With their eyes locked on me, I continued. “I realize you’re going to tell Agrioli whatever you want to, and expect that. But this is my promise to you, and you need to think about what I’m going to tell you. Really think about it. If either of you two make an effort to approach me again, for any reason, you’ll be killed. No questions, no options, and no counting to fucking five. Is that understood?”
A nod in the affirmative from each man provided me with reassurance that they at least realized what their fate would be if they made an effort to fuck with me again.
“I see you’ve got a watch,” I said to the first man who had been shot. “After we pull out, wait five minutes before you leave. The keys are in your vehicle. If you leave before five minutes is up, my sniper will put a bullet through your left eye socket. Understood?”
With a clenched jaw and narrow eyes, he responded. “Five minutes.”
There wasn’t a second sniper, but he didn’t need to know it. The five-minute head start would give me peace of mind that they weren’t going to try to do anything to save their reputations or their pride.
“Tell Agrioli he’s not fucking with a bunch of amateurs. We’re trained professionals. Anyone else fucks with me—or my men—and they’ll meet the same fate as you two dumb fucks.”
I shook my head and turned away.
I had been home from the war for a little more than a year. Now, it seemed I had my own war to fight. One of a more personal nature. I walked toward Lucky’s SUV confident if anyone was born to fight, it was me.
And, after making it through the threat of Agrioli’s men trying to hijack my shipment of weapons without being harmed, seeing Terra was the only thing that came to my mind.
Chapter Eleven
Terra
I rested my elbow on the edge of the table and held my hand between us so he could observe my chopstick expertise. “No, you just let the bottom one rest on your middle finger, and use the top one like this.”
He watched intently. After studying me for a moment, he picked up his chopsticks and pressed the tips together no differently than if he’d been doing it for years. “It’s actually simple once someone shows you how,” he admitted.
“Most people don’t get the hang of it so soon.” I wasn’t frustrated, I was envious. It had taken me a good six months to figure it out, and he had it mastered in thirty seconds. It didn’t surprise me. “I can’t believe you’ve never tried.”
He stared at the tips of the sticks as they clicked together. “Never really had a chance.”
“How can you say you never have a chance to eat sushi?”
He looked right at me and spoke in a voice that was almost prideful. “When I was eighteen, I volunteered to go fight in the war. Out of the last eleven years, I spent ten of them eating meals out of a plastic bag. And, in the last year, I’ve been busy building my empire.”
Seeing him now, it was easy to forget that he was once a marine. Dodging bullets and shooting at people seemed out of place for Michael, especially considering his mode of transportation and manner of dressing. I shrugged and coughed out a laugh. “I forgot.”
He laughed. “That last part was a joke. What? No sense of humor?”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. That was inconsiderate of me.”
“No it wasn’t. My childhood’s over. I don’t need you lamenting over what happened to me. Christ, it brought me here, didn’t it?”
I admired Michael’s ability to accept the life he had been forced to live. Despite all of his hardships, he somehow found a way to overcome them and maintain an impartial outlook on life. “I think it’s great that you can look at life the way you do.”
“And, what? Not be a statistic? Not become a product of my environment? How else would I look at it? If a man is incapable of accepting his past, his future becomes a predestined failure.”
“But not everyone is able to accept their past. At least not entirely. And I mean people far more fortunate than you,” I explained.
He stopped the stick from spinning, catching it in his palm without shifting his focus away from me. “It’s about being prideful.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have no regrets in how I’ve lived my life. I have no shame. None whatsoever. Everything I’ve done, I done to the best of my ability and with the best intentions.” He shrugged. “That’s all I can do.”
“So you wouldn’t change anything in your past? I mean, if you could?”
“Not really. Like I said, it brought me here.” He waved his open hand toward me. “I’ve never been happier. I would have never guessed having a woman in my life would make things better, but to be honest, it has.”
I dismissed compliments from friends and family members as being nothing more than kind offhanded remarks. From Michael, I found them heartfelt and far more meaningful. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“No need to thank me. It’s true.”
“Well, I appreciate compliments from you. So, thank you.”
“You don’t appreciate them from everyone?”
I felt like an inconsiderate bitch, but I wanted to be truthful with him. “Not always,” I admitted.
His face contorted. “Why?”
“I have a big family, and not everyone is as fortunate as my immediate family. I don’t know, it’s just...” I looked at him for reassurance, only to realize he had no idea what it felt like to have a relative look at him with disdain without so much as trying.
“When they say things, it’s almost like they say them because they feel they have to. They look down their noses and say ‘your dress looks nice, Terra.’ Or one of them might say ‘I like your hair, did you get it cut?’ and they really don’t give a fuck. They’ll say it as they’re walking past me, and not even wait to hear my response. So, no, I don’t always appreciate compliments. But, with you? You don’t say things you don’t mean. At least it doesn’t seem like it.”
“If I despise someone, they’ll know it,” he said with a laugh. “And if I give a compliment, it’s from the heart.”
“I like that about you.”
The waiter walked up to the table, his hands filled with two large platters. “Here you are. One number eleven, and one number six. Who gets what?”
“We’re going to share,” I said.
I provided instructions on the soy sauce, use of ginger for cleaning the palate, and the wasabi—which I personally detested—and we began to eat.
“Well?” I asked.
“I like it. A lot. It seems.” He picked up a piece of ginger, ate it, and continued. “Clean. It seems clean. Fresh. Healthy. I like it.”
He reached for another piece. “The fish is raw tuna?”
I nodded. “Is it okay?”
“I’ve had tuna before,” he said. “I like it.”
I returned a smile, pleased I was able to make a suggestion that was something new and would be memorable.
“I just thought of something,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“You were a sushi virgin.”
He laughed. “I was.”
“And now, every time you eat it, you’ll think of me.”
He laughed again, this time carefully placing his chopsticks on the edge of his plate. “I don’t need to eat sushi to think of you.”
I started to respond, telling him how much I appreciated his kindness, but he continued before I had a chance to speak.
“I can’t do a damned thing anymore without thinking of you, Terra. Nothing. Some of the things I’m involved in with work are, well, let me just say they’re thought-consuming. And right in the middle of work, I think of you.”
I was flattered. I felt the same way, but I didn’t dare share my thoughts with him for fear of scaring him away. I met
his gaze and chewed my lip anxiously. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t done,” he said. “I think of you when I drive to my office. When I eat. When I take a shower. When I...”
He grinned until his dimples showed. “When I anything.”
I admired his dimples, pleased that he’d revealed them. It was a rarity. “Is that bad?” I asked.
“At first, I thought it was. Now? I’ve just learned to accept it.”
“How could it be bad?”
“It leads me to believe I’m dependent upon you. Or, if I’m not, I’m quickly becoming so.”
“And that’s bad how?”
“What if you decide to leave me?” He hesitated and extended his index finger. “What if you decide the no big deal relationship is too big of a deal for you?”
“I won’t.”
He shook his head and reached for the chopsticks. “You can’t make that promise.”
I did my best to look stern. “I just did.”
He looked surprised for a moment, and then reached inside his jacket. After fumbling around for a moment, he produced a small square envelope.
He reached over the table and handed it to me. “Here.”
“What is it?”
“What’s it look like?”
“A card.”
“Well, that’s what it is. I got it for you and forgot about it. Well, until now, anyway. You just made me remember it.”
I eagerly pulled the card from the envelope. The front was covered in various colored polka dots, but no script. Confused and curious, I opened it. The inside of the card was free of any commercially printed notes or sayings, and only contained a few very neatly crafted hand-written sentences.
He had purchased a blank card and made it himself.
I glanced at Michael, and then back at the card.
Terra,
When I’m with you, nothing else matters.
When nothing else matters, the world around me dissolves, leaving only you.
And. Nothing. Else. Matters.
Michael
My eyes welled with tears. I read it again. My throat constricted. A tear escaped me and I turned my head to the side, hoping he didn’t see. I carefully wiped it away and clutched the card in my hand, not wanting to turn loose of it.
I turned to face Michael, and had every intention of expressing my thanks, but the words didn’t come.
He smiled, revealing two slight dimples.
And nothing else mattered.
Chapter Twelve
Michael
Cap and I solved many a problem in my kitchen over a bottle of beer, and although I was sure we weren’t going to resolve this issue completely, talking about it eased my mind considerably.
“So, you think these pricks are just going to give up? I sure as fuck don’t. We haven’t seen the last of ’em, I’m sure of it.”
The beer bottle dangled loosely from between his thumb and forefinger while he waited on my response, but I didn’t have one I could provide—at least not immediately. There were many possibilities, none of which made perfect sense to me. It was conceivable Agrioli realized he couldn’t strong-arm me or my men into complying with his wishes, but I found it doubtful.
“He’s got too much pride to just give up,” I said. “If he decides to release us from his grip, he’s going to make a big deal of it. It’s how pretentious pricks like him operate.”
Cap tossed the empty bottle in the trash and opened the refrigerator door. “Another?”
I raised my half-full bottle and shook my head. “Not yet.”
“You’re probably right.” He grabbed another bottle of beer and closed the door. “I bet that fucker’s a real prick. Last fall they say he killed one of his own. Found him with a bullet in his forehead and his fuckin’ tongue missin’.”
I recalled what little I heard about it on the news. The name of the deceased stood out to me at the time.
“Yeah, I remember,” I said. “Paulie Pinchface.”
He choked on his beer as he laughed. “It was Pinchface Paul. And, I’m just sayin’, we need to keep our shit wired tight until this is over.”
“Agreed.”
I took a drink of beer, and my mind soon drifted off to thoughts of Terra. I should have been far more concerned with Agrioli than I actually was, but my mind was elsewhere. It troubled me slightly that I wasn’t completely focused on business.
It wasn’t like me.
Like an MMA fighter preparing for a match, Cap rolled his shoulders and popped his neck. “So, here’s the part that’s gonna piss you off.”
I tilted my head back and looked down my nose at him. “Say again?”
“The girl. You’ve been quiet about her for a few weeks, maybe longer. Where’s that deal stand?”
I wondered if he could tell. If he could see the differences in me. “What do you mean?”
“Where’s it fuckin’ stand?”
I swelled with pride in anticipation of responding, and instantly felt a twinge of guilt for my prideful thoughts. The pride quickly returned. “I’ve been seeing her regularly.”
“Seeing her how? Eatin’ ice cream sundaes and laughin’ it up at Baskin-Robbins like a couple of prepubescent teens, or seein’ her? You know, seein’ her?”
“You know I don’t fuck with ice cream.”
“You fucked her, didn’t ya?”
“You know,” I said. “I was the perfect marine. I took the biggest risks, because I didn’t have a fucking thing to lose. I’ve spent my entire life without, Cap.”
I’d never been one to complain about life or anything in it, and I wasn’t really complaining. Justifying my actions was more like it. The more I spoke, the more convinced I became that I was doing what was best for me.
“I’ve never known what it’s like to have someone look forward to seeing me. To have a person smile when they think about me. To believe—and I mean really believe—there’s a person who might give a fuck if I died. You know, when I was a kid, probably fifteen or so, the one thing that used to bother me more than anything? You know what that was?”
Standing at the bar with his elbows resting on the edge and his hands clasped together, he simply turned his palms up and shook his head.
“My funeral,” I said. “I used to sit and think about it. That there wouldn’t be anyone there. There wasn’t a person on earth, not one single fucking person, who gave a damn if I lived or died. I used to think about it almost every night.”
He inhaled a deep breath, and I was sure he intended to speak, but I wasn’t done yet. I raised my index finger and continued. “You know; I’ve known her about six weeks. One thing I really like about it—probably more than anything else—is that I know if Agrioli killed me, she’d be at my funeral. She’d be there.”
“I’d be there,” he said.
“I appreciate it,” I said with a nod.
He took a drink of beer, made eye contact with me, and then quickly dropped his gaze to the floor.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothin’.”
“You were going to say something.”
“Naw. It ain’t important.”
“You thought it was. So, say it.”
“You have Trace check her out?”
My tone of voice made my disappointment in his question clear. “You know, I’m kind of new to this relationship thing. Is that how it’s done? You run a background check on whoever it is you decide to see?”
He shrugged. “Cops do it.”
“Well, cops are pricks, and I’m not a fucking cop.”
He cleared his throat, took another drink of beer and gazed around the room. After a moment of thought, he met my gaze. “So, you actually like this chick.”
> “I sure as fuck do.”
“I want to meet her.”
“You will,” I said.
He raised his bottle of beer to the light and studied it. “I’ve drank a ton of these fuckers thinkin’ I’m gonna find the answers to whatever it is I’m wantin’ to know at the bottom of ’em. But it never happens.”
“What is it you’re wanting to know?”
“Hell, lots of stuff. How come a starfish can regenerate a new leg but I can’t grow a new finger? And stuff like why that fucker in North Korea hasn’t been assassinated yet. Or where Netflix keeps all those movies. I wanna know that. But right now I’m wonderin’ what it is that makes a man decide when the time’s right. I never thought you’d fall for a girl, but I ain’t about to condemn you for doin’ it. Just don’t let her cloud your judgment.”
It wasn’t much of an endorsement, but it was all I could expect to receive from Cap.
“Being focused is part of who I am. I won’t lose it,” I said.
“Here’s to stayin’ focused.” He raised his bottle of beer. “And starfish.”
I raised my bottle and tapped it against his. “To starfish.”
He took a drink of beer and cocked an eyebrow. “Now. What are we gonna do about that fuckin’ Italian?”
“For now, nothing. We just need to be conscious of his existence.”
“I agree,” he said. “What do you think his objective is? You know, after the deal the other night?”
“Getting his guy back from the Bulgarians in one piece is my guess.”
“You’re probably right. You think those crazy pricks are asking for ransom money?”
“I’m sure of it. They’ll make him pay for disrespecting them. As far as they’re concerned, those men didn’t come to rob us, they came to rob them. Couldn’t have worked out any better, him being an Agrioli. They’ll demand a ransom, Agrioli will pay it, and it’ll be between them.”
“At least his focus is off us.”
I finished my beer and glanced at my watch. “I agree.”
Cap looked at his watch, shook his head, and drank his remaining beer. “Well,” he said. “It’s gettin’ late. I better get to gettin’. I meant what I said about the girl.”
The Gun Runner (Mafia Made) Page 9