We’d buried my Dad just hours ago. The earth was freshly turned, a cruel, brown mound where his vibrant, messy life used to be.
Fabio. My late father’s best friend. A man whose name was synonymous with billion-dollar deals and the city’s most exclusive nightclubs. Now, he was my unwilling, and, frankly, intimidating, guardian. He’d offered me a place to stay; which is what I would call a temporary haven as I did not plan to be his dependent long term, he’d stressed he was just fulfilling his promise to my dad, and he offered a gig at his flagship club, The Velvet Note.
“Tiana, are you coming?” Fabio’s voice, a low, smooth baritone, cut through my daze.
I followed him into the cavernous entryway. The house wasn’t merely large; it was a museum of wealth—gleaming marble floors, a sweeping,
