by Mary Leo
But I’d have to see him first to know for sure.
Still, there were other reasons for us to fly off to Italy besides catching up with my elusive father.
“And to shop. Let’s not forget that part of the trip. I know I tried to shoot that notion down, and tried to kid myself about it, but we all love to shop, especially you. Now everyone knows about your addiction to fancy lingerie, so what could be better than Italian silk? It’s a shopper’s mecca.”
She’d admitted in front of my entire family how she hoarded lacy bras and panties. Needless to say, the men in my family thoroughly enjoyed her detailed admission.
Lisa shook her head and her long black hair swished against her shoulders. She wore a tight-fitting gray sweater over stretch jeans and chunk-heeled booties. Her makeup was flawless, and her dark eyes sparkled. No way could anyone tell she’d been up half the night tending to a wounded mobster.
I still wore a white terry robe over my white pj’s, no makeup, and my hair was piled on the top of my head with three clips. I probably looked worse than I felt, and I felt like rancid olive oil that had been sitting in the sun for too long.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she quipped in a loud voice that caused Giuseppe to stir. “You’re not going to tag me with that trip. Shopping was simply a benefit. It was purely all your idea.”
“And Jade’s,” I said watching the sleeping tiger stretch out his long legs under my white down quilt.
“I don’t think she cared one way or the other. Not really. She merely wants to get to know her new big sister.”
Jade and I only learned about our half-sister status recently. We were both still trying to adjust. It’s a strange feeling to grow up thinking you’re an only child, envious of other kids who have siblings, only to learn you actually have a sibling that one or both of your parents, for whatever selfish reason, had kept secret.
Could we ever forgive them?
I had already moved past it, but I didn’t know if Jade had.
“Poor kid,” I said, really feeling for her. At the moment, my mom, who loved to overindulge her family, was probably shamelessly doting on her. Jade had spent the night in my mom’s guestroom. She was the perfect overnight guest . . . no bleeding bullet wounds.
“On that, we can agree.”
“Where’s Nick and his team after all of this?” I asked. For the past few weeks, Lisa and Nick Zeleski, an international agent of some sort whose sole purpose was to put my dad behind bars, had become almost inseparable. “With his nose for trouble, I would think he’d have been here last night shutting down Spia’s Olive Press, trying to solve the attempted murder.”
She glanced at her watch. “They should be just about landing in Rome by now.”
I chuckled. “Are you saying Nick and his team were also following Giuseppe?”
“Yes, and apparently someone who they thought was Giuseppe got on that plane yesterday. Last I heard, they’re in hot pursuit.”
I chuckled at the vision of Nick and his trendy agents all tailing a guy who had no intention of leading them anywhere but astray.
“And you didn’t tell him what happened? I can’t believe that. Not the way you two have been carrying on. Won’t he be angry when he learns what went down here?”
“I still have my boundaries. Besides, he didn’t ask, so I didn’t volunteer the information.”
Lisa was truly her own woman.
“I knew there was a reason you and I are best friends. But you realize you could get in trouble for withholding information.”
She shrugged. “I don’t see how. He thought we were going to Maui.”
“And you didn’t tell him about our change in plans?”
“He didn’t have a need to know. Besides, I figured he would know soon enough once we all arrived in Rome.”
I couldn’t help the grin that cascaded over my lips. I actually felt relieved that Nick was several thousand miles away and across several times zones.
“But we didn’t go to Rome. We couldn’t.” I gazed over at the awaking stallion who seemed to be fighting sleep, trying his best to open his eyes.
She smirked. “All the better.”
“I’m so glad you’re my friend.”
“Your best friend, let’s not forget that,” she said, taking a big bite of her muffin, and then another.
“I never do,” I told her.
“God, that’s good! You need to add this to your cookbook.” She swallowed and took another bite. “Wow. A really fabulous muffin.”
I thought so too, but I didn’t want to tell her that the secret was a shot of Grand Marnier. She might start in on lecturing me on how I couldn’t even touch alcohol, which I knew, but this was different. Baking with it didn’t give off the same effect.
“Thanks. I’m putting it in my cookbook.”
“Getting back to the murder attempt on Giuseppe. Who do you think did it, and why?”
I glanced out of my tiny side window for a moment over our beautiful healthy olive trees. I had a lovely view out my side window that encompassed acres of our land. The vast amount of trees were relatively young, no more than, say, ten to twenty years old. There were only a handful that might be over a hundred years old, and some only a few weeks old. We were always planting new trees, trying different olives. One thing my family cherished was our olive trees, any olive trees for that matter. To us, they symbolized life itself. And to this recovering mob family, they were our lives.
“Now that you mention it,” I said, reflecting on family values. “I think it was more of a scare tactic. Real mobsters don’t play around. If it had been an actual hit, he’d be dead.”
“So what do you think this is all about?”
Before I could answer her, I heard footsteps coming up my staircase. It could only mean one thing. Lisa and I both stared at each other knowing perfectly well those stumbling, heavy footsteps belonged to my mom.
“I don’t know, but I have a feeling my mother will fill us in as soon as she can make it up the stairs.”
“Are you ready?” Lisa asked, standing, then pushing her chair in.
“Emotionally? Never. But in order to appease her, she’ll need an espresso. Could you please get a double going for her while I get dressed? My stairs are usually too much for her, and she’ll have to drink her espresso in order to catch her breath.”
“Anything to keep her happy,” Lisa said, heading for the espresso maker on my counter.
“Did someone say espresso?” Giuseppe asked in a clear voice. Obviously the Italian Stallion had awakened. “I would be so happy to have one.”
He pushed himself up in bed, and leaned on the headboard. Despite the bandages over his left shoulder, his muscled, naked chest taunted me.
“My mom’s on her way up, and from the sounds on my stairs someone else is with her. Maybe you should put something on,” I said, handing him one of my Uncle Benny’s flannel shirts that I was sure was two or three sizes too big for him. How or when it got draped over the back of my sofa was a mystery, but I was glad it was there.
He took it and carefully slipped it on, covering absolute perfection with mundane blue-checkered cotton. “Mille grazie.”
“You’re welcome,” I told him, scurrying off to my closet, then ripping out a shirt and skinny jeans, and quickly dressing in my bathroom.
“My mom likes the white demitasse and the rose-colored sugar bowl with the tiny spoon sticking out of it,” I told Lisa as I walked out of the bathroom, dressed but not totally put together. There simply wasn’t any time for makeup or running a comb through my hair. I was at least thankful I’d washed my face and brushed my teeth before Lisa had shown up at my door. “She won’t drink out of anything else, and takes offense when she has to spoon out sugar from a different bowl.”
Giuseppe said, “But for me, no sugar, thank you very much.”
His words trilled off his tongue and sent a tiny wave of excitement through me.
Heaven help me, but I had it bad for this ma
n.
As soon as I sprung open the door, my mother stumbled inside, looking around for her favorite chair to fall into. “Oh, Dio mio,” she said. “I think this is not a good time for the Spias.”
“Come and sit down,” I told her, holding onto her elbow to give her a little added support. She leaned into me like she was going to topple over.
The thing was, my mom hated to make the trek up my stairs and only did it if something urgent was about to happen. She of course could call me, but Mom was more of a person-to-person kind of woman, especially if the news was bad. And from the looks of her disheveled state, this could only be bad.
The espresso machine gurgled, and seconds later, Lisa was serving my mom a double espresso as she plopped down in my rocker, causing it to groan under her weight. One of these days, I expected it to rebel and self-destruct, leaving my mom on the floor, battered and bruised.
While Lisa made yet another double espresso for Giuseppe, my mom tried her best to catch her breath and spit out some words. “We” . . . heavy breathing . . . “have” . . . more heavy breathing . . . “company.” Two women appeared in my doorway: an older woman, and a stunning angelic looking woman who was probably in her very early thirties with blonde streaks in her dark brown hair that she wore up in a sort of retro Audrey Hepburn look from Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Rich red lipstick accentuated full lips, black eyeliner made her brown doe-like eyes look even bigger than what they already were, big chunky earrings dusted her shoulders and a black dress with a ruffled edge completed the ensemble. Black strappy stiletto heels adorned her feet. Whoever she was trying to impress or seduce didn’t have much of a chance. Hell, even I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She was gorgeous.
“Oh, cara mia,” she said, a tearful sound to her melodic voice. “What is this terrible injury? I was sick with worry when I heard what had happened to you.”
She instantly moved past everyone and headed straight for Giuseppe, kissing his face, rubbing his hands, while tears rolled down her perfectly blushed cheeks.
“And what is this hair?” she asked as she ran a hand over his head, his hair parting and falling on his forehead.
Giuseppe seemed a little stunned or maybe shocked would have been the better word. Still, he greeted her with a wide grin and a somewhat insincere hug. I’d been a recipient of one of his warm hugs, and this was by no means one of his best. It almost looked as though he was absolutely surprised to see her. Something was off with this visit, but I couldn’t put my finger on what that something was, exactly.
“Who are these people?” I whispered to my mom.
“I am Mariateresa Nardi, Giuseppe’s grandma,” the older woman announced in perfect English, but with a slight Italian accent.
Her graying hair had been styled in a short trendy spiky look, she wore a minimal amount of makeup on her tanned, virtually unlined face, and the tailored black pantsuit fit her trim body like it had been made for her. From what I could tell, she looked as if she wasn’t any older than my mom, maybe even a few years younger, but the math didn’t add up if she was a granny. She would have to be, at the very least, in her late sixties or early seventies, but she didn’t look anywhere near that age. Obviously this woman wasn’t the Italian grandmother of old who only wore a black loose-fitting dress, a babushka, and clunky shoes. This granny wore bright red expensive Italian leather with a stacked heel and a sleek side zipper on her bootie-covered feet. Plus, I could tell by the way her suit fit her arms and legs that this granny was no stranger to a gym.
“And this is . . . ” Mom declared, gesturing with a broad stroke of her arm towards the younger woman . . .
“Giuseppe’s beloved fiancée,” the Audrey Hepburn knock-off cooed. “Angelina Pisano.”
EIGHT
Ring-A-Ding-Bling
My eyes went as wide as saucers, and my mouth hung open like a dog trying to cool itself on a hot day. Fortunately, my tongue wasn’t hanging out as well. I had some control over my body parts, although at the moment, control wasn’t my first priority. Grasping the new situation seemed to take over that slot.
“Perhaps you should sit down, dear,” I heard my mother say in some distant fog. “You look a little peaked.”
“I don’t understand,” I mouthed to my mom, not wanting anyone to hear me this time. “What’s going on?”
“No worries, dear,” she said in a normal tone, her peachy lips smirking as she turned to Mariateresa who had remained in the open doorway. “Please! Come in. Come in.”
I cleared my tight throat and focused on the older woman. “Can I get you an espresso? Water? Tea? A muffin?”
I still had a few more muffins in my freezer that I was willing to part with.
“An espresso, per favore,” she said. “It has been a long trip and I am tired. But I am happy that my Giuseppe is okay, grazie a Dio!”
“Ah, Nonna, please come,” Giuseppe told her, waiving his good arm.
The tall woman, who probably crested five feet eight inches in her bare feet, walked over to my gangster occupied bed with tears in her amber eyes and a relieved look on her face. Nothing else mattered but her grandson, not even his loving fiancée whom Nonna nudged out of her way. I thought it was a little odd considering the situation, but the fawning Angelina didn’t seem to notice and instead sat herself down near Giuseppe’s covered feet and proceeded to rub his legs. “Oh, bambino mio,” she said, continuing in an Italian dialect I was able to interpret as something about her being frightened when she heard the news about Giuseppe.
“Please speak English,” Giuseppe told her. “We do not want to be rude to our hosts.”
Lisa came over and stood next to me and whispered, “What is all this?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Is it just me or is something off here?” she asked in a low rumble so no one else could hear her.
“Something is way off.”
I turned to my mom with my back to the bed. “What is this, Mom? He’s already engaged?”
“Yes, dear. Isn’t that nice?”
I looked at her and sighed. “Mom. What the hell?”
“We’ll talk later, sweetheart. Right now I need another espresso, and Mariateresa is still waiting for hers.”
“Coming right up,” I said, my head about to explode with questions. To think I lost sleep over my family trying to force me into marrying Giuseppe when he was already engaged. I wanted to stop everything and everyone and get to the bottom of this right now, but I knew now wasn’t the right time.
“Amore mio,” Angelina purred, while still rubbing his legs. “You will come to my hotel with me now. I will be your nurse.”
I envisioned her in a white nurse’s uniform . . . a very short nurse’s uniform with white nylons that were held up with a white lacy garter belt while she wore three-inch red stilettos. Oh yeah, she was much more his style. What in hell had my family been thinking, and for that matter, what the hell could I have been thinking?
Can you take him now? I wanted to ask, but stifled my sarcasm as I prepared the espresso.
“I would love to,” Giuseppe told her, a forced sad look on his face. “But my doctor, he has said I am too weak to travel. I must stay here, in this bed for a few days. To build up my strong body.”
I had no idea if that was true or not, but for my part, the sooner he was out of my bed and out of my life, the better. I suddenly had a desperate longing for Leo. At least with Leo I knew where I stood . . . most of the time.
“Then I will stay here with you,” she cooed. “I will never leave your side again.”
I swung around from the espresso machine and glared at my mother. “Do something,” I whispered.
“Um, Angelina,” my mother began. “I don’t think you would be too comfortable here. Besides, this is my daughter’s apartment.”
Angelina stood, and glared at me. “My fiancé is staying with another woman?”
“Two women,” Lisa added, putting an arm around my shoulder. “We’re both taki
ng care of him. Aren’t we sweetheart?”
I didn’t know exactly how far she would take this, but no way was I going to allow Angelina to stay in my apartment. I decided to play along.
“Yes. Both of us. And Lisa is the one who saved him, actually.”
She pinched my shoulder. “Technically, we both saved him along with Mia’s sister, Jade. It was a team effort.”
Angelina immediately stood up, came over to Lisa and me and gave us both a tight hug, and kisses on our cheeks, Italian style. “Thank you so much for saving my Giuseppe’s life. I will be forever in your debt.” Then she kissed us again, and ran a hand over the side of her head, as if she was making sure her Audrey-do was still in place.
This was all getting far too weird.
When we finally stepped apart, I noticed the beautiful ruby necklace hanging around Angelina’s neck. There must have been about five or six rubies clustered together to form a lovely rose. I admired the elegance of it, the simplicity, and the fact that it appeared as though it was missing a stone along the side of the rose, but I couldn’t be sure.
What?
My stomach did an immediate flip when I flashed on the red stone I’d found lying a few feet away from Giuseppe. I’d forgotten all about it and tried to recall what the heck I’d done with it.
I leaned in to get a better look at her necklace, but she abruptly turned away from us, tugged on her necklace and headed back to my bed.
When she sat down on the bed again, I noticed that she’d tucked the necklace under the V-neck of her sweater dress. My pulse quickened, and I wanted to walk right over to her and demand that she show me that necklace.
Instead, I took a deep breath and leaned back on the counter for support. Before I jumped off the deep end, I needed to make sure I wasn’t overreacting to an innocent coincidence.