“Not by a long shot,” I said. “You're wearing a fifty-dollar pair of jeans, a thirty-dollar polo, hundred-dollar shoes, and a twelve-thousand-dollar watch. Which part of that strikes you as strange?”
“Fine, fine,” he said, handing me the watch. “But if you scratch it, it's going on your bill. Come on.”
Daniel turned to leave, and I just stared at him. “Excuse me?”
He turned back, lifting an eyebrow. “What?”
“The bags?” I asked, indicating the half-dozen bags we'd bought. “You know—put those muscles to work and all.”
“My muscles work by making sure you're safe and protected,” Daniel replied evenly. “Not by being your pack horse. Next time, don't buy so much crap, even if it’s for me. It may not be chivalric, but you're going to have to carry your own damn bags.”
It was a struggle, and I know that he could hear the muffled curses under my breath, but I knew he was right. We skipped the watch kiosk though, and I figured if Daniel really wanted to check the time, he could look at his phone like a lot of other people did. We went back to his BMW, filling most of the back seat with the bags, and I went around to the passenger seat, getting in. It was only then that Daniel relaxed enough to get in on his side, dropping into his low-slung bucket seat nearly silently. Closing the door, he looked at me.
“You're pissed off. I can tell. I’m sorry about that. I wish this were like when we were kids, but it isn't. I have a job to do, and even if you hate me every step of the way, I’m going to do it.”
“Just drive,” I said, rubbing at the lines in my palms left by the plastic handles of the bags. “Sure you have enough space for my stuff too?”
“I'll help you pack some suitcases,” he said. “We'll get the clothes you need for the next week, and Don Carlo can send over someone else to clean out the rest.”
We got to my apartment, and Daniel actually came around to open my door for me, not so much as a gentleman, but to tell me he thought the area was safe. We went to the door, which still had some little bits of crime scene tape stuck to the door jamb, which disturbed me but I felt prepared for.
Inside, though, my nervousness started to get the best of me, and I shuddered as I stayed behind Daniel, who'd produced his pistol from somewhere near his right hip and was sweeping it from left to right. We reached the living room and stopped. Daniel lowered the gun. “All right, where's your bedroom?”
“To the right,” I said, pointing. The smell of blood still hung in the air, and I had to cover my nose and breathe only through my mouth to try and avoid getting sick. They may have finished with the investigation part, but the cleaners still hadn't been by—that was for sure. “Come on.”
I hadn't gone into my bedroom the day before, and the sight that greeted us both when Daniel opened the door made me scream. Written on the walls in reddish black, the coppery smell confirming for me that it was most likely Angela's blood, was a message. It was song lyrics, and an immediate nauseous feeling came over me.
I fell back into the hallway, turning to run in a new panic when Daniel grabbed my arms and pulled me to him, holding me against his chest. I buried my face in his new shirt and shuddered, trying not to sob or scream. I didn't want to have to take any more drugs, even though it felt like my mind was breaking. “Wha . . . why weren't you told?”
“The cops probably didn't mention it, the idiots,” Daniel said softly, his strong arms helping me feel safe and secure. “What was that message on the wall, anyway?”
“Genesis,” I replied. “It's Vincent's favorite group. He subjected us to all sorts of that shit during the semester I was in his class. It's from a song called Mama. I fucking hated it even before he got creepy on me. In fact, Phil Collins is on my personal list of asses that I want to kick, just because of that damn class.”
Daniel nodded then reached up, and with a hand that was both powerful and reassuring, stroked my hair. “Well, it's just some blood on the wall. I've dealt with that before, so tell you what. I'll go in there, get your suitcases, and pack the bags myself. As long as you don't mind me fooling around with your underwear.”
His little joke didn't have the desired effect, and I pulled him closer to me, needing to feel strength and security for the moment. “Promise me something.”
“What's that, Adriana?” he asked, his voice softer than I'd ever heard before. He sounded concerned, even tender.
“Promise me that you'll protect me from this psycho?”
He squeezed me tighter and hummed. “I promise, Adriana. I won't let him hurt you, no matter what. But, you're going to owe me for this. Big time.”
His promise let me relax enough to hear his joke, and I slapped him in the chest, pushing him away. “Yeah right, Dan. Like I said, that Ferrari of yours isn't even getting out of the garage with me. Let alone to top speed.”
He chuckled and nodded, holstering his pistol and stepping back. “We'll see, Adriana. We'll see. In the meantime, just remember that I'm going to know exactly what type of bras and panties you like.”
“And if you're a good boy, maybe, just maybe, I'll let you fold them when you do the laundry for me. Now get going.”
Chapter 4
Daniel
That evening at nine, after turning over Adriana's security to Julius Forze, I reported in to the Don. He raised an eyebrow when I walked into his house, setting aside his glass of Chianti. “Daniel, have you decided on casual Fridays or something?”
Realizing I hadn't changed clothes after leaving Adriana in her new apartment, I looked down, chagrined. “Sorry. Your niece felt that if I was to accompany her on campus, I had to blend in better with the average college student.”
He looked me up and down, then chuckled. “Daniel, I doubt that regardless of how much you dress down, you'll look like the average college student. Men such as you and I, we've seen and done things that almost none of those bleating sheep can even begin to comprehend, and it shows in our faces and in the way we carry ourselves. We know the reality of life and of death. But if Bella wishes that you dress that way, I can only say to enjoy it. Please, have a seat and a glass of wine.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, taking a seat in the leather chair. We were in the study, a richly decorated old-fashioned library, with oak paneling, deep leather chairs, and even a pool table in the corner, although I'd only been invited to play a game there once, one I’d intentionally lost. I poured myself a glass and took a measured sip. The Don values men who can appreciate a fine wine, but he appreciates men who don't get sloppy more. I quickly figured out exactly the right amount to drink and savored it for a few seconds before swallowing. “Fine vintage. New bottle?”
“Just imported from Castellina last week,” the Don said. “Black Rooster.”
“What can I do for you?” I asked, knowing there must be something.
He sat back, his chin seeming to disappear into his neck as he relaxed. It was a posture I'd seem him adopt countless times. If you were a confidant of his, he'd relax and slump into his chair when he was temporarily setting aside the distance between you and was inviting you to speak to him honestly, man to man. On the other hand, he also used the pose with strangers in order to let them underestimate him. I understood, as he wasn't the most physically imposing of men. Slumped like he was, a foolish stranger could easily mistake his nonchalance for lack of intelligence or strength, a mistake few had the opportunity to repeat.
In my case, at least, he was relaxing and letting me be more familiar with him. “You’re going to have quite a challenge on your hands, Daniel. My niece, she’s very willful.”
“She is a strong woman,” I agreed. “I believe that runs in the family.”
He considered what I said, then chuckled. “Point taken, Daniel. Are you concerned that you’ll have problems protecting her?”
“None. My only concern is that this Vincent Drake will be found quickly and brought to justice.”
“I’m for the moment letting the police handle that side of
things,” Don Bertoli said sadly, “primarily because the other girl, Angela—her parents are raising hell in the press. Her father is first generation from China, and he’s the type who believes that the government is the solution to all our problems. Stupid man, but well intentioned.”
“Would you like me to do some investigating? I’m sure I can be useful in that regard.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Your entire life, you've always been an enigma, you know that? You came to my house when you were barely nine months old, and ever since you were out of diapers, you've been dedicated to learning whatever it is I ask of you.”
“You could have abandoned me to the state orphanage,” I replied, thinking back to my earliest memories. “You could have let me go to some foster home where I'd have grown up in a trailer park, or hacking it out in a Section 8 tenement. Or worse, I might have ended up adopted by some of the same people that you call fools. Instead, I was given a fine home and cared for. You made sure I was raised strong and well. I know we aren’t blood, but you’re the closest thing I have.”
The Don smiled and reminisced for a moment. “You’ve comported yourself with honor and loyalty, more than anyone outside our line of work would understand. But now you have the most important task in your life. I’m counting on you, Daniel.”
“I won’t fail you, Boss.”
“You never have.”
After leaving Don Bertoli's house and returning to my apartment, I wasn't so sure. Keeping Adriana safe—that was nothing. I was sure that I could keep her safe from anything one man could throw at her. I'd probably even be able to keep her safe against a squad of professionals. I wasn't concerned with one fifty-three-year-old art teacher.
Instead, I thought as I got out of my shower and looked at myself in the mirror, the biggest threat to the successful completion of my mission was looking at me in the mirror. I was worried because when she was in my arms at her apartment, it had taken every bit of willpower I had to not think of all the dirty things I wanted to do to her. The way her breasts felt pressed against me, the fluttering of her heart, and the soft little voice she used when she asked me to protect her? I was surprised my cock didn't burst a seam on my jeans.
“Face it, No Man,” I said, referring to my assumed last name as I talked to myself in the mirror. “You've wanted to fuck Adriana ever since you figured out what your dick was good for besides taking a piss with.”
Adriana always had a special place in my mind, like the perfect template that all others were compared to, only to find them falling short. I'd never wanted any woman more than I wanted Adriana Bertoli.
Ten years later, standing in front of my own mirror naked, I shivered, both in desire and in fear. It had been at about that point that my typical banter with Adriana had taken on slightly sexual overtones, both of us becoming more brazen as she turned eighteen and finished up high school. Still, we both had that line that we were to never cross, even though I suspected that both of us wanted to.
Don Bertoli would never allow it. Adriana was his family, his blood. While I'd been loyal to him and served him well, and yes, loved him, I was an outsider, not even Italian. Besides, I wasn’t the relationship type, and that’s what she deserved. The rumors of me tagging the entire girl's volleyball team in my senior year were true. Come on, with those ass hugging shorts and all that jumping? Most of those girls were more than ready to put those ass muscles to work once they got a glimpse of what I was working with.
No girl ever got two nights, though, even after high school. It’s probably what concerned Don Bertoli and was one of the main reasons I wasn’t allowed to even think about being with Adriana. If I'd been the sort of guy who had a history of being loyal and dedicated to my woman, he may have considered it. He was a fair enough man. But a player who fucked and flew? No way.
Was it unfair? Sure. After all, the Don's two sons weren’t any different. But men were allowed to be men, except for the man who was to be good enough for his Bella. That man would have to be perfect, a saint who was also a warrior. And sadly, I was no saint.
“Fuck it, just do your damn job and keep your dick in your pants,” I said to my reflection. “Now get yourself to bed. You've got work tomorrow, remember?”
I was at Adriana's safe house the next morning at five forty-five, still wiping the sleep out of my eyes. I'd spent most of the past seven years since graduating high school working the night shift, and these early mornings were definitely not what my body was used to. Still, as I sucked down an energy drink, it could’ve been worse. After all, the Don had let me go early the night before, and I'd been able to get plenty of sleep, even if it was disturbed with dreams of Adriana.
“How'd the night go, Julius?”
Julius, an older man in his mid-thirties who'd been with Mr. Bertoli since I was in elementary school, stretched his arms over his head and groaned. “Not too bad. She had a few bad dreams, but I guess you'd expect that considering what she saw. I had more than a few myself after my first death scene.”
“Since we caused our first death scenes, I think it's a little different,” I replied with a slightly regretful sigh. “Is she still asleep?”
Julius nodded. “Yeah, she told me before she closed her door that she'd set her alarm for six thirty. She wants to be out of this place by seven thirty. Something about first class of the day, and this place being farther from campus than her old place. Hell if I know.”
I wasn't surprised, considering that Julius was a high school dropout whose grandest idea of higher education was truck driving school. He was good in a fight, but pretty much dumb as a rock. Still, he was a good soldier and did his job well. “Okay. You had any breakfast?”
Julius shook his head. “Nope, I was thinking of grabbing some drive-through on the way back to my place. I know my old lady ain't left nothin' for me—never does.”
Julius's wife was a former Bertoli whore who'd found herself unable to overcome the binge eating that came from her childhood history of growing up starving. Growing up on the wrong side of Seattle, where the time between meals sometimes counted in days rather than hours, did that to you.
On the other hand, she was a lot smarter than Julius, and had at least gotten an associate’s degree. She worked for the Don as an office assistant in his import/export business that operated out of SEATAC. “All right then, man, tell you what. Let me put together a little breakfast for the three of us, if you want to hang around an extra fifteen minutes.”
“And save me ten bucks? You throw in some coffee, and it's a deal,” Julius replied. He was even more of a skinflint that I was. “What're you making?”
“Let me look,” I said, opening the fridge. I'd picked up some basic groceries with Adriana the afternoon before, so I was a little disappointed to find the cooling remains of a Papa John's box inside. “Yours or hers?”
“Mine,” Julius said. “I was jonesing about eleven or so. Don't worry, the order was in my name and this place is in another. And I paid cash.”
“Still,” I said, wondering if I should say anything about it to the Don. I decided against it. Julius was normally a reliable man, and everyone gets the occasional urge for sausage pizza. “Well, on the good side, at least that means most of the stuff I bought yesterday is still here. Do you like spinach?”
“My mother used to make me eat that stuff three times a week—said it'd make me strong. Don't know if it worked or not, but I hate the shit now.”
“All right then,” I said, setting the baby spinach back inside. “Guess we'll go with an omelet.”
I made one of my go-to breakfasts, a three egg white, one whole egg omelet with ham and cheese, cutting it into three pieces when I was finished before whipping out another one, knowing how much I tended to eat.
I heard the door to the back open, and Adriana poked her head out, her red hair tousled and her eyes still bleary. She looked adorable, and I had to remind myself to pay attention to my tea before I poured some on my hand. “Is that an omelet with c
heese that I smell?”
“Yeah, you ready to join us?”
“Give me two minutes,” she said, giving me a grateful smile that I appreciated more than I should have. “Thanks, and good morning.”
“Good morning, Adriana.”
Julius looked from me to her, then back at me as Adriana ducked her head back into her room and closed the door. “I've watched you two from time to time. Why didn't you two ever get together?”
I gave Julius a sideways glance and shook my head. Loyal, but dumb. Picking up the pan with the omelet, I started to plate. “You know exactly why. If it's all the same to you, I'd like my head to remain acquainted with my neck for as long as possible. If I mess around with Adriana, the odds of that become about the same as the Mariners winning the World Series this year.”
“Gotcha, man. You’re right. Well, if you don't mind, I'm gonna eat now and hit the road.” Julius ate his breakfast in about five big, gulping bites, looking kind of like a shark swallowing a fish, but at least he rinsed the plate and dropped all his stuff in the dishwasher before wiping his mouth. “Take care, Daniel.”
“Thanks, Julius. See you tonight.”
He left just as Adriana opened her door and came out, dressed in jeans similar to the ones I'd chosen and a printed t-shirt that had a silk screening of Mt. St. Helens on it with the caption, Look out, she's gonna blow! underneath it. I wondered if Adriana grasped the double meaning of a woman wearing such a shirt, then decided she knew exactly what she was doing. Rolling my eyes, I set her plate on the table. “Here you are. Coffee, tea, or orange juice?”
“OJ if it's still in there,” she said, giving me another somewhat shy but enticing smile. “I didn't know you were a chef. This smells delicious.”
I turned, trying to hide my reddening cheeks. “There are all sorts of skills of mine you don't know about. Maybe you’ll get to see more of them.”
“You show me yours, I show you mine,” she teased back. “In another lifetime. Maybe when I'm desperate.”
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