My Tragic Mafia Life | ✔️

59

Josephine's luck had ended. Her lips twitched, eyes set off on furious blinking. The message Dante had sent—now that he was finally in the habit of texting her—pushed her mind into a spiral of thought. It had been no more than three days before he sent to get her. Typically, his outing would take a week. Or two. But there it was, in the early mornings of class to doom her afternoon.

He had written, We're going somewhere after school. Dress nice.

Since when had Dante ever cared for what she wore? If anything, the luxuries in her closet might as well outshine Jubilee Lane. The town was old. Old and ugly. It's buildings barely standing, lead pipes protruding out of every corner, and in need of a good coat of paint. Everywhere. She tried to imagine one of the shops that held clients to high regard, or at least to some regard, but came up empty. All the boutiques were antique but subtle, broken but with a scrap of value. Above all, there was not a roundhouse in that square made of anything for elites. Did he want her to dress up as a clown?

Still, there were roads undiscovered. If poverty was separated by the rich, then so could it too.

When the teacher wasn't watching, she replied, Where are we going? Is there an opera in Jubilee Lane? He hadn't typed back. Musical? Concert? A fashion show? Then another. Who are we even investigating?

She slammed her hand over her phone when the teacher turned, thick brow laying a long eye on the students, even more on Josephine. She smiled softly, the picture of innocence, and it was soon dropped when he went back to continue droning on. Nothing more to see but restless teenagers.

Josephine continued with her notes. Her grace suddenly lost its charm. She was supposed to intern at her father's company today. The schedules were sporadic, but enough so that it never ran over with the trips she'd taken to Jubilee Lane. Until today. Father would not be happy. She tried to come up with an excuse good enough to not send him into an uproar, or Mother into a hysteric mess but came up with none.

Next to her hand, her phone buzzed.

She snatched it. Maybe if she could push Dante to finish earlier, then she would not have to miss her work today. Dante wrote We're not going to Jubilee Lane. We're not investigating anyone.

Josephine could barely keep the phone in her hands from slipping.

If Dante wasn't going to use her as a spy, then he would use her for something else.

So she sent, This isn't a part of our agreement.

Agreement. So she was making progress on whatever his blackmail had become. Dante replied a few minutes later.

Be ready at three.

Josephine groaned. Not even time for a discussion, nor an opportunity. She was good at arguing within physical contact, but written words would only tire her. She tucked the phone in her pocket, already bitter to her easy defeat.

A thought ran her cold. Was he going to whore her out? To his clientele? Like the rest of those girls at Las Rosas. She could only imagine.

She nipped that idea away, piece by piece. Dante wouldn't do that. He was insufferable, yes, but not the source of all evil. No, that title was for his mother. If anything, Cordelia would surely be able to do that. Then again, if it weren't for Dante, she wouldn't be in this mess. She wouldn't be in it at all.

She drew nearer towards the end of the day faster than she expected. A part of Josephine debated running out during her lunch break to produce something presentable for the afternoon. She had already imagined the outfit—a new pair of pumps she had just bought, gold jewelry, and a lovely dress. However, the text she sent to Dante two classes prior on what they were doing, because only she could only orient her outfit on the specific occasion, led to no reply. Only read. So she didn't bother fetching for her clothes, instead hearing the newest rumor while sipping on diet cola.