracted relationship with and who I was considering having sex with to become a millionaire.
Instead of that, I simply cleared my throat. "I was asleep most of the time so I barely got a look at the person beside me. And I didn't have the food."
"You must be hungry, then. That's perfect. Come look." He led me to the kitchen after I placed my bag on the couch, where there was a mass array of seafood and stacks of Haitian food from my childhood waiting to be devoured.
"Dad…" I whispered, not knowing where my eyes were supposed to be glued to. Everything was just so tempting. "This is amazing."
"Sit. Let's eat and talk about your life. You haven't told me about this job you got."
I froze for a second. With all the time I had, I didn't think of a foolproof lie about my job. Of course, I wasn't thinking of that.
"Oh, my job. Yeah. It's this bar over at the Las Vegas Strip," I said as I sat, trying to sound as casual about it as I possibly could.
"A bar at the Strip?" He frowned. "I don't think I like this one. What do you do exactly, kid?"
"Uh, well… I'm a bartender. It's a really huge bar, so we get crowds every night and the pay is generous."
A little too generous, I would add.
"About how much?"
How much the average bartender earned per hour, I didn't know, so I came up with something I was partially sure would be above the hourly pay.
"Two hundred per hour." I watched his brows shoot through the roof and gave myself a mental high-five.
"That's way too generous of a pay for a bartender."
Tell me about it.
"Well." I shrugged, taking a bite of a boiled corn after buttering it. "Oh, this is amazing. You made this?"
"Some of them. I ordered most, really." He scratched his head guiltily.
"That's totally fine. Thank you." I smiled.
"So, are you still thinking about the whole jewelry business thing still?"
"Yes. I've used the money I got to order everything I need. Some haven't even been delivered yet. I also opened a websitefor the shop."
"That's good to hear." He nodded. "And, er… have you found someone you're interested in?"
I reined in the groan that wanted to leave my lips so badly. "Dad…"
"You can't tell me you haven't. You've been away and on your own for a while. I can't watch over you and drive those men away—"
"I don't have anyone I'm interested in. I'm twenty-two years old. I still have a long way to go. In fact, I don't mind where I am right now. I'm too focused on my business."
As if sensing the conversation I was having with my father, my phone chimed with a text from Luciano.
Luciano: Home safe?
"Who's that?" Dad questioned, stretching his neck to get a good look at my screen. I hid it from his view as I sent Luciano a reply.
Me: Yes, thank you.
"It's my roommate, Dad," I lied. He obviously didn't buy it, but he chose to keep his next words to himself. He only hummed in response, going back to his food.
For the rest of the night, we caught up with each other. He told me about Simone, a single mother of two who was a middle school teacher who lived two miles away. He explained how she was interested in him, but he didn't feel the same way.
For the first time in a while, I slept peacefully with a pair of pajama shorts and without a care in the world about my scar being seen.
~
"If you don't want to go, you need to say so. I don't like the look on your face." Dad's voice startled me, interrupting my thoughts.
Every time I came home, we set aside a day to go visit my mom at the cemetery. It had been months since I last did it. The whole event played out in my head throughout the drive there in Dad's old Mustang.
"I want to. It just feels like an old wound being torn open again. It'll get better," I assured.
It did get better. We had a sort of mini picnic in front of her grave. The fresh lilies lying in front of her gravestone told me he had been there recently.
When he told her about how proud he was of me and my job, I couldn't help but cry. I had lied to him and now he was repeating it to her.
If she was watching from somewhere, she definitely knew I was lying. I wondered what she would think of me.
Before I could gather my thoughts, my phone's ringtone interrupted the silence of the cemetery.
I frowned at the sight of Luciano's caller ID on my screen.
"I have to take this," I said to my dad as I stood up and walked as far away I possibly could so he wouldn't hear me over the silence.
"Where are you?"
My frown deepened even further, my nose and lips scrunching in annoyance. "With my dad in New Orleans, you know. The place where your private jet dropped me—"
"This is not the time for vacuous jokes, Jasmine. Where in New Orleans are you?"
"Iberville. What the hell is going on?" I looked towards my dad and found him gesturing to ask what was going on. I just waved at him with a smile, turning away.
There was rough shuffling on the other end.
"You were tailed. Now, I want you to listen to me. Whoever was following you last night probably lost you from the hangar since one of my employees gave out information on where you were." As he said that, a pained scream followed his voice.
"Is someone with you? Are you doing something horrible right now? God, Luciano—"
"Now's not the time. I want you to listen carefully. Even if they lost you last night, they had all night to find you. They're probably close, if not already there. Are you home?"
"No." I shook my head.
My heart was crawling up towards my throat. I was not the only one in danger here. If my father died because of me, just like my mother, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.
"I want you to make an excuse. Tell your father something convincing. An emergency at work, perhaps. Pack your things and take a taxi to the private airport. Someone's coming to get you."
"But I just got here and my dad—"
"Do not live with the regret of having your father's life in danger because of you, Jasmine." He hung up, leaving me with no choice.
I hated myself, then and there. I didn't put all of this into consideration before I signed the stupid contract.
"Something the matter?" Dad asked as I went back to where he was.
"I hate to do this, Dad, but I have a work emergency. This really huge company has its employees coming in and we're short on staff right now—"
"Go," he said. "The most important thing is that you found the time to come. We had a good time already. Plus, I'm updated on everything happening in my daughter's life."
Oh, if only he knew even the half of it.
"I'm really sorry," I apologized.
"It's fine, kid. Let's get a move on." We packed up, said our goodbyes to Mom and left.
All through the ride to the airport, my hand was trained on Luciano's number on speed dial, and my eyes swept every corner of the streets for any suspicious activity. Cold sweat had broken out on my skin.
The moment I got to the airport, I made my way towards the hangar with so much speed, you would think I was being chased.
Before I knew it, someone grabbed me by the hand, causing me to thrash around like a fish out of water. I punched, scratched, kicked, whatever it would take.
"Dammit, Jasmine!" The person let me go with a loud cry. I turned around and gasped at the sight of a haggard Matteo.
"God, I swear you're such a perfect fit for him. Come with me." He rubbed his right cheek, where one of my punches had landed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know—"
"Save it. I'm too exhausted for explanations." He interrupted, leading me to the same private jet I had come in last night.
Before I could get in, a call from my dad came in. I didn't wait more than a second to pick up the phone and place it against my ear.
"Turn around and come home to your father or you just might not see him again," an unfamiliar voice threatened. Before I could say a word, he hung up the phone.
"No. I can't." I pulled out of Matteo's grip and stepped back. "I can't leave right now, Matteo. You have to help me. My dad's in danger. I have to go back—"
"Sorry, I was only instructed to come accompany you back home." He shrugged, nonchalantly.
I didn't argue with him. I just dropped my duffel bag on the floor and ran in the opposite direction. Tears blurred my vision. I didn't know what I was doing or what I was going to do when I got there, but I knew just one thing; I had to go to my father.
Someone held me back and I knew it was Matteo.
"You don't have to be involved. Wait for me. I'll come back after doing a good job of convincing your father. Does he know about you and my brother?"
"No. I told him I worked as a bartender at the Strip." Even as he assured me that he would take care of it, the tears couldn't stop rolling down my cheeks.
"If anything happens to him because of me, I don't know what I would do with myself."
"Nothing's going to happen to him. I give you my word. Tell Luciano about the situation. I'll be back before you know it."
I watched him leave.