by Howes, Ann
Gah!
He’s right. He’s so, so right but I’m not willing to concede. Not one tiny bit. But it doesn’t stop the blush from moving up my neck.
“This isn’t happening.” I shake my head.
“It’s happening.”
“I’m not having sex with you.”
“We’ll see. But for now, you and Connie get acquainted. I need to get ready for work.”
Halfway out the kitchen he stops and turns to face me. “You didn’t answer my question, De Luca.”
My brain’s frazzled and at first, I don’t know what he means so I simply stare at him. Then it clicks.
“You didn’t tell me why you want to know,” I fire back.
He glares at me for several long beats before he speaks again. “Either way he’s staked his claim with his little stunt in your panties. If you did, it makes him more dangerous. In his mind, you’re his property and the fact that you’re here, under my protection, doesn’t make him look good to those that matter.”
Oh.
Wait. His property?
“You mean like he literally thinks he owns me? Like…like one of his girls?”
“Yep.”
My brain is refusing to process. “Um,” is the only word my mouth will utter.
He hasn’t moved. His eyes remain locked on my face, except now there’s a strange look in them, almost like disappointment.
What’s he got to be disappointed about? Who the hell is he to judge me, Mr. I-banged-every-girl-in-town?
When I refuse to respond those eyes change to something else. Something that looks a lot like hurt.
“I guess I have my answer,” he grits out, jaw tightening as he spins to leave the kitchen.
No way I saw what I think I saw. I shake it off and focus on what he said.
Sleep with him?
Shit dang it. I can’t go there either.
Even though just a few minutes ago I was going there. Like really going there and would be going there right this very minute if he hadn’t given me time to change my mind.
The door opens, reminding me I’m still standing in the middle of the kitchen chewing on my thumbnail. It takes Connie washing her hands and filling up the coffee pot before I’m able to ignore the hollow in my stomach and kick-start myself into gear to actually move.
“Sit down, Miss Shelley. I make breakfast. What you like?”
“Um?”
How many times has she come across Gianni kissing someone, or doing other things, in the pantry? I can’t even contemplate how many women he’s brought here over the years.
“You want bacon and eggs?”
Whenever I was here, there was always one. I’d swear they took a number and waited in line and now it seems my number might be next, but I certainly won’t be the last.
“Bagel and cream cheese?”
“Uh…”
“She makes a killer cheese and mushroom omelet,” Marco says, striding into the kitchen. Though his head is shiny and smooth, the evidence of a goatee is beginning to show. “You should try it.”
She looks at me, and I nod because there isn’t much else I can do. My synapses haven’t reconnected yet.
“You okay?” Marco asks. “You look like Bambi facing an eighteen-wheeler.”
I feel like Bambi facing an eighteen-wheeler but I’m so not telling him what just went down.
So I nod again.
“Hmm!” He squints as he checks me out while getting milk from the fridge and setting it on the table with the sugar. He takes two mugs from the cabinet, fills up one from the still-brewing coffee and hands one to me.
“You and Gianni go at it?”
My eyes go wide and fly up to stare at him.
“What do you mean go at it?” I ask, panicking.
God!
Did he see us? I spin around to hide my reaction, almost spilling my coffee. I yank open the closest drawer pretending to search for placemats.
“Jesus.” He gives a low chortle. “Chill, girl. I meant did you two get into a beef?”
I find them in the third one I open. “Why do you ask?”
“’Cause he looks pissed as hell, like somebody gave him a wedgie, metaphorically speaking. I’m thinking it might be you.”
Ooo…kay!
I’m not talking about this. I pull out two woven ones in vibrant red-and-orange stripes and arrange them on the table, suddenly very interested in the label that says they’re from Pottery Barn.
“What time can we go see Billy?” I ask without looking up.
He leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his broad chest. “You did, didn’t you?” His hazel eyes twinkle as his face splits into a slow, lazy grin. “Damn. I missed it.”
“Marco?” I pass him a knife, fork and a matching napkin.
“Yeah?”
“What time?”
“Fine. Any time after eleven.”
“Is he awake yet?”
“Somewhat. Just spoke with Carmine and he says Billy’s been asking about you.”
Well, I have a lot to ask him too. Like what does Carmine really do.
Our omelets are ready and Connie sets a plate on the placemats in front of each of us along with bottles of condiments. I sprinkle Tabasco sauce on mine and take a bite. It’s light and fluffy and delicious with the right amount of melted cheese oozing out the sides!
Marco reads the sports section of the San Francisco Chronicle while I peruse the style page and neither of us speak again as we eat, except to arrange when to meet.
When we’re done, I clear the dishes and set them in the sink before I head upstairs to shower and change.
My hands are finally at a point where I can get away without bandages. Although I have to be careful and my knees will still require some sort of covering, but they’re healing nicely too. Giant Band-Aids should suffice.
Dammit.
Gianni has the first aid kit!
I refuse to ask him for it so my knees are going to have to wait. I can’t think straight around him, especially now and I don’t know what scares me more. Dean’s vile acts, or Gianni proclaiming his marker.
I may as well put my heart in a shredder and feed the bits to the seagulls, because when he’s done with me, I’ll never be able to glue them together to heal again. I’m pretty sure of it.
I’m going to have to figure a way to renegotiate or pull some dirty tricks of my own.
What, I don’t know yet.
After a quick shower, I choose wide-legged brown linen pants that won’t rub against my scabs and a rust-colored, long-sleeved tunic shirt. I pretty myself up with a little help from some mascara, eyeliner and silver and amber earrings that match Joey’s necklace perfectly.
The bruising around my eye is breaking up and with any luck will be gone in a few days. I’m starting to look like my old self again, except for the freaked-out expression in my eyes. Being spied on and forced to pay a sexual marker will do that to a girl. Though, to be honest, forced might be a little strong.
Marco’s waiting for me when I head back down, looking like a member of Sons of Anarchy with a black bandana tied around his head, ripped jeans and his leather cut.
“You wanna take the Harley or be boring and take Billy’s car?”
“Under normal circumstance the Harley, but I’m not sure my knees could handle the wind.”
“Boring it is.”
Connie helps me apply large Band-Aids the size of an iPhone to each of my knees and then we exit through the kitchen door and down some stairs that lead to a ginormous garage. It houses Mama’s Lexus, my Mini, a very expensive-looking BMW, the Land Rover, and, of course, Marco’s badass black Harley with silver-studded saddlebags. We pull out, and in the circular driveway, sticking out like an unwelcome zit on prom day, is the truck.
What the hey?
“Is Gianni still here?”
Marco slides a guarded look at me. “He left an hour ago still looking annoyed. Seriously, what did you do to him?”
“Gina picked him up.”
“Oh.”
I’m surprised I could actually get the word out, as it feels like a battering ram slammed into my gut. I turn my face to look out the window. Marco doesn’t need to see how much that bothers me.
Seriously? The asshole wants to bang me, then has another woman he’s banged come pick him up?
Like, really?
Well, fuck him.
I count backwards from ten and try something different.
“You told Marshall you were in the army?”
“Yep, enlisted after high school and got out five years ago. Took over from Pop when he passed on.”
“Oh yeah…your dad’s chop shops.”
“I converted them to motorcycle repair shops and bought a Harley dealership. I have some of Pop’s old crew working for me, mostly the younger ones, but we’re clean now.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot. What made you guys go all legit?”
He sucked in a breath and held it for a few beats. “A lot changed after your dad died. We all loved him and when our dads died, both Gianni and I decided we didn’t want that world. There’s no need for it anymore and it just invites shit you don’t want. You know, to raise kids like that? It doesn’t make sense. What it did to Joey…it’s just sad.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dude, he embraced it. He got off on the dark side and the conflict. Not to mention hanging with the Russians. Those fucking Melnikov brothers, they run girls and heroin. Man, that shit’s just evil, but nobody could get through to him.”
“Wait, Melnikov brothers? I didn’t know there were more of them.”
“Yep. The other one is Vasily.”
“And Joey was running girls? As in prostitution?” I squeak.
“I’m talking trafficking but no…he didn’t get involved in that. We all would have killed him if he did. He supplied Melnikov with coke which he in turn sold to his clients at his brothels. He had a connection working customs at San Francisco Airport.”
My God.
Brothels.
This is so much worse than I suspected.
“I didn’t know anyone did coke anymore. Isn’t that so eighties?” I ask.
“Dude? You been living in a time capsule?”
“What?”
“Coke is hot again. But—whatever, it drove Gianni nuts.”
“I’m beginning to feel like I never knew him. I mean, I knew he had a dark side, but to me he was mostly sweet and protective. Until he wasn’t, that is. Then I thought he was an asshole.”
“I loved the little fuck, he was family, but in general he was an asshole. After your dad died and you left, he got worse. Thinking back, you were probably some kind of moderating energy. He probably kept himself in check because of you. What’s weird and even more tragic is, in the last few months, it seemed he was coming around. Like he was getting it together. He even approached Gianni to work with him.”
“Billy said that. How did it go?”
“Gianni didn’t trust him, of course, but let him in. If Joey needed a way out, he was gonna give it to him but keep him on a leash. For my aunt’s sake.”
I nod, because that makes sense.
“I just found out Gianni was with my dad when he was shot.”
We’ve stopped at a red light and he turns to look at me. “You shitting me?” he mumbles.
“You didn’t know he was there?” I ask, my eyebrows pulling together.
“No, I meant I didn’t know you didn’t know he was there.”
“Oh.”
My eyes catch on a dog-walker with a troupe of five crossing in front of us. One of the animals is a bulldog and my lips pull up in a smile. Marco continues to watch me like something’s not making sense, but then seems to shrug it off when I turn back to face him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just, yeah, that was messed up,” he says, rubbing his face.
“I can’t believe they never found out who killed him,” I say to the windshield.
Marco says nothing, but then the light changes and we’re close to the hospital. As we’re about to take our turn, it occurs to me everything keeps coming back to my dad’s death. Why was it so pivotal to all of them? It’s not as if they weren’t used to violence or even on occasion involved in it. There’s something missing, something they’re not telling me and no one, including my mother, is talking.
“Okay,” Marco says, cutting into my thoughts. He pulls into a spot and kills the engine. “Do me a favor, will you?”
“Sure…what?”
“If Carmine’s here, don’t fall in love with him.”
I burst into giggles. “Why would I do that?”
“You’ll see.”
* * *
Billy’s been moved out of the intensive care unit to a private room and when we arrive he’s asleep. There are bouquets of flowers on every available surface, and the room smells like a flower shop.
Shit. I didn’t think to bring any although he’d probably prefer a doughnut anyway.
His hands lie outside the sheet and I touch one of them, but get no response. His face shows signs of road-rash, but fortunately no severe head injuries, unlike his body.
White tape spans his ribs and a long metal pin sticks out of his pelvis. And stuck in the crook of his left elbow is an IV, making my stomach queasy.
Marco sits on the far side of the room and powers up his laptop.
“Work,” he apologizes, pointing to it. “Gotta place orders.”
“No worries.” I pull out a paperback novel I’d found in Sea Cliff and get busy reading. I’m deep in a scene when my spidey-sense kicks in. My head jerks up and I stare into a pair of intelligent light green eyes scanning me from head to toe. I stop breathing.
Holy fizz pops.
Carmine?
My mouth muscles develop a mind of their own and split into a big grin. If this is him, I get why Marco warned me. He’s almost as beautiful as Gianni, with dark brown curly hair overdue for a trim and sexy as hell. If I wasn’t already in love, I could find myself falling for him.
He stands in the doorway, staring at me, head cocked. Looking nothing like your local baker, more like a wild, untamed Roman god you’d have a fling with, should you find yourself in Rome.
He smiles back. “Shelley, I presume?”
“I am.” I move to get up, but he holds a hand out, stopping me. “Don’t get up.”
“I’d offer to shake but…” I show him my palms and he gives my fingers a little squeeze instead. His grip is cool and gentle and lingers a teeny bit too long.
Okay, he gets better-looking by the second and he’s obviously charming. No wonder Billy’s bakery is so successful.
“Dude,” he calls to Marco who’s watching our interaction. They shake and do that power-patting, brotherhood thing. “I get it. Never thought I’d see it, but I get it.”
Marco glances at me, then tips his chin and says, “Outside, so we don’t disturb Billy.” He closes his laptop and leaves it on the chair.
“Be back in a bit,” he says to me.
Carmine smiles and shakes his head.
Disturb Billy, my ass. They don’t want me to hear whatever it is.
What kind of mafia ninja powers does Carmine have that these men go to him for help? Maybe I don’t want to know.
They leave and I go back to reading my book but can’t get it together enough to focus. Too many questions run through my brain. That vibe that something’s off won’t go away and neither has the feeling that it has to do with my dad’s death.
But what, I ponder, as I chew on my thumbnail. How did Gianni get that scar? Was he shot that day too? Surely Billy would’ve known if he had been and I can’t imagine him keeping that from me. He didn’t even seem to know Gianni was at the meeting.
Hmm.
The answer
s evade me. So I continue to try to read until lack of sleep catches up on me and I nod off. Until a touch on my head wakes me. My eyes pop open to Billy’s smile.
“Hey.” I stand and kiss him gently on the forehead. “God, Billy…I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re alive.”
“Me too, kiddo.” His voice is scratchy from disuse.
“I’m so sorry he did this to you.” Tears form and drip onto his sheets.
“Shh…” He swipes a thumb across my cheek. “Nobody’s killed me yet. Least of all that piece of shit.”
“I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.”
“Not losing me. What about you? You okay?”
“Just a few scrapes on my hands and knees.” I show him my palms. “You saved my life and almost got killed doing it. You aren’t allowed to do that again.”
“I’ll try to avoid it next time.” He lets out a chuckle, then winces. “Ugh.” He presses a hand to his ribcage. “That hurts.”
“You need me to get a nurse?”
“I need you to get me the hell out of this place. Wanna kick some Russian ass.”
A little half choke, half laugh escapes. “You big, lovely old fool. You’ve got to stay here until they’re able to move you. Besides, Gianni and Marco have it. And Carmine too, I guess.”
I fill him in on the last few days and as I’m finishing, Marco returns minus a certain hot Roman god and I can’t help feeling a little disappointed. He and Billy shake, then he pulls his chair next to mine.
“Carmine informed me they found the Volvo,” Marco says. “It was left in a parking lot at Crissy Field, reported stolen. The cops are checking for evidence but I doubt they’ll find anything they can use.”
“How does Carmine know all this?” I ask.
“He knows the cop that got the call, Lee. He shops at the bakery.”
“Okay, you two have to level with me, what does Carmine really do?”
Billy and Marco exchange a look. Billy dips his chin. “She’s in it now. Needs to know.”
Uh oh.
“Let’s just say he’s skilled at finding and fixing things for people,” Marco says. “The bakery’s a front. When people need a certain kind of help, they go to him.”