Page 18 of Playing for the Dark

I walk out to my car, appreciating its dependability. It’s nothing fancy, just an older Honda Civic, but it’s my baby and gets me anywhere I need to go without having to worry about it breaking down. It was my first car and is still going strong. I look up and see a stupid fancy car on the side street attached to our parking lot. I can appreciate the all black McLaren Solus GT. I see movement in the car, but I’m not sticking around to ask questions.

I feel eyes on me, but I try to keep a level head. Nothing good ever comes of me when I’m panicking. I practically jump into my car and lock the doors behind me.

Pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot, I get hit with a little bit of nostalgia. Growing up, I used to spend every moment here when I wasn’t in school. I haven’t seen Marcello in ages, but we practically grew up together. After the tragic passing of Marcello’s father, he took over the restaurant at only twenty-one. I think back a couple of years to when I was twenty-one and what my life was like, I would not have wanted that responsibility if it were me. He’s seven years older but it seems twice thatnow since we don’t talk as much, and he had to grow up much faster.

He also happens to be the leader of the Italian mafia here in Vegas. Casual, I know, but there are plenty of bad people in this world. Why not just be open about it? I’m pretty sure my dad tried hiding that from me growing up, and he may still be in denial about it all. But, of course, Cello and I talked about everything. It was like he lived in a movie and I got the front-row seat watching it live. The last ten years, though, have been a blur, hardly ever seeing him, and he’s very standoffish now.

1 I walk into the extravagant restaurant that was like a second home to me growing up, passing the hostess and giving her a quick smile. It’s fucking packed in here for it being lunchtime. I sit at our usual table in the back corner, closest to the kitchen, just in case Dad has to run back in if things get too out of hand.

I turn to look around, but it’s all the same here. It’s dimly lit at all times, there are old gold chandeliers with fake vines over every other table, and it has limited seating. Giant, thick candles are set in glass holders giving a moody vibe as they bounce of the brick walls surrounding us. It would probably be easier to meet with the Pope than get a damn table in here without reservations.

I hear a familiar voice, but not so familiar that I know who it belongs to immediately.I have my face buried in my phone, scrolling TikTok, focusing on some new masked men that popped up on my FYP. I’ve gone down the whole profile for this stunning specimen, @untrained__ghost, when someone sits on the other side of my table. I know it’s not my dad because he would’ve hugged me before taking his seat.

I look up, and guess who the fuck it is? Stalker-man from Shenanigans.

“Zamir? What the fuck are you doing here? I’m about to file the police reports myself; you’re my stalker.” I take a breath. “This isn’t even funny at this point.”

“I was about to ask you why you’re here because this is my favorite restaurant in Vegas. I’m here once a week for lunch,” he responds casually, like I’m not sitting here freaking the fuck out.

My dad has finally decided to come out of the kitchen and gives me the hug I knew was waiting for me.

That’s when I hear Zamir say, “Bill, what the fuck is up, man? How have you been?”

“Good, son, how have you been? How’s the rookie? Fill me in. We’ve got time, right, Ellie?” My dad’s looking at me like I know better than to say no.Did he say, son?Goddammit, they’re besties. This man loves his football more than most things on this planet, and I’m guessing Zamir does come in here often if my dad’s comfortable enough to come up to him and have an open conversation like this.

Looking over at Zamir with what I’m sure is a dumbass look on my face, I start to agree. “Ye—That’s fine, Dad.” I’m trying not to lead on that I already know Zamir.

“The rookie has been nothing but a pain in my ass, to say the least,” Zamir says in a huff, leaning back in his chair.

“That rookie is going to carry this team. We’ve needed a quarterback since you were drafted,” I bark out.Well, there goes any chance of my Dad thinking I don’t know him already.

Zamir’s looking at me, dumbfounded.Yeah, bitch, I know my football too. Not to mention that little rookie fucked my brains out a couple of nights ago.

I look over at my dad, and he’s just smiling down at me. This is the one thing we’ve always had in common, no matter what. I risk turning back to Zamir, and he has a shit-eating grin on his face.Fuck, I’ve done it now.

My dad starts, saving me from god knows what Zamir was about to say. “Maybe he’s just young. Do you remember how you were? A hot shot fresh in the big leagues.” My Dad continues, “He’s probably just adjusting to it all.”

“We’ve been fighting nonstop. We both can’t make any mistakes without blaming one another.” He looks so defeated. “Coach is making us sit together on the plane, room together at all the away games, and watch a film outside of normal practice.” He’s full-on pouting like a toddler.

“Good, then you two can get to the bottom of what’s happening,” my dad responds. Right on cue, one of his sous chefs comes barreling out of the kitchen, calling for my dad like the kitchen is on fire. He is the best man for this job. He keeps a level head no matter what he’s faced with. The only time I saw that man scared or with worry etching his face was following my mom’s diagnosis. He was and always will be my buoy, rolling with the waves and seeing what the tide brings us. No matter how bad the storm is, I know he’ll be there for me.

“Gotta get back to it. I’ll leave you two to it.” He gets up from his chair but stops to give me another bear hug. “Love you, honey, and be nice to Zamir. He’s a nice boy.” With that, he turns and heads back into the kitchen, and I’m stuck here staring at my stalker, or I guess, my second stalker.

“You’ve gotten what you wanted; here I am, so make it worth it,” I spit out, probably madder than I need to be. It’s not his fault we keep running into one another. I’ve been on edge ever since I started noticing the random nice cars following me. And I swear shit has been messed with in my apartment; when I check with Blair, it’s never her. Once, I came out to my car after a late shift, and it smelled like a woodsy citrus scent. That was the last odd thing that has happened.

“I want to know about you,Shpirt Im.I didn’t know Bill was your dad. He helped me a lot when I movedhere.” He has his hands steepled on the table, looking at me in amusement.

“You know more about me, I want to know about you,” I rush out.

Fuck, I already know he’s going to take that the wrong way.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Ellie.” He’s dropped his voice now, sounding a little gravelly.

“How did you know exactly how to immobilize Randy at the bar?” A dark look crosses his face, but it’s gone so fast I second guess even seeing it.

“Let’s just say I have a dark past.” He looks off in the distance again. “But let’s not dwell on the past. I’m sorry about your mom. I remember talking with your dad about her. I can only hope to find love like they had one day.”

My nose starts to burn, and I feel the tears in my eyes, but I also find myself rolling them. “They were perfect on the outside.” I rub my nose, trying to get the burn to go away; he’s cocked his head to the side, studying me. “Okay, enough of the sad shit. Tell me about yourself seriously. I’m curious about you.”

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