by Howes, Ann
Gianni swallows, and deep lines furrow his perfect, strong brow. “Joey came to the meeting drunk or high, I still don’t know which, saying he was gonna kill us both. Then he pulled out a gun none of us knew he had. I got up, lunged at him and he squeezed the trigger.”
Gianni stops talking, that attractive bump in his throat moving, betraying him. His voice is rough and raw when he starts again.
“One hit me in my shoulder and then he shot again as I was falling back. Your dad caught me and the second bullet missed my head, but hit Jimmy in the throat.” Two fingers pinch the corner of his eyes, as if he’s trying to squeeze the memory from his brain. “Next thing I knew my dad and uncle took him down before he could shoot again.”
I look at my mom. She’s crying silently, arms wrapped around her waist and something horrible washes through me and for one infinitesimal second, I’m torn. One part of me wants her punished, but the other, much larger part, mourns for both our loss.
Then Gianni’s words pull me back.
“I don’t remember much after that except my dad holding Jimmy’s head. He bled out right in front of me…in front of all of us and there was nothing we could do. I’m sorry, Shelley.” He scrapes both hands over his face, then up through that thick dark hair, mussing it. “It was supposed to be me.” This last is said tinged with so much pain, it slices at me.
Gianni almost dying is something my mind can’t—won’t—entertain, but it doesn’t stop my anger building.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whirl in my chair to face Mom.
“We thought…you might go after Joey…for revenge. I couldn’t have that, couldn’t lose you too.” Her voice shatters.
It’s too much. “You didn’t trust me? I’ve had this…canyon in my heart for ten years because you didn’t trust me? You thought I’d want to kill Joey?” I sniff and fight back the tears. “You never asked me…not once…how I felt. Do you know how fucked-up I’ve been, Mom?”
Her shoulders slump as she shakes her head. “The more time passed, the harder it got to tell you. And you seemed better, happier.”
I’ve heard enough. My legs threaten to buckle but I fight through it and stand anyway. As my chair scrapes across the tile floor, I think of one more question.
“Does Billy know?”
“No. We all agreed he shouldn’t. He would have killed Joey and started a war.”
“He deserves to know.” I turn to face Gianni. “And you,” I sob, jabbing my finger in his face, “I’m sorry you went through that but you lied to my face. I knew you were holding something back. But this? How could you? He was my father.”
“De Luca…baby…I’m…”
“Don’t you dare call me baby. I fucking hate you both right now.”
He balks as if I’ve physically struck him, then whispers, “Fuck.”
The pain in his voice reverberates through my hollow stomach and my lungs burn, but I can’t be near either one. Be in any space they occupy, therefore I need to get myself gone. My car keys hang next to his on the dragonfly hook. I snatch them and push the button that opens the garage door.
Gianni’s head snaps up at the sound. “Where are you going?”
“Away! From both of you.”
“Shelley…wait.” He moves quickly, takes a few steps and reaches for my arm.
“No!” I dodge out of his path. “Don’t.”
“De Luca. Stop…please.”
I ignore him and wobble on legs that don’t want to work down the garage stairs to my car. But he’s right behind me as I pull the door open. Before I can step in, however, steely arms come around my waist and tighten, pulling my back to his chest.
“You need to listen.”
“Let me go.” I twist as his grip tightens, pressing his face into my neck.
“Stop fighting.” His voice is hoarse and his breath hot on my skin.
I stiffen against him. “Take your hands off me,” I say between my teeth.
“I can’t. I’m not letting you leave like this.” He’s holding me so tight there’s no room to wedge my palms between his arms, so I kick my heels hard into his shins.
He grunts and loosens his grip just enough for me to dead-drop through his arms, landing on my butt. It jars and my teeth clash together.
“Dammit, babe, stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Those long arms reach for me, but I roll to the side and side-swipe him behind the knee. When his leg collapses underneath him it gives me time to scramble into my car, slam and lock the doors. But only just.
By some miracle, I manage to insert the fob on the first try and gun the engine.
He moves in front planting his hands on the hood. “You’re gonna have to fucking drive over me. Stop,” he growls through the windshield. I press my foot to the gas slowly, forcing him backwards before I begin to speed up.
Only at the last second, he senses I’m about to gun it and jumps out of my way as I press hard on the accelerator and barrel out of the garage and down the driveway. When I look in the mirror, he’s running after me.
“Open, open, open,” I curse the automatic gate as it slowly rumbles on its wheels.
Come on.
It’s almost halfway open when Gianni catches up with me, slamming his hand on the car roof. I squeeze my car through the gate with little room to spare.
The last glimpse through the rear-view mirror, as I speed up out of his range, is him standing with his hands on his head, elbows splayed, and watching.
What’s left of my heart shatters. But when I turn the corner I realize Truman, my faithful wingman, is sitting sentinel on the front passenger seat. It completely undoes me. I pull into a side street, find an open parking spot and yank the handbrake. When the engine dies, the last little grip on my control does too. That moan I’ve kept in check since they told me, since I found out Joey, my boyfriend, killed my father because I kissed his brother, finally finds its way to the fore, along with the flood of tears.
That day at the marina is now crystal clear in my head.
I’d just found out Joey was screwing Gloria “big boobs” Tortino and assumed that’s why he wanted to meet me. I was ready to give him hell. But Gianni showed instead. And when he kissed me, I’d been so excited, triumphant even, riding that tsunami of teenage hormones that he’d finally noticed me, that was all I could think about. I couldn’t give a crap about Joey in that moment.
But because Gianni noticed me, Joey noticed us. And a few hours after that, my life changed forever.
I recall Gianni’s words that first night he came to my apartment. You’re fucking dangerous. He couldn’t be more right.
I’m as much to blame for my father’s death as anyone. I’d blocked it out, wiped it from my internal hard drive so I could survive. But how could I be happy when my daddy was dead and my world destroyed?
Sobs wrack through me as I rest my head on the steering wheel until saliva pools in my mouth. I make it to the sidewalk before yellow bile purges onto some poor neighbor’s neatly trimmed lawn.
Truman, wingman extraordinaire, follows me and waits in their driveway, guarding and panting while I heave, purging on and on until at last, when there’s nothing left, I’m done.
I find a half-full bottle of water I’d forgotten in my car from two weeks ago.
May as well be from another lifetime.
After rinsing my mouth, I splash some of the cool liquid over my face hoping to revive my coloring. If I thought really hard about it, I could ignore the bloodshot, glassiness in my eyes, but the bruising on my neck remains stark, jumping out against my too-pale skin. And the dark circles beneath my eyes? Well, that’s another issue entirely.
Besides, I have another problem.
I can’t go home.
My apartment is still wired, my purse is at the Sea Cliff house, and ruining Cass’s date is not an option.
Shit.
At least I have my phone and one place left to go.
“Okay, buddy,” I say to Truman, wiping the last o
f the tears from beneath my eyes. “What you want to hear? Something loud and distracting?”
“Wowrowrow,” he answers, eyes blinking and looking mildly apologetic.
“I hear you, bud, and never apologize. Loud it is.” Then I stick my car in gear and pull away to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s “Let the Day Begin.”
* * *
The weather’s miserable enough that I know if I leave Truman in my locked car in the hospital parking lot with the windows cracked, he won’t overheat. I can’t take him with me as it’s against hospital rules, and I don’t believe the staff will appreciate his flatulent disposition. Or his drooling.
As I weave between the parked cars, my phone rings. My stomach clenches at Gianni’s caller ID, my thumb hovering over the answer button.
No.
I’m not ready to face anyone, except Billy, so I shut it down.
As I pass through the busy hallways, I ignore the looks. I’m sure I resemble a heroin addict in search of methadone, but I’m beyond caring. My head throbs, my throat’s raw from the bile and my world has just crumbled around me.
Billy’s awake, fortunately, thumbing the remote of a TV mounted on the wall.
“A thousand fucking channels and nothing to watch,” he growls when I enter.
“Well, hello and I love you too.” I kiss his cheek and pull up a chair.
“Ah shit, kiddo. I’ve been in a foul fucking mood ever since I heard from Carmine that fuckwad took you. I think the nurses want to poison my food and put me outta my misery.” His eyes narrow while he examines my face. “You look like shit. What’s happened? Other than being kidnapped.”
“There’s a dog in my car so I don’t have much time, but I need to talk to you.”
He engulfs my hand in his as I tell him everything, stopping to snatch Kleenex from a box next to his bed every few minutes to dab my eyes and blow my noise. He doesn’t interrupt, but rests his head back and closes his eyes while he listens.
When I stop speaking, he’s silent for so long, I think he may have fallen asleep.
“Well, fuck me with a feather,” he says finally, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. “It’s a good thing I’m on some heavy-duty drugs, otherwise my heart might break.”
“You’re not angry?”
“Joey’s dead, kiddo. And I must be getting soft and old. One thing I’ve learned in this hospital bed, life’s too short and too damn precious to be angry about something that happened ten years ago I can’t change.” His thumb rubs the back of my hand, and I focus on that, instead of looking into his eyes.
“They’ve been lying to us the whole time, Billy. Mom always told me she never knew who it was.”
“I understand why they hid it. And I made my peace a long time ago.”
“Maybe you have but I’m not there yet.”
You’re fucking dangerous.
“Don’t you see?” My voice hitches. “It’s my fault. People die because of me. First Daddy, then Joey. And I almost lost you too.”
“Stop.” He squeezes my hand until I look at him. “Listen to me. You can’t blame yourself for what other people do. They’re tragedies but it’s not your fault, or Gianni’s.”
“Fucking Gianni,” I mumble. “How can I ever trust him now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind.” My voice catches again and I turn my head away. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Ah, dammit.” Billy stares at me for a long time. “You’re in love with him.”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Kiddo, you got trust issues, I get that, but he’s…”
“Don’t want to talk about it, Billy.”
“All right. But know this, he’s not Joey and he has his demons, but he is a man you can trust.”
“You don’t know that.” Not when it comes to my heart.
“Known him for most of his life so I’m pretty sure I do know that. He made a mistake but I guarantee you he had his reasons. Perhaps you should let him explain. But about Joey…it’s starting to make sense now and looking back, I know it wasn’t easy for him. The last ten years had to be hell living with what he did, the pain he caused. Knowing it lost him you. He loved Jimmy and clearly he didn’t handle the guilt well. You’ll do yourself a solid if you can find a way to forgive him, and yourself. You’re too young to carry this shit.”
Forgive myself for my father dying? How do I begin to do that?
Billy’s eyes turn pensive. “Joey was a hothead with a short fuse. I guess I never knew how short.”
I nod. There were things I’d pushed to the back of my memory but allowed myself to remember now.
He’d been kicked off the baseball team in his senior year because a teammate flirted with me. Joey followed him after school, pulled a knife and threatened to slice this throat if he came near me again.
“Your mother’s right,” Billy says. “Back then, I would have killed him. It wouldn’t have done anyone any good, just caused more pain.” He lets out a long, tired sigh. “Stay at my house until you sort this. Carmine will let you in. Come see me tomorrow and we’ll talk more. But now, you gotta let this old broken man cry in private.”
* * *
“You gonna be okay?” Carmine asks as he unlocks the front door to Billy’s third floor apartment above the bakery. I’d felt his eyes on me since I parked my car in the driveway and all the way up the stairs.
“I will be. Thanks for letting me in.” Truman trots ahead to explore, toenails clicking on the polished, hardwood floor. I make a mental note to have them clipped. He stops to sniff a shaggy rug, then lets out a sneeze of approval.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Carmine points downstairs with a half-smile. “Office is in the basement, under the bakery. Just tell the kid behind the counter who you are, he’ll show you where to go.”
He really is beautiful with all that gorgeous dark hair, but I’m in no mood to appreciate his looks. All I want is some food and a bed. And to shut out today. But first I need to use my manners.
“I have a lot to thank you for. When I’m not so out of it, I’d love to buy you lunch or something. Oh, and offer you free haircuts for life.”
His face splits in a sexy grin. The kind that even on a bad day would make your insides quiver. Unfortunately, I’m not feeling it.
“When you’re feeling better, I’ll take you up on that. My uncle loves you like a daughter. That makes us cousins, so we should get to know each other.”
I let out a small cry-laugh and run my hands through my hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. “Well, cousin, do you think it’s possible to remove the cameras from my apartment?”
His light green eyes twinkle and crease in the corners. “I can do that.”
I wrestle my apartment key off the ring, hand it over and watch as he jogs down the stairs lobbing a peace sign. Then I lock the door.
Billy’s apartment is a surprise. I’d expected a bachelor pad, messy and uncoordinated, but it’s furnished in a rustic industrial style. Lots of brushed steel, polished concrete and exposed brick. A long, brown, distressed leather couch dominates the living area and I know that’s where I’ll crash tonight. In front of the television after we eat.
Speaking of food, Billy’s cabinets are filled to the hinges with human food, but nothing good for a dog other than a pack of hotdogs which I cut into pieces and place on a plate. Truman sniffs them, then gobbles down the lot in about ten seconds flat before I can even open a can of chicken noodle soup for myself.
Probably going to regret it, given his penchant to fart, but I have no choice other than letting him starve. Nary a can of dog food anywhere.
Of course, feeding Truman reminds me of Gianni and how he treats the dogs, which in turn makes my breath catch in my throat.
Fucking lying asshole. My insides ache in a sort of dull, hollow way, but really it’s my own stupid fault for letting him get so close. Should have known better than to trust a Cadora.
&
nbsp; Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.
Shut it down.
As I need to text Cass, I turn on my phone. Several messages wait, and I want to ignore them all, because I feel like being a bitch like that.
Gianni: Where are you?
Mom: Let me know you’re okay.
Mom: Please.
Gianni: De Luca, call me or get your ass home.
Gianni: Really?
The last one, even though it’s only one word, seems angrier. What the hell has he got to be angry about? He wasn’t the one being lied to.
My chest feels as if it’s in a vice and with each breath, that vice tightens, but I type, Yes, really. As an afterthought, I add. Truman’s with me. He at least needs to know his dog is safe and not missing or, dare I say it, kidnapped.
Before he can respond, I power off my phone. I’ll talk to Cass tomorrow when my brain will cooperate and she’s done with her date. At least one of us should be having a good time.
Truman does his polka dance thing at the door cluing me it’s time to take care of business. And once said business has been dealt with, I fill a bowl with water for him, a glass for me, drink it down, then crash like a zombie on the couch. Cocooned in a comforter I found in Billy’s linen closet.
The last thing I think when I close my eyes is of Gianni’s warm arms and his lips on my neck begging me not to leave.
* * *
Something warm is between my legs.
Mmm.
Gianni.
He smells like cake and my stomach grumbles. I lick my lips and take a bite, but he evaporates before I can taste him.
Why won’t my legs move?
I open one bleary eye and stare down an unfamiliar comforter straight into Truman’s. That broad, flat head rests on my crotch, tongue hanging out one side.
And it all comes crashing back.
“God…Dog,” I groan and rub the sleep from my eyes. “You had me going there for a minute.”
Then it occurs to me the smells are from the bakery downstairs. My appetite wakens along with myself and I wiggle my legs, trying to dislodge Truman. Because he’s a manipulative little butthead, he refuses to move.