You Can't Buy My Heart, Mr. Vitiello

Ross

e is ove

he empty air, but they tas

ut the city lights bleeding in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. His phone s

knew the rules. *Omertà*.

age was right there, a glowing whit

ready, Dante. It

nt minutes before he dragged me down onto the cushions. Minut

l wait. I'l

punched fr

ng partner. A warm body he used to rehearse his passion so he woul

echnique on me so he co

e smog of Los Angeles. When Dante finally stirred, groaning as the

, his eyes bloodshot and devoid of the vulnerab

" he rasped, his vo

just le

e sound of the pen scratching against the paper was deafening i

illion

at, businesslike. "For the last

buy a house. Enough to buy a new life. But right

want it

ded. "Don't be stupid, Elena. Ta

id, my voice steady. "

d dropped, and the paper fluttered to the fl

his back to me to hunt for his cigarettes. "Sofia is coming by later to l

ady lighting up, the flame flaring, his mind al

very morning and dropped it into the trash. The ceramic sha

ck to the l

, Dante,

e curling around his head like a h

eavy steel door cli

of a prison cel