Page 38 of Marcello

That was one thing I didn’t like about Federica: even when she knew she was in the wrong, she almost never apologized.

Although…

You could argue that since the money came from a mafioso…

And I was trying to get in with the Camorra…

She wasn’t exactly wrong about the ‘shady’ part.

But I wasn’t going to admit to any of that, so we were kind of at an impasse.

And as long as things already sucked ass, might as well rip off the band-aid.

“I asked Pasquale to get me a job at Sotto Napoli,” I announced.

She looked up at me in complete shock. “…what?!”

“I said – ”

“I heard what you said – WHY?!”

“You think I like washing dishes for a living?!”

“No, but – you work with me!” she cried out.

Rather than angry, she seemed genuinely hurt.

I felt a tiny stab in my heart.

“Yeah, well, it’s way better money,” I grumbled.

“But we won’t be working together!”

I shrugged. “Maybe he can get you a job, too.”

“I fucking hate enclosed places! I’m claustrophobic!”

“Is that why you didn’t want to go on the tour?” I asked in shock.

“Yes!”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”

“I would’ve, except YOU were all like, ‘I should be able to do things without being attached to you at the hip!’” she said, imitating me with a nasty viciousness in my ‘voice.’

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to go if I knew.”

“You could have asked,” she said petulantly.

“How the fuck would I know to ask if you’re claustrophobic?! Should I ask if you have any other phobias, too?! Are you afraid of the number 13, or heights, or – ”

“Fuck you,” she said, although she sounded less angry again, and more… sad.

I frowned. “Pasquale doesn’t know about the claustrophobia, or he would’ve said something… do any of your friends know?”

“No, and they don’t need to!” she snapped. Then she seemed to withdraw again. “It’s… private.”

That set me off.