by Howes, Ann
“You good?” he asks after a long time.
I tip my chin, and after studying me, it seems he’s satisfied that I am. “Okay, babe, sit tight.”
He stands, letting my fingers slip slowly out of his. Then takes a small step back, turns and walks to the bathroom. Pulling his phone from his back pocket he videos my apartment, bathroom and the drilled-out front-door lock. It has a calming effect, watching him move, his strength filling my space and knowing he’s here doing this for me. Calming because I’m no longer shaking. My anger, however, that’s entirely a different matter. But pretty soon my pounding heart slows to its normal beat.
As he’s finishing, Marco returns from next door. “Neighbor doesn’t know anything else,” he says. “Didn’t see…whoa.”
His eyes slide from the bathroom, to me on the couch, then to Gianni. “Shit.” This comes out long and low as he points to my bathroom.
“Yup,” I say, chewing on my thumbnail and bouncing my foot.
“That creepy motherfucking fuck.”
“Yup.”
“You okay?”
“Besides feeling sick and ready to slice his balls off? Yeah, I’m just fine and dandy.”
Cass’s suggestion of taking my hair clippers to his testicles sounds really attractive about now. I’m not a violent person despite my family history, but with Dean I could indeed engage in doing bodily harm.
The sound of a toolbox clanging on the floor snaps me out of my dark fantasy. Marshall is back.
Good.
We can blow this fucking joint. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” I yell to everyone in general. “Can we go, please?” I rise and hook my purse from the floor.
“Not yet.” Gianni pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Need to clean up here first, babe. You don’t want to come back to this. Where are your cleaning supplies?”
“Under the kitchen sink, but don’t you have people for this?” I rise to get them. “Cleaning up messes?”
“I do, DeLuca. But I’m not asking anyone else to do this, so sit.” He stalks towards me. “Let us handle this.”
“I can do it,” I snap.
“I said sit.”
I tilt my head up and level a glare at him with my fists balled on my hips. “And I said I can do it. I’m not one of your dogs, Gianni Cadora. Stop ordering me to sit.”
He stares back, tips his chin down then those ridiculously hot lips twitch.
“What the hell’s so damn funny?”
This gets me a full-blown grin. “There you go again, being all cute with your spice.”
“Shut up.”
Now all three men are smiling. What the hell?
“Fine.” I release a puff of air and roll my eyes. “Let’s get this done already.” I barge past him, roll into my kitchen, grab a sponge, yellow rubber cleaning gloves, bleach and 409. As I march back he blocks me by placing hands on my shoulders, making soothing little circles with his thumbs.
“De Luca,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“You can’t get chemicals on your hands, babe.”
“That’s what the gloves are for.”
His eyes go soft. “You think those are gonna fit over your bandages?”
My brow furrows as I eye my gloves, then my hands.
Dammit, he’s got a point.
Those thumbs have moved to the base of my throat and are distracting me, making my pulse flutter.
“Hand them over, babe. And there’s no point in wasting energy fighting, because the end result is gonna be the same.”
“You keep saying that to me.”
“Because it’s the truth. There is no point in arguing. Not about this.”
I sigh and hand the supplies to Marco, who takes them back to the bathroom. Then I go in search of a garbage bag which I also keep under the sink. “Can you get rid of those…things?” I say, passing it over trying to suppress a grimace. “I can’t touch them.”
“Sure,” Gianni says softly and takes it from me, our fingers grazing. Even under these horrible circumstance, my stomach flips.
Both men disappear behind the door. I blow a strand of hair out of my face, and begin to straighten my bed and I’m about to push back the drawers on my dresser when I hear them.
First Marco, and it’s nothing unusual because that’s the type of man he is. Goofball extraordinaire.
But then Gianni joins in and my head jerks up.
Buona sera, signorina, buona sera…
Good God, they’re singing. How could they be singing at a time like this?
It is time to say goodnight to Napoli…
A moment later Marshall’s smooth, dark chocolate voice accompanies with trumpet sounds.
Though it’s hard for…
More trumpet noises, and now one of them is whistling.
Despite it all, I drop my head and giggle because there’s nothing else for me to do and I know what they’re doing.
This is for me.
Our parents used to goof around and sing this song and other old, much raunchier Italian classics.
And by the little jewelry…
As kids, it was uncool and embarrassing, which of course only made them sing louder. Now, it’s just funny.
Marshall finishes up with the lock and steps over the threshold to give me a new set of keys, still trumpeting along.
They wrap up the song and Marco, sporting a cheesy sideways grin, steps out of the bathroom and bows with a dramatic flick of his wrist. I clap delicately with the tips of my fingers and blow kisses.
“Shelley?” Marshall calls. “How long has your bathroom fan been making that noise.”
Huh.
“Um, I’m not really sure. I didn’t notice it before.”
He lifts his brows, then his eyes slant back to the fan. “I’m gonna check it since I’m here. Got something for me to stand on?”
“Yeah, there’s a step-stool in the hallway closet.”
He retrieves it, then pulls a screwdriver from his bag, situates the stool and unscrews the grate from the ceiling.
Gianni holds up the garbage bag filled with the unsoiled lingerie. “What do you want to do with these?”
“Give them to my neighbor. She dates a lot. Maybe she can use them.”
“She a hooker?” Marco asks.
I wrinkle my nose and think about his question. “I don’t think so, but why would you ask that?”
“She’s not that hot. If she’s dating as much as you say, maybe something else is going on. And she thought I was there to see her when she opened the door.”
Say what?
But I don’t have much time to think about it because Marshall interrupts.
“Uh…Shelley? You need to see this.”
Crap. What did I break?
“What’s the matter?”
He scratches the back of his head, brown eyes wide. He’s pointing to the hole in the ceiling with his screwdriver.
“What am I looking at?”
Gianni follows me in, his eyes focusing on a small dark object attached in the corner of the square hole. Instantly the energy changes to something dark and dangerous a second before he emits a long, low growl and slams his fist into the bathroom tile.
The sound echoes above the noise of the still-running fan and I’m surprised the tile didn’t crack.
“That fuck is dead.”
Obviously, I’m missing something and I’m almost afraid to ask. “I don’t understand.” I glance at Marco whose nostrils flare. “What’s he showing me?”
“That, De Luca,” Gianni grits out, pulling my focus back to him, “is a camera. That pile of rat shit’s been perving on you in the shower.”
A camera?
A fucking camera!
I close my eyes. A shudder vibrates through my body as the words sink in. My legs buckle and I drop to my haunches, ass on my heels. First the panties and now this. I take three deep, hopefully calming breaths before I open my eyes.
In my peripheral v
ision, I catch sight of Gianni’s hands, which are shaking and white, the skin on two of his knuckles split and bloody.
“Stay with her,” he shoots to Marco, his fury obvious in his voice. “Gotta get some air.”
Then he’s gone and my door slams behind him, making the walls in my apartment quiver.
“Should I go after him?” I make a move to stand, stumbling a little as my legs are shaky.
“No!” Marco’s arm snakes across the front of my shoulders and stops me short. “Let him cool down.”
I press my injured palms against my forehead until they hurt. Shit. They’re shaking too. However, I’m more worried about Gianni. I’ve never seen him so angry and wonder for a moment if I’ve broken him.
“He’s not going to do anything stupid, is he?”
“My cousin’s many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.” Marco’s expression carries none of his earlier antics when he tried to cheer me up. Instead his usually warm brown eyes are hard and if I didn’t have a clue about how serious this is before, I’m getting it now.
“Just give him space.”
I blow air through my lips trying to pull it together. A fucking camera?
In the bathroom, I watch Marshall disconnect the tiny spy-cam from the fan and he hands it to me along with its battery. Who knew they made them so small.
“The day before Dean hit me,” I say to Marco, “he’d said his stomach was upset. I left him alone in my apartment to get him something from the drug store down the street. I bet that’s when he installed it. I wonder why he didn’t fix the noise?” I dangle the camera between two fingers. “If he had, we would never have found it.”
“Probably ’cause he was interrupted,” Marco says. “We should check around for any more devices that fuck may have planted.”
“You all need help?” Marshall asks, finishing up and screwing back the grate.
“We’re good,” Marco answers. “Appreciate it if I could borrow your tools?”
The men lock eyes, some silent battle passing between them until Marshall nods. “I’ll leave them here for you and when you’re done, drop them off at my apartment.”
They shake hands, then Marshall hugs me as I see him out the door. “I’m glad you’re good, and you have a crew to take care of you.”
“Thanks for understanding, Marshall. When things settle down, I’ll buy you lunch.”
“That, I’ll accept.”
When I close my door Marco’s already pushing open my windows and shining a flashlight over the metal fire escape. Then he scrutinizes the light fixtures, the smoke detectors and even the carbon monoxide alarm while I go through my cabinets and closets.
We search every obvious and not-so-obvious place but there’s no sign of any additional spying devices.
Half an hour goes by with no word from Gianni. Worry begins to gnaw at my gut while I imagine all sorts of mayhem he’s committing on the city when, at last, Marco’s phone chimes with a text. He dips his head to read it.
“Where are your car keys?”
I point to them on the breakfast bar.
“Come on.” He snags them and the camera. “Time to blow this joint. Bring whatever you need with you. Not coming back for a while.”
I snatch up my jewelry box and the amber necklace and shove them into my purse. I can’t believe I forgot my silver or my tips the last time I was here.
Stupid Vicodin.
We dump the garbage bag full of lingerie at my neighbor’s door and return Marshall’s tools. Curiously, the soiled panties have disappeared and I wonder which one of them took care of them for me. It doesn’t matter who, I’m just glad it didn’t have to be me. And last, we head out through the lobby into the cold night air.
Gianni’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs, a thumb hooked into his jeans pockets. His expression is dark and brooding and still dangerous as he watches us walk through the double glass doors.
As Marco opens the door, holding it for me to pass first, a Nissan Centra with teeth-rattling hip-hop echoing off the buildings drives by. Two drunk girls hang out the rear windows.
“Yoooow,” one of them calls.
Gianni turns his head towards the noise and the girl closest to us lifts her top and flashes her enormous naked breasts at the men. Gianni shakes his head, then focuses them back onto me rolling his eyes.
“Life in the big city,” Marco murmurs as he tosses my keys to Gianni.
He snatches them out of the air and shoves them in his jacket pocket. When he takes the spy-cam from Marco, his jaw’s still tight but he’s calmer and his breathing is even.
“Hopefully you didn’t kill anyone?” I lay my hands on his waist. He tenses. It takes a moment for his eyes to hit mine, but when they do, I swallow.
“Not yet.”
In that instant I realize, he may have gone legit, but the blood coursing through his veins is still mafia, and always will be. Leaving no doubt that he would kill. What’s more, and this may have more to do with that honor thing Billy mentioned, but I believe he’d kill for me. I must be a sick person because although the knowledge is unnerving and frightening, it’s also strangely satisfying. Perhaps I’m more mafia than I realize.
“Where’s your car?”
I point in the direction of my convertible. “The little blue Mini down the street.”
“A Mini?” His scarred brow hikes up.
“What’s wrong with my Mini?”
He doesn’t smile, but his eyes warm and soften a touch. “Of course you drive a fucking Mini. Your marker is growing, De Luca.”
Crud.
My marker.
I’d forgotten all about it
“Um…yeah.” I bite the corner of my lip. “We still need to talk about that.”
The look he gives is both cryptic and hot enough to melt my bones.
He dips to mutter in my ear, “I know what I want from you.” His voice is rough and his breath against my skin sends tendrils of need shooting through me. But before I can question further, he lifts his head and says, “Marco will take you home in the truck. I’ll see you later.”
“Wait.” I shift my hand to his arm. “You can’t say something like that and leave me hanging.”
“Trust me.” His eyes close momentarily. “Neither of us will be left hanging.”
Oh my God.
“Are you suggesting…?”
“Later, Shelley. I gotta go.”
“Where to?” Marco asks.
“Carmine.” They exchange looks, conveying the sort of non-verbal information that only two old friends would understand.
“Billy’s Carmine?” I ask. Why would he go there?
Gianni says nothing, then snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me hard against his body. “Behave. No more snarky texts.”
My eyes widen. “You think he did this because of my text?”
“Not the camera, but the other shit.” He tightens his arm, bringing me even closer. “You challenged him and maybe he didn’t like being challenged.” Fingers slide across my cheek, into my hair. “Just so you know, I do.” Then he grips a handful, holding my head captive and brings his mouth down onto mine.
It starts off gentle, him sucking on my lip, teasing. When I open it gets deeper, hotter, more possessive and definitely more carnal. My body ignites and hums in response, but after a few seconds and way too soon, he breaks it. His fingers, however, remain tangled in my hair. When I open my eyes, his are peering into mine. “Later, Shelley,” he whispers.
Next second he spins on his heel and walks towards my car. I watch his long-legged strides down the hill, back-lit by the streetlights before he vanishes into the mist and shadows.
Good Lord, the man can kiss. One more minute and my panties would combust.
At some point, I realize Marco has come up behind me. His chuckle snaps me out of my trance. “Close your mouth, Shelley.”
“Shut up.” I slap his arm, immediately regretting it.
Shit-dang-it. I need to remembe
r my hands hurt.
“Damn, that was a hot one…”
“Shut up,” I repeat, only louder. This time I aim for his bald head, knowing he’ll dodge me, which he does. “What are you…seven?”
We’re still laughing when he boosts me into the truck, with one hand on my butt cheek. If it was anybody other than Marco, I would have elbowed him. But he’s like the big, goofy brother I never had and I know it means nothing.
“Why’s he going to Carmine?”
His smile disappears and his expression turns serious. “You don’t wanna know.”
“Why don’t I want to know?”
He gives me a don’t ask me that shit look and shuts the truck door. I have to wait for him to open the driver’s side before I can speak again.
“I thought you guys weren’t doing the mafia thing anymore?”
“Mostly not, also doesn’t mean we don’t know people.”
Mostly not? What the hell does mostly not mean?
Crud.
And what kind of bakery does Carmine run? I’m beginning to suspect not the usual kind. Perhaps a front for something more sinister? Which leads me to wonder how forthcoming Billy was?
Regardless, Marco’s keeping it zipped and clearly I’m not getting any more information out of him. Instead he turns on some music. The opening riff of “Under the Bridge” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers fills the cab.
Tomorrow, if Billy’s awake and up to it, I’ll ask him.
I try another tactic. “Okay, so answer me this. Why did Gianni take my car?”
He slices a sideways glance at me while strapping himself into his seat.
“You think Dean did something to it?”
“Could have installed a GPS tracker.”
Jeez.
“So, Carmine’s some kind of techie who knows about surveillance stuff?”
“You could say that.” He shrugs as he checks for traffic in the side mirror before engaging the gear and pulling out. “What I wanna know is how you got involved with this dipshit.”
“I cut his hair once, then he kept coming back to the salon asking me out until I said yes.”
“You didn’t pick up on who he was?”
“No, why would I?” Unfortunately. “I’ve been gone a long time, Marco. And he lied to me. I also had no idea he knew Joey.”