10: Mafia Airtight


“Remind me again, why are we throwing a party?”

Daciana asks the same question she has asked five times already. each time, I give her no reply because she wouldn’t believe me anyway.

“And why do you care so much about how it is planned? You usually avoid this like the plague.”

“I felt like throwing a party, so I’m going to do it.” I replied. We both know that is a fucking lie.

I hate parties and I hate throwing them even more. I didn’t have to perform any host duties. The people who make the invite list are usually fucking elated to be there that they know not to talk to me directly.

“Bullshit.” She grumbles. “You’re hiding something, and I’m going to find out what.”

She points a finger at me, squinting her eyes as she walks out of the room without turning back.

Without her breathing over my shoulder, I pick out all the things I want faster. The organizer looked like she couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here. When I told her she could leave, I heard her sigh of relief.

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