still ill • michael gray

Chapter 12

I adjust my dress one last time in the mirror before we have to go to the mafia party. I'm dripping head to toe in jewelry. Michael insisted that I do it as a display of power amongst the other gangsters, and I obliged.

"You look like a queen," he remarks from the doorway.

I smirk at him in the mirror, "That's because I am a queen, baby. I was queen of the Upper East Side long before you came along."

"And now you're going to be the queen of New York City."

"That's a stretch," I chuckle as I spray on some perfume as a finishing touch.

"I mean it," he replies, "you look amazing."

"Being a queen is about more than just looks," I loop my arm through his.

"Well, if it were just about looks, you'd rule the world."

"Only with you at my side," I beam. Eve stops us before we can go up the stairs and makes last minute fixes to my hair. "It looks lovely," I say while not moving my head, "really, you don't have to fix anything. It'll probably all get messed up by the end of the night anyway."

"Try not to mess it up too much," she mumbles with hair pins in her mouth.

I raise my eyebrows and glance over at Michael, "I'm not the one who needs to be told that."

She steps away and looks at both of us like a proud parent. Her and I have gotten over our past differences, and now we're all like a family. "You two are going to be the best looking couple at that whole party."

"Thank you," I blush, "we ought to go now, you know he hates being late to things."

She nods and moves out of our way so we can walk up the stairs, "You two have fun, try not to get in too much trouble."

"We won't," Michael replies over his shoulder, "I promise."

🌆🌆🌆

I've never seen so much booze in one place in my life. Crates upon crates full of liquor are stacked, and just as many empty crates are stacked too.

"Holy shit..." I breathe as we take in the place, "Who do we even talk to?"

"Whoever approaches first," he gets me a martini from the bar, "Is that a new perfume?"

I shake my head and practically have to yell over the music to answer, "I got it in Paris last year, it's Chanel. I usually save it for special occasions."

"I think you should wear it all the time, I'll buy you more," he hands me my drink.

"You do know the way to a girl's heart," I sip the martini with a small smile, "perfume and cocktails."

"Perfume and cocktails," he echoes with a smile to match my own.

A couple that I don't recognize draws towards us, "Who are they?" I ask quietly.

"That's Joey Andretti, he's a good guy," he takes a long pause before speaking again, "I don't know who the girl is though."

"She doesn't look very Italian..."

He shrugs, "Neither do we."

"Touché."

The girl looks absolutely uninterested in the scene surrounding us. That piques my interest, I want to get to know her better.

The young man and Michael exchange greetings, and  I'm introduced the both of them. Apparently, the girl's name is Eliza and she's his fiancée. I've come to the conclusion that she definitely isn't Italian. She observes me in the same way that I observe her while the men are talking.