He didn't see her for awhile after that. Until she went and got her tits done (her tits had been fucking perfect by the way) that he saw her again.

This time she was dressed more like a Z whore. Red latex that cinched her waist tightly and left little to the imagination. A skirt that was so short he debated if it was underwear.

He saw her silhouette first and that's how he recognized her. No one else was as statuesque. No one walked the way she walked. Like she knew she was the best lay in town and when she walked in a room people turned to stare.

She rolled up like she owned his corner and his block (she did though!) and stood opposite him, purposely so he could look at her.

"Hit me, daddy," she said, her voice teasing but still sending a bolt of electricity straight to his dick.

"I heard you get your Z in town now."

"Maybe I want your Z," she said, pouting at him. He studied her. Gone was the vulnerable girl who had confided in him. Gone was the girl damaged by her asshole father. He wanted that girl back.

And yet…

When he looked at her in the eyes, really looked, he could see the mask slip…an inch…then another. He saw her eyes widen at the corners and her look scared. Scared like she'd been found out. Scared like there was nothing underneath. Scared in general.

He looked her up and down. "I gotta be honest… I hate your new tits."

The self assured smirk she'd had dropped another inch and he saw anger and pure rage slowly make its way over her otherwise pretty features.

"The old ones were fine." he continued, mocking her.

She took a step into him, in her high stilettoed boots, and it momentarily freaked him the fuck out.

"Give it to me." She held up a wad of cash.

Where the fuck had she been hiding that?

He took a step back, toying with her. "No."

She pushed forward again. Pulled more cash. "Gimme."

He shook his head again, backing up, getting moved closer and closer to the alley wall. "No," he said softly.

She moved again, and now he was against the wall and she was close. Really fucking close.

"So what's it gonna take for you to give me some?"

"Are we still talking about Z?," he smiled at her, toying.

"Hey, remember that time we fucked in that building?," she said, her lashes long as she looked at him, coyly.

"You'll have to be more specific-"

"The only time, dumbass."

"You wound me at every turn."

"I'll let you fuck me for it."

"I don't want to fuck you."

He saw it, then. The thing he was looking for.

God, he was sick.

He saw the hurt take over and the mask drop completely. He saw the sad and scared girl that had come to find him the first time. He saw her, Carmela Largo, insecure, unsure, feeling like she deserved to be used. It simultaneously broke his heart and made him hard.

He saw a tear dot the corner of her eye and her lip quiver. She turned abruptly on her heel before he could see anything else. His hand shot out and grabbed her tightly around the wrist, spinning her back to him before she could protest.

He slammed her against the wall and slammed his mouth on hers.

"I'm so fucking sorry-," he said between kisses.

"It's ok," she started.

And then she said something that made him stop in his tracks.

"I deserve it."

She turned around and put her hands on the wall in front of her, arched her back and looked over her shoulder so he could see her profile.

What a dejected mess she was, standing here, waiting to get railed against a dirty alley wall like a whore.

He didn't even know what to do or say. She just stood there, waiting for him to take her.

Like, how many times had this happened? Did she really think he just would? She acted like this shit happened all the time.

The next thing she felt was his hand on her shoulder.

"No, you don't deserve it," he said, gently turning her so her back was against the wall again. She looked down and to the left so all he could see were her enormous fake lashes. A tear rolled out from under them and for some reason he brought his hand up to wipe it away. This startled her a bit, and shocked the hell out of him.

Then, they were looking at each other.

Then, they were kissing.

Then, he was inside her.

He made love to her as best he could while balancing against the sidewalk in a dark alley.

Because he'd been such a dick he made sure she came before him, her nails digging into his shoulders when she did. She seemed surprised she came; but come on, like he would have left her hanging?

When he came, he was enveloped almost at once by a great feeling of sadness. Because now he was going to give her Z and now he was making her worse.

And he watched her tuck her fake tits back into her tiny top (they weren't that bad after all), and flip her skirt down over her ass cheeks, and stumble a bit in her ridiculous boots.

"You ok?," he said, reaching out a hand to steady her.

"Yeah. Don't worry I'm sure this will make a great story down at the bar…or the cemetery…or wherever the hell you go."

He was confused. "I don't talk about this. Not about you. Not with anyone."

She flushed a minute and looked down. "Oh. Ok. I thought maybe I was some joke-"

"You aren't a joke, Carmela. Not to me."

Her voice no more than a whisper, and still looking down she said quietly, "Don't call me that."