by Lux Miller
Dante catches himself on the kitchen island before he stumbles on his ass. He points right back at me. “Luca, I’m going to need to borrow your woman today.”
Luca scoffs and shakes his head fervently. “You’re not borrowing my woman for any of your needs.”
Dante rolls his eyes and waves Luca off. “I don’t need her for that kind of thing, trust me. She’s cute, but you’ve licked her. Plus, I have no interest in invoking your wrath. I prefer my limbs… all five of them, to remain attached to my body, and I know how vengeful you can be. I just need her to accompany me on an errand today.”
Luca narrows his eyes at Dante and nods. “I don’t own her. You need to ask her, but remember that I keep a rusty, dull knife in my bedside table, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
I blink as I stare at Luca incredulously. Wagging my finger at him, I shudder as I realize I’m nagging. “You’re not using a knife, in any condition, on anyone to protect me or my honor. But, yes. I’ll go with Dante on whatever errand he’s insisting on running on Ash Wednesday.”
Luca nods, lowering his voice, “Momma wants us to go to Mass tonight. You don’t have to come. I’m sure she’d understand, but if you wanted to…”
I smile and scoot around the counter, dropping myself into Luca’s arms. He responds by wrapping them tightly around me and sliding his hands underneath the shirt and onto my bare back. His voice is gruff as he adds, “You’d have to wear something a little more appropriate though.”
I laugh in his arms and shake my head. “You never cease to amaze me in stating the obvious. I have plenty of appropriate things to wear. My worry is what exactly happens now that Mardi Gras is over? Do you observe Lent?”
Luca shrugs haphazardly and leans back from me to study my face seriously. “My siblings and I are rather lazy Catholics, but I suspect with Momma now living here, we’ll be expected to observe the traditions.”
I smirk and stand on my tiptoes, then whisper loudly enough for Dante to hear as well, “I think the two of you should give up sex for Lent.”
Luca makes a strangled noise as he tries not to cough, shaking his head wildly. “You think I can abstain from sex with you for forty days? I would end up being a homicidal lunatic by the end of it and would be a shell of the man you know.”
I narrow my eyes at him and shake my head as I laugh. “You realize it’s impossible for me to tell if you’re kidding or not.”
Luca nods. “Good, let’s not test the theory. I actually intend to give up meat. It makes it easier to observe the fasting rules of today and Fridays.”
I look at him expectantly and he elaborates, “Today, we’re supposed to only eat one full meal and a couple partial meals and no meat. Then we can’t eat meat on Fridays until after Easter.”
Nodding slowly, I sigh, “I guess I can give up meat with you. I can eat macaroni and cheese though, right?”
Both Luca and Dante chuckle, and Dante nods with a roll of his eyes. “How else would we survive it? We’re big guys who require a lot of calories. Without the protein of meat, we eat enough cheese to feed a small village for a year… and beans. We eat a lot of beans. It gets a bit stinky around here during Lent.”
Despite the horrifying thought that skates through my mind, I nod in agreement. “On that note, you said you had an errand to run? Let me go shower and put on clothes that actually belong to me, and I’ll be happy to go with you. Luca said he had some things to take care of at work and I’ve learned not to ask questions.”
An hour later, Dante is driving Luca’s Mercedes through the streets of New Orleans, and he’s yet to give me any indication of where we’re going or what we’re doing. I’m hoping that it’s a simple errand and that I’m not underdressed. The temperature dipped into the mid-forties overnight and despite it being early afternoon, it’s not recovered above that. It’s downright chilly for someone used to the Southern humidity and blistering temperatures as early as March. By this time of year, it’s usually already shorts weather.
Instead, I’m clad in a fleece-lined pair of leggings, oversize flowy tunic, and a hoodie. My hair is braided down each side of my head in a style more befitting a third-grader than a grown woman, but I’m not worried about what people think of me. It’s highly unlikely than anyone of consequence would even recognize me, despite being in Dante’s company.
Without a face full of makeup, expertly coiffed hairstyle, and Royce’s enchanting creations, I don’t really stand out in a crowd. I know I’m not ugly, but my regular look isn’t all that special. The combination of bright blue eyes and flaxen hair against my tanned skin can be a bit disarming sometimes. I did receive good fortune in the genetic lottery. My mother was a native islander and aside from her hazel eyes, she was brown from head to toe - hair and skin alike.
My father was quite the opposite, and they made an unusual pair, but their oddity is one of my favorite memories. He stood a foot taller than her petite frame and his hair was even lighter than mine. His eyes were the color of the sky on a cloudless day. They were like night and day.
Somehow, I received a startling combination of honey-colored skin, dark blonde hair that lightens in the sun, and my father’s clear blue eyes. A feature I’ve disguised today behind a pair of obnoxiously neon sunglasses that sit perched on the end of my nose just above the one place on my face where freckles dot my otherwise singularly-toned skin.
Dante puts the car into park and looks over at me expectantly. I sit up in my seat, pulling my bare feet off the dashboard with a glance over at him. I frown momentarily when I realize where he’s parked, and I instantly shake my head. “Dante, I have no desire to go anywhere near there…”
Shrugging, he opens his door and reaches into the backseat to grab a leather jacket before stepping out of the car. He pokes his head back in the window and offers me a sympathetic smile, “You can stay here if you want, but I might be a while, and you’re going to freeze. You don’t have any fat on you to keep you warm. I’d hate for my brother to go postal on me because I let his girlfriend freeze to death.”
Grumbling, I shove my feet into my sneakers and cross my arms, giving him a dirty look. “Give me one good reason I should come with you onto Bourbon Street.”
Dante chuckles, “I just gave you two, but if you must have another... If you come with me, you can see me cry like a little girl, since seeing me in pain seems to entertain you.”
I lift one eyebrow and eye him curiously. Then I huff heavily. “Fine. But you owe me a favor, and when the time comes that I ask for you to pay up, you’d better not flake out on me.”
Dante rolls his eyes and thrusts his left hand into the car, which I shake as I narrow my eyes at him. His are bright green, and he grins as I agree. “Now get moving. It’s cold as a witch’s tit out here and we gotta walk a couple blocks to get where we’re going.”
I climb out of the car and pull the strings on my hoodie to tighten it around my face. Grumbling, I scoot around the car until I’m standing at Dante’s side. “As long as we’re not going… there…”
Dante shakes his head quickly, his jovial expression darkening. “God no, Emily. I would never ask you to face that place. I’m an asshole, but even I know better than that. I may give you shit and tease you relentlessly, but I actually care about you. A lot. You’re like a little sister that actually likes me most of the time.
“You might not love what I do, but you accept it. I wish I could say the same for Noemi. She literally stays cooped up in that room and avoids Luca and I at all costs. I don’t know if she knows it was me who pulled the trigger, but she acts like she knows. She certainly hates me enough that she must know.”
I stop in my tracks as Dante’s voice cracks slightly. The pain emanating from him is visceral, and it cuts straight through me. Despite the horror that’s emblazoned in my memory from that day, I can’t even begin to imagine what his memories must be like. He’s the one who pulled the trigger and despite it being a direct order from his father to do it, Dante hasn’
t forgiven himself for being the one who ended his father’s life. He very rarely brings it up, and in the month since his father’s death, he’s never spoken of it to me.
Dante stops walking along the sidewalk and turns to look back at me. I’m silently thanking the fashion gods that I wore sunglasses to hide the puffiness and redness that signals I’m empathizing with him right now. He stares at me in complete silence for a moment before I close the distance between us and hug him tightly, my arms squeezing his torso so hard that he coughs out of surprise.
Despite my heart thundering in my chest, I don’t pull away from him. Instead, I keep my small body pressed against his. The warmth that he’s radiating feels amazing and so do the endorphins that course through my body at the intimate contact. It’s not the kind of hug that makes me want to jump his bones. If there was a physical attraction between us once, that ship has sailed. No, this is different. This is a release of pent-up emotions that neither of us has dealt with, and I suspect that he’s feeling something similar as his own arms envelop me in his embrace.
He sighs and buries his face against the top of my head. They do say that a twenty-second hug can release enough oxytocin in someone’s body that it can be more of a stress-reliever than drugs. I believe them, because right now, my anxiety has all but disappeared as I stand here wrapped up in Dante’s arms. It shouldn’t feel this good to hug my boyfriend’s brother, but I’m learning that love takes many forms.
Once we finally pull apart, Dante nods. “Now that we’re past that awkwardness, let’s get out of this cold and do what I came here to do.”
I raise one eyebrow as he takes my hand and tugs me along the sidewalk. “And what exactly are we here to do?”
Dante glances over his shoulder with a smirk as we stop in front of a nondescript tattoo parlor. He motions at the neon sign above my head and bites his bottom lip. “You know those fancy tattoos Luca has?”
I nod, closing my eyes to picture Luca shirtless. His tattoos are enormous and encompass large sections of his back, along with portions of his torso and over half his arms. The winding lines appear to be some form of tribal, though I haven’t thought to ask what they mean. There are interwoven lines of royal blue and dark purple that intersect throughout the designs. Square in the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades is an enormous prowling wolf that’s incorporated into the design.
I shudder and pop my eyes open, nodding at Dante. “Yeah, he’s never really told me what they are or why he has them.”
Dante’s lips twist into a grin. “He has them because he’s a made man whose life is sworn to la famiglia. Not all made men get them, but Barresi men do. My father had a wolf on his back, as does my grandfather. The lines and swirly shit was Luca being extra, but I have to admit, I like his style. Bullet wounds can be hard to disguise and just like him, I have quite a few gnarly scars to cover up.”
I blink quickly, my gaze shooting up to his. I don’t know if he realizes how much he just revealed to me, but if someone wasn’t paying attention, they likely wouldn’t have put two and two together just now. I try to find words to respond to his confession, but my mouth feels like cotton. Not only did he just out himself as a made man of the mafia, but he revealed some interesting details about Luca that I hadn’t realized.
Dante nods, grinning. “I knew you were smart. I won’t admit it, Emily… that’s part of my vow, but I won’t deny your assumptions. These bullet wound scars are ugly, and I have a pretty boy reputation to uphold. So, just like my brother did before me, it’s time for me to see a man with a needle about a wolf…”
SIXTEEN
The interior of the hole-in-the-wall tattoo parlor is more welcoming than I expected and far warmer. Compared to the frigid temperatures outside, it’s actually comfortable, and I’m able to shed my hoodie within minutes of stepping inside. The lighting is warm and inviting. There are numerous mismatched couches along the perimeter of the room underneath hundreds of drawings that adorn the walls.
Dante has disappeared into another room to talk to the burly, heavily tattooed man whose bushy beard reminds me of ZZ Top. He didn’t ask me to come with him, so instead of plopping onto a couch I know I won’t want to get off of, I’m wandering around and looking at the drawings. They’re gorgeous and I instantly feel a connection with the artist. These aren’t run of the mill tribals or Kanji symbols. The vast majority of the black and white images are intricately detailed works and span the gamut from portraits to wild science fiction scenes.
I’m engrossed in my admiration of the artwork and don’t notice the shadow that falls over me until a pair of hands land on my hips. My fight or flight mode kicks in, and I twist away from the grasp. I spin to face the offender and let out a startled gasp of relief to see a familiar pair of green eyes staring down at me in amusement. I narrow my eyes up at the owner and wag my finger. “You very nearly got elbowed in the nuts, mister.”
Dante shudders, then smirks. “You know, it’s kinda funny that you’d even be able to elbow me there.” He laughs and puts a hand on the top of my head. The sound that comes out of my body is inhuman and even makes Dante jerk his hand away from me like I tried to bite him. “Whoa… down girl…”
I stick my tongue out at him as I plop my hands on my hips and give Dante a withering look. He chuckles as a man twice his size ambles up behind him with a handful of papers and murmurs, “I’ve got the designs sketched out for you, Mr. Barresi.”
Dante gives the man a nod of acknowledgement and then points at me, “Jericho, this is Emily.”
The man holds out a meaty hand, and I grip it firmly in a handshake that feels almost like a battle of wills. Silence engulfs us as he stares me down. I get the feeling he’s appraising me more than allowing an introduction.
The man named Jericho clears his throat as a twisted grin spreads across his face. “From the way you described her, I expected someone…”
Dante snorts, interrupting him, “Bigger?”
Both Jericho and I turn to Dante and give him an incredulous look that screams ‘shut up.’ Dante holds both of his hands up and takes a step back from us as Jericho continues to dwarf my tiny hand in his. He shakes his head and responds gruffly, “Feistier. From the way you described her, I was worried she’d be an acid-spitting cobra.”
Cutting my eyes beyond Jericho’s enormous frame, I can see Dante out of the corner of my eye as his demeanor changes, his smile dropping off his face the moment my eyes meet his. “I’m a cobra that spits acid… really, Dante? Do you think so little of me?”
Jericho chuckles heartily. “Nah, Miss. From the way he talked about you, I’d about figured you walked over water. Only an angel would have the ability to tame the devil that is Luca Barresi. And thus far, you do not disappoint.”
He bows his head and kisses my hand before letting go. As he glances up at me, there’s a gleam in his eyes as he grins. “Though it would have been entertaining to see Dante pick his pride up off the floor if you’d elbowed him in the crowned jewels.”
I swallow and give him a curt nod, followed by a messy curtsy that has me feeling like an idiot. Despite my background in surfing and native dance, grace is not a gift I was bestowed. I nod and slap my free hand over my face to stifle the snort that I can’t stop. “I’ll keep that in mind. How bad is this going to hurt him?”
I jerk my thumb at Dante as I speak, and Jericho roars with laughter. “Oh, he’ll be begging for mercy by the time we’re done.”
I nod and blow out a breath. “Perfect. Can we get started? We’re expected at Ash Wednesday services by 8 p.m. and I don’t feel like making a certain Italian woman mad because we’re running late.”
Jericho nods. “Aye, ma’am. Momma Barresi is not one to appreciate tardiness. Come with me you two and Dante, lose the shirt.”
Dante shrugs and follows along behind Jericho. He tosses his leather jacket onto a waiting-room style chair in the corner of the room and whips his t-shirt off over his head. Jericho almost hisses as he dra
ws a sharp intake of breath.
“Shit, Dante. They really fucked you up, man. Luca didn’t even look this bad after the—”
Dante shakes his head quickly at Jericho. “X-nay on the ootingshay…”
Jericho glances at me quickly, then back at Dante with a nod. “Aye. Figured she already knew. It’s no secret that Luca almost die—”
Dante clears his throat loudly, followed by an over pronounced cough that immediately stops Jericho from speaking any further. Dante cuts his eyes at me quickly and shakes his head at Jericho, who drops it. “Okay then… so the design… we can get started on it today, but as you know, it’s going to take numerous sessions just to get the black laid down. If you’re wanting to add colors and get fancy, it’ll take a couple more sessions and several months to get it all done.”
Dante nods. “Yeah, I know. I remember the rush Luca was in to get his done before his eighteenth birthday, but I have the patience to see it through. It’s only been a few months, but I’m sick of looking at these scars like I’m some kind of freak. If it took you six months to do his, then it’ll take you six months to do mine.”