Fiction So Good, You'll Think It’s Gossip

Prologue
Summer. The year before.

"911, what’s your emergency?"

"My name is Lindsie Carter. They’re trying to kill me!"

Lindsie Carter sprints through the dense forest, the darkness closing in around her. Dressed in a black Prada bikini, her breath comes in ragged gasps. One hand grips her iPhone, the other presses against the deep wound in her side, blood seeping through her trembling fingers.

Pain radiates through her body, heat pulsing from the gash. Her golden-blonde hair whips behind her as she runs, her bare feet stinging from cuts, her legs burning with exhaustion. Every heartbeat slams against her ribs, a deafening drum in the silent night.

Twigs snap behind her. Leaves crunch. They’re right on her heels.

"Who is trying to kill you?" The operator’s voice crackles through the phone, laced with skepticism. "Where are you?"

Lindsie stumbles, her vision blurring. Blood loss makes her dizzy, the coppery scent invading her nostrils. A soft giggle echoes through the trees—too close.

"Please! Help me!" she screams, panic tightening her throat. "They’re going to kill me!"

"Ma’am, who is after you?"

"I’m barely seventeen!" Lindsie snaps, tears blurring her vision. She blinks rapidly, trying to focus. She can’t stop. She won’t stop.

Branches claw at her skin as she barrels through the undergrowth. The night is suffocating, shadows shifting with every step. Adrenaline fuels her limbs, but fatigue is creeping in.

Then—nothing.

She didn’t see the drop.

Air rushes past her as she plummets.

"Oh my God!" Her scream rips through the night, slicing through the silence like a blade.

Her body crashes down the slope, tumbling over rocks and tangled roots. Bones snap. Foliage crunches. The world spins in a blur of pain and gravity until—darkness.

A flashlight beam flickers at the edge of the cliff above.

"Oh my God! She’s dead!" one of her pursuers gasps, peering over.

The second figure steps forward, gripping an eight-inch hunting knife that gleams under the moonlight.

"I don’t see a body," she mutters, scanning the brush below. Nothing. No movement. No bikini. No proof.

The first girl swallows hard. "We have to get out of here."

She grabs her accomplice’s hand, their manicured fingers locking together as they vanish into the trees.

Nicole Garcia

"Unno is always late," Isabella sighs, scrolling through her sleek, black-on-black iPhone. She sits to my left at the fire-pit table, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the screen.

The flames flicker as the sun sets, casting a golden glow over our rooftop table. A warm summer breeze sweeps through the open-air lounge, bringing with it the hum of the city.

"She wouldn’t be Unno if she wasn’t late," Chelsea quips, rolling her eyes as she runs her fingers through her golden-and-platinum blonde waves. She's perched elegantly on my right, glancing into her compact mirror.

We’re at Assembly Rooftop Lounge in Philly, arguably one of the most stunning rooftop spots in the city. The sky is painted in hues of lavender, blush pink, and deep indigo as day fades into night.

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen Unno on time," Stephanie adds, raising her champagne flute, her dark eyes twinkling over the rim as she takes a sip.

Katherine, or "Unno" as we’ve called her since elementary school, has never been one to respect a clock. The nickname stuck, and at this point, it’s part of her identity.

"Here she is!" Sara gasps, her face lighting up as she practically jumps from her seat.

Katherine walks toward us, radiant as ever, her signature ginger waves bouncing with each step. Before she can reach the table, Sara nearly tackles her in a hug.

The rest of us rise, greeting her with our usual European-style cheek kisses.

After three months of working as a traveling nurse in Texas, Katherine is finally back on the East Coast, and our little clique is whole again.

"I love this!" Isabella gasps, reaching for Katherine’s hot pink Chanel Classic bag.

"Thanks! Picked it up while I was out there," Katherine beams, hanging it on the back of her chair.

Our waiter appears just in time to take our orders. We rattle them off quickly before he scurries away.

"Finally, you’re home, bitch! How was it?" Chelsea grins, flashing her impossibly perfect, million-dollar smile.

"You ask that like we didn’t talk to her every single day while she was gone," I tease, lifting a brow.

"Obviously, but now she can tell us in person," Chelsea snickers, tossing me an eye roll.

Katherine flicks her hair over her shoulder, glancing at the cotton candy sky. "It was good. Exhausting, but I made a bag, so I want to go shopping tomorrow. I don’t care where. Who’s free?"

"Of course I’m in! I need to spend some of this Rico’s money ASAP!" Stephanie smirks, her Spanish and Long Island accent blending effortlessly.

She chuckles before taking another sip of champagne, her chocolate brown hair catching the sunset’s glow. The soft red undertones shine through, cascading in big, bouncy barrel curls parted perfectly in the middle.

"I’m definitely in," I say, picking up my strawberry lemon drop and taking a sip. I glance at Stephanie, frowning slightly. "I thought you were still messing with that girl from the club?"

"Oh, I still do. She’s just in Miami for the week, and Rico can have a little attention from me now." Stephanie smirks, eyes twinkling mischievously. "He’s in NYC, so I’m thinking I’ll pull up on him tonight."

Stephanie has always loved both men and women. It was obvious when we were younger, but she officially came out to us at sixteen, and we’ve been her biggest supporters ever since.

I love that she lives in her truth, and honestly, I live for the drama of her love life. It’s like watching a reality show in real time. She’s only had two serious relationships with women, and both ended in scandal, usually with one of them cheating—with a man.

It’s messy. It’s chaotic. And I eat it up every time.

Not that the rest of us are exactly innocent. I’m pretty sure every girl at this table has at least dabbled in the lady pond. Some just won’t admit it. I know I have, but commitment with a woman? Never. I am extremely fond of men.

I take another sip of my drink, immediately regretting it. It’s way too strong, the vodka burning down my throat. I was hoping the bartender would make it sweeter.

Chelsea grins, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, so you’re asking for her to beat your ass again?"

We all burst into laughter.

"That was the funniest shit ever," Isabella wheezes. "Especially when she grabbed your jaw like my parents used to do when I was a kid."

Stephanie flips us off, making a dramatic face as we continue laughing.

Her relationships with women are always entertaining because, somehow, she always ends up in fights. It’s like she thrives on the chaos.

"You’re not working tomorrow night?" Sara asks, tilting her head slightly.

Her bronze skin glows under the soft lighting, her hazel-green eyes gleaming. I love how effortlessly flawless she always looks. Her jet-black, shoulder-length hair is blown out, styled in a half-up, half-down look. Her baby hairs naturally swirl around her edges, perfectly laid without even trying.

"Nope," I shake my head. "I’m off. I only work Monday, Tuesday, and Saturday."

I’ve been bartending at one of the most popular strip clubs in the tri-state area for three years now, and I love it. The money is insane, and it’s been putting me through college. I’ll be graduating debt-free because of it.

"Yeah, I’m off too, so I’m in," Chelsea chimes in, licking the top row of her teeth.

Chelsea used to work at Hooters, but she quit a few months ago to focus on her OnlyFans, where she makes an absolute killing. She’s also a custom designer and is in the process of opening her own boutique.

She’s beyond talented. She designs most of our outfits when we go out, and honestly, her pieces look better than half the designer stuff I see on Instagram.

"Well, I don’t work anymore, so I’m obviously free," Isabella giggles, causing all of us to laugh.

Isabella is a self-proclaimed stay-at-home daughter. She’s had a dozen different jobs, but she quits as soon as she gets bored. Her latest job was at Neiman Marcus in the women’s shoe department, but that lasted all of six weeks.

Her dad does very well, so she doesn’t really need to work. He pays for everything, including her tuition, since she’s studying to be a chemist.

I’ve always suspected her dad was in the Mafia. He’s Italian and Sicilian, always dressed in expensive suits with an entourage of men trailing behind him. If he wasn’t Isabella’s dad, I probably would have shot my shot. He is too fine.

I’ve asked Isabella what he does for a living, but she always shrugs and says she doesn’t know. Neither does her mom. He’s incredibly private, always in meetings, always serious. Definitely the type of man you don’t cross.

"Well, me and Nicole work the same days, so I’m free," Sara says, sipping her champagne.

She’s a bottle girl at the club I bartend at, and she just started a few months ago. Before that, she was a dancer at a club out in Reading, but she was over it, so I helped her get hired at my spot.

"Yes! Bring Emily with you!" Katherine urges, her eyes lighting up. "Where is she?"

Sara adjusts her skinny gold hoops and smiles, her dimples deepening. "She’s with her dad, but I’ll go get her in the morning."

Her whole face softens at the mention of Emily, and I love that.

Sara is the only one in our group with a kid, which is shocking considering how reckless we’ve been over the years. Emily is almost three now, full of sass and the absolute love of our lives.

We’ve been there since day one. Literally. Some of us even snuck into the hospital closet to be there for her birth.

Sara tries to act unbothered, but I know her breakup still stings. Her ex moved on with some random girl from North Jersey two months after they split.

My phone vibrates on the table. I glance down at the notification on my gold iPhone, wrapped in a pink Apple silicone case.

Chapter One

"Misses Grillo, Mister Grillo is requesting you in the lanai," Mandy, the ever-efficient housekeeper, cleared her throat, her voice cutting through the calm air as she stood in the doorway of the sliding glass door.

Leah blinked a few times, her lips parting in a soft sigh as she reluctantly sat up from the lounge chair. "I’ll be right there, Mandy."

She heard Mandy’s soft footsteps retreat as the door clicked shut behind her. The sun blazed high in the cloudless sky, its rays glistening off the pool’s shimmering surface like sparkling diamonds.

With a languid stretch, Leah swept her Louis Vuitton sunglasses into her hair and reached for her mint-green bikini top, expertly tying it behind her back. The matching thong bikini bottoms followed, the ties cinching at her hips just so—perfectly in sync with her every movement.

There was an unmistakable pang of irritation deep inside her. The afternoons spent by the pool were sacred, moments she cherished before the crisp embrace of fall and winter came to take over. She loathed tan lines—another reason she preferred her birthday suit, which, she thought wryly, was the only thing that truly suited her.

She inhaled deeply, savoring the salt-tinged air and the sweet perfume of the fruit trees surrounding her. The combination of water and her garden had always been her haven—her serene escape. She was, in her own way, a modern-day hippie, though she'd never admit it aloud. Being by the water made her feel like she could breathe easier, as if the world were just a bit lighter.

Ever since she was a child, Leah had dreamed of being a mermaid—until life, as it often does, took a sharp turn. Despite the challenges, though, her love for water had never wavered.

Her French-manicured nails ran through her thick, wavy black hair, pushing it back to reveal a glimpse of her meticulously designed backyard—her little oasis. With the pool as her centerpiece, she'd insisted on having Italian fruit trees imported, everything from apples and oranges to peaches, guavas, and mangos. Even the roses were imported—hundreds of white Italian roses with long, delicate stems that made her heart sing. This, she mused, was her sanctuary.

Reaching for the door handle, she slid it open and was immediately bombarded by the chaotic energy of her beloved Dobermans, Blaze and Diesel. Their sleek black coats shimmered as they bounded toward her, barking excitedly. Leah, ever the devoted pet owner, blocked them from making a beeline for the outside and gave them a few affectionate pats on their heads.

“Oh hush, you two, you’ve just eaten,” she teased, a smile curving on her lips as she made her way into the gourmet kitchen, her French-pedicured feet gliding across the cool marble floors.

Entering the breakfast lanai, Leah found her husband seated at the head of the table, his eyes glued to his phone while sipping his orange juice. Next to him sat Luciano, his best friend, doing the same.

"Honey, I wasn’t aware we had company," she remarked, her voice laced with a touch of playful curiosity as she tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms.

Both men looked up, their gazes briefly flickering over her form. Her husband’s eyes lingered just a bit longer than Luciano’s, and she noticed the flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

"Luciano," she greeted with a nod, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Leah," he replied flatly, though his tone betrayed a hint of unease.

“Why don’t you go change into something else, princess?” Her husband’s voice was cool, authoritative, his mahogany eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Leah bit her lip, momentarily disarmed by the tone, before responding smoothly, "Sure."

Without missing a beat, she plucked a strawberry from the fruit bowl at the center of the table and bit into it, relishing the sweet-tart burst of flavor. Turning on her heel, she left the room and made her way upstairs to their master bedroom.

Inside her vast closet, she selected a simple black ribbed lounge dress, slipping out of her bikini and into the floor-length, spaghetti-strapped dress that clung to her in all the right places. She returned to the breakfast room, her steps soft but deliberate.

"Much better, baby," her husband remarked as she took a seat at the far end of the table.

“I was just telling Luciano about St. Tropez,” her husband continued, cutting into his steak with precision, his tone conversational, though his attention seemed divided.

Leah nodded absently, popping a grape into her mouth, the memories of their recent trip bringing a shiver down her spine. “Oh yeah," she murmured, her thoughts lingering on the sun-drenched shores and the undeniable pull of the French Riviera.

“What time are we getting ready for the fight tonight?” she asked, hoping to shift the conversation.

“The main event’s at eight, so we’ll leave by six," he replied, his gaze briefly meeting hers, his expression unreadable.

As she sipped her orange juice, Leah couldn’t help but wonder about her marriage—what was love, really? She had never believed in love at first sight, and her relationship with her husband hadn’t been born out of it. He had swept her off her feet, sure, and she had married him six months later, her escape from a life she wanted to forget. Three years in, she still hadn’t figured out if she was truly in love, but she had grown to care for him. She’d loved once before, and it had ended painfully.

The breakfast passed in a haze of silence, her husband and Luciano exchanging business talk, leaving little room for anything personal. As Luciano finally excused himself, her husband, clearly distracted by his own thoughts, suggested a poolside break. Leah, seizing the opportunity, decided to indulge in a skinny dip.

He was lounging by the pool, clad in designer trunks and sunglasses, his phone glued to his ear as he dealt with business calls. Leah, accustomed to the constant hum of his professional life, barely paid attention. She preferred not to eavesdrop—after all, ignorance was bliss, and the less she knew, the better.

Emerging from the water after a strong lap, her ears caught the sound of Mandy’s voice, along with the steady drip of the fountain.

"Mister Grillo, Mister Diamond has arrived."

“Mister Diamond…” Leah muttered to herself, furrowing her brow. She only knew one family with that name.

But surely, it couldn’t be…

Her heart skipped as she blinked the water from her eyes, the name sending a jolt through her. She lifted her gaze, and her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes locked with his.

Nicky.

There he was, standing in the flesh, impeccably dressed as always, and somehow, time seemed to slow. She hadn’t seen him since the night before it all came crashing down. Her pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her chest. What was he doing here? Did he come for her?

“Nicky,” she whispered, her breath short and caught in her throat.

He regarded her with an intensity that made the air around them feel heavy, his deep green eyes locking onto hers over the rim of his sunglasses. It was as if no time had passed, yet everything had changed.

As he spoke her name, his voice washed over her like velvet, stirring memories of a time when everything had felt so right.