#2: Little Jude

It was dinner time... finally.

 Earlier, when my parents were toasting a glass of wine with Nole’s boss, I had used the distraction to run up to my room and draw. My solitude hadn't lasted too long, as my mother called me for dinner not even a half an hour later. Somehow, even the aroma of pasta didn't tempt me enough to enjoy my current situation.

 "So, Jude," Nole injected after a short pause from the earlier conversation, "how is school going? Still getting good grades?"

 My mother answered. "He's doing fantastic, aren't you, Jude? Top of your class."

 I nodded dubiously. "You just said it mother." With my fork, I played with a stray noodle, watching as it sprang across my plate like a grasshopper. "Fantastic…"

 This was so boring. All I wanted to do was go up into my room, listen to music and draw.

 As the minutes rolled by, I was getting more annoyed that my parents insisted on calling Nole’s boss 'Mr. DeLuca' instead of his first name. But then again, it wasn't as if the man were giving them any indication to call him by his first name. Actually, for being so arrogant, DeLuca wasn't saying much at all. I thought he'd be blowing a lot of hot air.

 "Still planning on becoming a doctor?" Nole asked interestedly.

 "Of course he is…"

 I remained impassive, more amused than angry. My parents knew nothing about me despite my endless attempts of explaining myself. They didn't know I would rather run far away than sit here. They didn't realize I would rather be a poor and starving artist than a doctor. And they certainly didn't know I got a 'C' on my advanced calculus exam.

 I had wild dreams of running away and never returning. But I wondered if I would ever have enough courage to do so. My parents didn't know my plans to attend Boston and pursue an art degree.

 "Did you want to become a doctor, Jude?"

 The soft, musical voice startled me out of my hazy daydream. I slowly raised my eyes across the table at Mr. DeLuca. The man sipped at his wine, his black onyx ring on his finger flashing as he stared through me.

 "It's nothing but the—"

 "I'm sorry, Mrs. Harlow," DeLuca interrupted silkily, his dark eyes narrowing slightly on my mother, "but I was addressing him." There was an awkward silence and I couldn't help but to grin. Those piercing eyes turned back to me and an attentive gleam shone. "Let me repeat myself, Jude." He rolled my name off his tongue. I repressed a flush at the intensity. "Are you interested in a career as a doctor?"

 I tore my eyes away from him, giving a shy glance to my stern and expecting father. I looked back down at my empty plate of pasta. "Of course. Nothing but the best."

 DeLuca gave a bored 'hmm' in response and pushed his plate away. "Mind if I smoke?" It wasn't a question, more of a jaded statement.

 My mother quickly obliged. "We don't mind, Mr. DeLuca."

 I clenched my jaw hard. Glancing up, I watched the man dig through his richly-sewn jacket, probably Italian, a cigarette already hanging out the side of his mouth. I couldn't stand the disrespect and the audacity. "Actually, I mind," I said boldly, ignoring my family's look of surprise and disapproval. Black eyes lazily looked up at me. "My good friend died of secondhand smoke."

 That was a lie, but he didn't need to know that.

 My mother shifted in her seat and flashed the man a sheepish smile. "No, Mr. DeLuca, of course you can—"

 "If it bothers you, Jude, I'll refrain."

 Purposefully, he took the cigarette out of his mouth and placed it in his breast pocket. Beside me, Nole shifted uncomfortably. Everyone acted as if we had to fall to this man's feet and lick the dirt off his polished and expensive shoes.

 "I heard you were a fast runner. You're in track and field, isn’t that right?"

 This time, my mother didn't interrupt and answer for me.

 I lifted my chin. "Yeah, our season is almost over. A few weeks and we'll be finished." I paused, admittedly uncomfortable with his stare. "So, what exactly do you do at this job of yours? My brother doesn't tell me much about it."

 DeLuca grinned, twirling the stem of his wine glass with long fingers. "It's a family-owned business. I'll inherit the company after my father steps down. We negotiate with other associations for types of drugs and weapons. Trading, more like it."

 I remained silent, wondering where the hell that description had come from. I also wondered if he was serious. Drugs? I hope he meant drugs for medical usage and weapons…well…

 What the fuck?

 "You know," DeLuca started with a murmur, "I'd love to have you work for me."

 I perked up, tossing a look at a silent Nole before refocusing on the man with an unimpressed look. "Sounds tempting, Mr. DeLuca, but I think I'd rather be a doctor." And as much as I hated the thought of being a doctor, I hated the thought of working for him even more.

 The man smirked. "Call me Roman, little Jude."

 My cheeks flushed without my permission. Little Jude.

 That man was a bastard. "And you can call me Jude, just Jude," I hinted. "Or Mr. Harlow."

 He chuckled the first time that night and I wondered what was so funny.