The Way We War

The Art of Peer Pressure

"I think you lost your morals, girl
But it's okay 'cause you don't need 'em where we're goin'
In that two-floor loft in the middle of the city
After rollin' through the city with me
I promise you gon' see"

-Loft Music, The Weeknd

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3 Days Later, (Wednesday)

Vienna was not sure when exactly the shift happened. Perhaps it was on the way home from her family's afternoon at the Vena's. Or maybe it was later that night when she got another annoying goodnight text from Dante. (Hope you got home safe. Goodnight, micina.) Or perhaps, it was even the next morning, on Monday, when she received yet another postcard from Royce; this time with a number scrawled on the back of it.

That number, in particular, had been on her mind all week.

Whenever it was, Vienna felt acutely bothered by the fact that it felt like she was being pulled in a thousand different directions without warning. Everything in her felt restless. Like her body was starting to realize that she had been in Chicago for far too long and was going through withdrawal.

So maybe that's why she put on her favorite red lipstick before her dinner meeting that night with Gino's old associate. And maybe that's why she put on her silky black wrap dress underneath her fluffy winter coat. And when she texted Gino that she was on the way to meet his client— their client—she felt powerful. For a mere, fleeting moment, it felt like she was in charge of her life again.

The sharp February wind whipped at Vienna's face mercilessly when she got out of her uber and hurried inside towards the sushi restaurant.

Katana was a posh, upscale Japanese restaurant in the heart of downtown Chicago. Inside, the restaurant was candlelit with various chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings to accent the cube-like tables and booths. Everything from the decor to the ambiance had a modern feel to it that made Vienna feel like she was walking into a room meant for luxurious sushi snobs.

"Emma! There you are! Did you get in okay?"

Vienna turned in the direction of the deep, gravelly voice upon hearing her alias name.

"Eli Washington," Vienna smiled, before pulling the broad man in for a hug. "It's been a long time, huh?"

Eli Washington was a thirty-two year old ex-con who interacted with the world with a boyish charm that Vienna had always admired. His bright blonde hair was buzzed short into a military-style cut that emphasized the strong angles of his face. Today, he was dressed almost business-like with a plain black dress shirt, over slightly sagging dark-wash pants. Below the collar of his shirt, Vienna could see the hints of several tattoos peeking out.

"You're telling me?" Eli laughed loudly, before taking her coat and handing it to a steward nearby for a coat check. "Where'd you disappear off to again? France?"

Vienna smiled demurely, as she followed him to an intimate booth at the back of the restaurant. "It was Italy, actually."

"Wow!" Eli exclaimed, his face expressive and chipper. "Don't tell me—modeling? Perhaps for Vogue Italia?"

Vienna laughed lightly, sliding into the booth that Eli beckoned her towards which was already occupied by two other men. "Thank you, but no, just some business here and there. Also I visited my extended family. The usual."

"Well we're glad you're back," Eli noted, glancing at the other burly men that sat at the booth. "Besides, I'm sure you can't get sushi like this in Italy."