Page 43 of Under Pressure

“It’s just a spider.” Dom scooped the massive eight-leg creature into his palm. He smiled at it. Actually smiled. Like it was Charlotte right out of her web and they were going to be the best of friends.

“Don’t play with it,” Blue said, feeling exasperated. “It could be poisonous.”

“It’s a daddy longlegs. It can’t hurt me.” The spider scrambled out of his palm and over the back of Dom’s hand. Dom stood, sending their carriage rocking. He leaned out over the side toward the frame of the Ferris wheel and Blue grabbed the back of his shirt.

“Careful.” She peered down to where their friend Ian was letting a couple into one of the carriages. Ian worked at the park; had been running the Ferris wheel for as long as Blue could remember and had made friends with them when they started coming multiple times per week. Ian glanced up at them—his wavy blond hair falling out of his face. “Hurry, Ian’s about to start it again.”

The night was warm, and the normally polluted Chicago sky was clear enough to see the stars for the first time in a long time.

Dom placed the spider on the frame. “There you go, little fella.” He sat back down, and she let out a sigh of relief. “Wimp,” he said. Even at thirteen, he was almost taller than her, and definitely braver.

“You know I hate heights,” she said but relaxed as he leaned back in his seat. She glanced down at Ian and gave him a thumbs up, and he smiled and wandered back to the controls.

“Then why do you always come on this with me?” Dom asked.

She shrugged, just as the wheel jerked forward one more spot and stopped again. “You like it.”

He tucked his arm in hers and her stiff posture eased substantially. “That’s my brave big, lil sis.” He’d been calling her “lil sis” for the last six months since he’d shot up and outgrown her.

She chuckled. “Brave? Right. Sure. That’s what we’ll call this.”

“You’re braver than you think.” He crossed his legs at his ankles.

“Who are you, Gandhi? I thought I was the big sibling around here.” She nudged his shoulder with her own.

“Oh, you definitely are,” he teased. “You’re like having another parent.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” he sniggered. “You’re worse than Dad about making me get my homework done.”

She swatted his arm. “Are you kidding, I just like having someone to study with. Plus, I need someone to help me with math.”

Dom was amazing with numbers. He was only just starting high school this year and was already lined up for calculus. “Well, that’s for sure.”

“Hey!” Math had never been her forte outside basics. “Besides, who makes you cookies for helping? You know that’s not Dad.”

“Mom,” he said deadpan, then after a beat, they both burst into laughter. Mom couldn’t cook to save her life. Blue had only ever given it a go because she’d gotten into a cooking show. Normally, they had a cook make everything, but Dad indulged her interest. When pressed about why he was allowing her, The Outfits’ princess—the daughter of the consigliere—to learn to cook, he’d simply said it improved her marriageability. That had gotten people off his back and given her leeway to keep trying new things. Not that she’d ever gotten very good at anything but basic cookie recipes, and a mean mac and cheese right out of the box.

“I want oatmeal chocolate chip next time.”

She touched her chin as though thinking it over, then said, “You drive a hard bargain.” She stuck her hand out. “Deal.”

Dom shook it, his eyes, the same deep blue as hers, sparked with mirth as he chuckled. His laugh warmed her insides. The ride started up again, sending them round and round. In the distance, Chicago city lights filled the horizon.

They sat in companionable silence, listening to cheesy eighties music over the speakers, Girls Just Want to Have Fun was playing now, and letting the salty night air surround them.

He sunk in his seat, his smile fading. “I can’t believe summer’s almost over.”

They’d been avoiding discussing the end of summer since it started. In the past, they would moan and groan about the end of sleeping in, and the beginning of homework and rotten cold weather—this year, it was a different story.

“I don’t want to be a Made Man, Vittoria,” he said.

Dom rarely used her given name. He’d always preferred to call her Blue after her favorite color. A Made Man was a footsoldier in the mafia. As soon as boys turned fourteen in their world, they had to swear an oath and begin their initiation.

She stiffened in her seat next to him, and he unlinked his arm and leaned away from her. He wasn’t just creating physical distance but emotional. She wasn’t going to let him.

This time, she linked his arm with hers. “Everything’s going to be fine, Dom. You know Dad will look out for you.”

---