Lacey Luzzi: Sprinkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 1)

by Gina LaManna

  The next second, cops burst into the apartment through the open door. I recognized one of them – Officer Diego – from the speeding incident a few days before. I resumed my screaming instantly.

  Tupac emerged from the top of the refrigerator and began yowling, as well. That cat lived for chaos.

  “Officer Diego! Help. This man is crazy! Help me – he’s trying to kill me. He shot at me,” I collapsed against the wall. Clay rushed forward, and my heart softened as he wrapped his arms around me and shushed me, pressing his lips to the side of my head and repeating soothing sounds over and over again.

  I quieted and slowly let my body go limp in Clay’s arms, which held me up surprisingly well despite his less-than-solid physique. Maybe Anthony’s sessions were helping, after all. I halted my thoughts, remembering his personal trainer was an assassin. Of course he would be buff.

  I turned my head as I heard Officer Diego cough. I squinted, as the noise sounded a little something like, “Luzzi.”

  “I’m sorry, Officer. She’ll be okay. She’s just nervous, as anyone would be.” Clay shrugged and looked apologetically at the cops. “Lacey, I’m feeling woozy. Can you come with to talk to the EMT’s out front when they arrive? We’ll let the cops deal with him.”

  Clay glared at Anthony.

  “Right, of course. Sorry, come on Clay.” I guided him towards the front door. “Don’t let him leave,” I warned the cops, nodding at Anthony.

  I guided Clay out front where an ambulance had arrived. I sat on the curve, hunched into a ball while Clay sat inside the ambulance and the paramedics did their thing. When he was all bandaged up and looking a little less pale, he emerged and together we walked back inside. None of the cops had emerged yet, and I assumed they were holding Anthony hostage until we were back inside.

  I heard voices on the stairwell and saw the two men in uniforms standing outside the apartment door.

  “Also, Carlos would appreciate you two keeping this little, ahhh, incident quiet.” Anthony leaned from the kitchen door as if he owned the apartment.

  Both cops nodded with nervous understanding and backed out of the apartment.

  “G’day folks,” Officer Diego nodded at us all.

  “No… what? Why is he still here?” I shouted at them.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Clay said, as the Officers gave us confused expressions.

  “Talk to me about what?” I cried.

  “Sorry,” Clay said. “Inside.”

  “Sorry my ass,” I muttered. “What’s going on?”

  Tupac yowled.

  I crossed my arms. “Someone explain something to me. Something.”

  “Good night.” Anthony stepped backwards towards entrance.

  He got one hand on the door before I crossed the room and leapt like a skittery cat at his retreating body. I landed squarely on his back. “You’re. Not. Going. Anywhere.”

  For a second, I thought I had him.

  The next second, I had my back pressed against the wall, my arms trapped to my side, and a towering man leaning so close I could smell his spicy breath as it caressed my neck. “Babe. I’m on your side. You’ve got to stop putting me in awkward positions like this.”

  Then, he kissed me on the cheek. In the same motion, he lifted his arms from my sides. I sank to the floor, knees pulled up to my chest.

  I barely registered Anthony’s retreating footsteps, or the way he locked the door from the outside, presumably without a key. I was still in a dazed funk when Clay emerged from his room some time later and led me into my bedroom. He helped me take off my shoes and I collapsed on the bed, telling me that it’d been a mistake, and Anthony was innocent.

  I lay awake for a long time, adrenaline coursing through my veins and the frustration building slowly but surely.

  Why did I always fall for the wrong men? Anthony was hot, Michael sexy, but both were liars. Or if not liars, then at least withholding information from me. I kneaded my temples. Maybe I brought it on myself, I thought. I once had Blake, who wanted to marry me, who wanted to meet my family and had invited me into his. But then I’d turned around and run away. But where had that gotten me?

  I stood up and paced back and forth. It’d gotten me attached to a series of unavailable guys, is where it’d gotten me. It was too late for me and Blake, but there was still Andrey, who seemed sweet and confident, not easily intimidated. There was the small fact that he was Russian, but maybe I could convince him to run away with me and we could both leave our Families – if he turned out to be as nice as he seemed.

  I let out a frustrated sigh. Realizing I wouldn’t be able to sleep, I stomped into the living room where Clay was putzing on a few of his computers.

  “What were you going to tell me?”

  Clay glanced up. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you’d talk to me. What do you have to talk to me about?”

  My cousin fidgeted. “Anthony’s not a bad guy.”

  “Okay, and am I just supposed to trust you on that?” I took a seat on the arm of a chair. “How do you know that?”

  Clay looked up. “I just do. I can’t tell you anything else right now. Do you understand me?”

  I glanced into Clay’s eyes, which was a rarity in itself. He wasn’t one for eye contact, for one, and second of all, he avoided confrontation at all costs, unless it was virtual through his monitors.

  “I’m confused. I don’t know who to trust.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Clay’s eye contact was sincere and unwavering, and for the first time, it was me that glanced away initially. “Yes.”

  “Then trust me on this. Anthony is not out to hurt you. I’ll tell you more later, but sometimes, in the Family, we have to keep secrets to keep order.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Clay gave a small smile. “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  I headed back to my room and climbed into bed, where I fell into a confused deep sleep. My dreams were flooded with gunshots, sirens, and spicy, mysteriously irresistible, yet completely unavailable men.

  Chapter 16

  When I rolled over the next morning, trepidation pressed on me like a hot, fuzzy blanket. I absolutely did not want this day to start; in fact, I would’ve loved to just skip right past it onto the next one. And it had nothing to do with the shooting last night.

  It had everything to do with my double, double dates. The only double of men I wanted right now were Jameson and Jack D.

  Before I was fully awake and could understand what I was doing, I picked up my phone and texted Andrey:

  I have a family dinner event tonight – go with me?

  Then I proceeded to pound my head into my pillow over and over again.

  My phone pinged with a text, and I groaned as I slid the phone open without even bothering to look who the message was from.

  Really looking forward to meeting your family today. Thanks for another shot, I won’t mess this one up.

  Michael. I closed my eyes. Maybe it would’ve been better to have chased the shooter down last night. The gunman could’ve put me out of this misery.

  I rose from bed, refusing to think like that. I could do it. What’s the worst that could happen today?

  ** **

  Clay opted not to join in the day’s dating festivities. ‘Too much Carlos in one week,’ he’d cited as an excuse. But he’d agreed to stake out Vadim’s house for any signs of funny business during my dinner with Andrey. I didn’t even care that he’d agreed to the stakeout only because he’d ‘been separated from his baby for too long, needed to take her for a spin.’

  His creep-van was the oddest thing I’d ever heard referenced as a ‘baby.’ Even weirder than my sexy baby incident with Blake and Andrey.

  But I hadn’t commented, since as long as he could hear inside that Russian house I’d be a happy girl.

  “Okay, be there by quarter to eight. He’s supposed to show up for dinner at eight – even though I’m no
t sure I’ll be hungry again by then – got it?”

  Clay nodded and fiddled with a few wires. With a spark and small hiss, he looked up boasting a satisfied expression. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Yeah. Seven quattro cinco – me and my baby will be there.”

  I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. “You really need to find a new name for that thing.”

  I waved to Tupac the Cat who ignored me, sitting in his little saucer bowl, rolls of fat hanging off the side.

  I was a little more skittish than usual as I climbed down my graffiti laden steps. I peeked around corners and looked through the windows of my Kia before I jumped in and secured the doors behind me with a satisfying ‘thunk.’ I’d even tossed my little pink can of pepper spray into my purse – not that I’d be able to find it in a hurry. Bad things happened inside my purse. It’s a mysterious land that suctions things inside, and placing an object in there was never a guarantee it’d return unscathed from little chunks of gum wrappers and used receipts.

  When I pulled into Carlos’ driveway I was happy to see that Michael’s car wasn’t there yet. I needed some time to gather my thoughts and meditate before the circus began. Heaving some air into my lungs while sitting in my car, I debated whether or not to bring my puffy yellow sweatshirt inside. I’d slipped on jeans and a decent shirt for the occasion, but it was really tempting to add a monstrously-sized sweatshirt to the mix as well.

  No, I told myself getting out of the car. This is a date.

  With a longing look, I left my yellow sweatshirt in the passenger seat and clicked the lock buttons, even though there was nothing to steal. I wasn’t taking any chances with my favorite sweatshirt.

  Nora flung the door open before I’d put a foot on the steps. She grinned manically, her cheeks pinker than usual, her hair fluffier than Tupac, her clothes frillier than an extravagant doily.

  “Where’s Harold?” I asked.

  “I wanted to personally meet this man,” she said looking behind me. “He’s not here yet?”

  “No, we’re meeting here. Any second he’ll show up. I hope.”

  When I walked into the kitchen, there were three additional people that I did not want to see. That list included: Butch, his lady friend, and Carlos.

  “Everyone?” My voice cracked. “Really?”

  “Oh, how exciting to have a full house again,” Nora trilled and bustled about. “Carlos straighten your tie.”

  My grandfather grunted and nudged his tie, making it more lopsided than it was a minute ago.

  “No…” I whimpered and sat at the table, resting my head where the plate belonged.

  “Lacey… we just want to get to know your boyfriend,” Carlos said innocently.

  “We’re not dating.” I reddened. “Not yet. Not – gah! You know what I mean.”

  I stood up and went to the bathroom, gladly turning my back to Carlos’ raised eyebrow and Nora’s grooming of Butch’s hair, her lacquered nails picking through his greasy locks like a monkey looking for ticks. I sighed. You can’t pick your Family, I reminded myself.

  I leaned over the sink, tugged my shirt this way and that and ran my palms up and down my jeans, wishing they were yoga pants. I was debating running out to the car to grab my sweatshirt when I heard a new voice join the mix.

  Michael looked up with a comfortable smile when I entered the kitchen. He seemed at home, one hand easily perched on his hip the other resting on the back of the chair. Nora fluttered around offering him cookies and wine. I shook my head ‘no’ at him with a nod at the cookie platter from behind Nora’s back. He gave a slight nod and accepted the wine instead.

  He reached over and gave me a hug.

  I muttered, “Good choice – they’ll break your teeth.”

  “Your family’s great,” he said in my ear.

  I stepped back with a new perspective on the man – a sexy, successful guy that liked my family? Maybe it’d be beneficial to keep him around for awhile after all.

  “Shall we eat?” I asked, anxious to get food in people’s mouth so they would talk less.

  “Smells delicious.” Michael winked at Nora, and my body warmed a few degrees.

  The increase in body temperature halted immediately as I looked towards the head of the table where Carlos was watching Michael’s every movement. I cleared my throat quite loudly. Carlos looked at me, but it was calculating and thoughtful. I’d expected furious daggers of hatred or complete approval – either end of the scale would make sense to me– but this attitude threw me for a loop.

  I stared my grandfather down, but Carlos went back to surveying the dining room as if Michael were his prey. I hoped he’d be so interested in watching Michael that he’d forget to speak.

  When we were all seated with meatballs the size of a child’s head laden on our plates, the phone rang.

  “Oh, okay. No problem. Show up whenever.” Nora hung up the phone and turned to us with a frown. “I’m sorry, Nicky, Marissa and Clarissa are late. They’re not sure if they’ll make it.”

  “No worries,” I said, my mouth full. “Let’s eat.”

  Peace existed through to the second course of dinner, (salads in an Italian household) and the experience was fairly normal under the circumstances. Conversation was filled by Butch and his lady friend, who incessantly enthused over Michael’s curly hair.

  “Never seen an Italian like it,” Butch exclaimed.

  Michael took it in stride, bless his heart. Or at least he did, until the cookie platter arrived.

  “So, what do you know about them Russians?” Carlos butted into Nora’s re-telling of Bill’s latest Words With Friends play (Did you know the word shit is accepted? How filthy.).

  Michael choked a bit, but it could easily have been a wedge of steel-enforced cookie caught in his throat. “Wh-ah, excuse me?”

  “Carlos– er – Grandpa,” I hissed. “Not appropriate table conversation.”

  Carlos gave me a look of mixed glee and challenge. I met his eye contact, daring him to press the subject.

  “I only ask because my lovely granddaughter here mentioned you live in the Uptown area. Heard about some shootings there lately. The cops think they’re tied to the infusion of the Organisatya.”

  Michael nodded and patted his chest as if needing to belch. I wondered if it wasn’t – in fact – cookie that’d choked him up.

  “Yes, sir,” Michael said. He offered an affable grin and swallowed. “But I mean, I’m Italian, so I don’t know any of them too well. I’m just new to the area and when I showed up, I picked the most affordable housing.”

  I cleared my throat again.

  Carlos ignored me. “But if you’re Italian, then why not choose the Italian side of town?”

  “Didn’t you hear? He didn’t know.” I chipped in before Michael was forced to defend himself.

  “Ah, but he’s young. I imagine he understands The Google?”

  I rolled my eyes and turned to Michael.

  “They don’t understand the Internet,” I mumbled in his ear.

  “It’s no problem,” he whispered back. However his smile seemed a bit more frozen than it had been moments ago. “I didn’t pick the Italian side because I have no family here. I’m Italian by descent, but I’m not close with my family. I associate with being American more than Italian, so I didn’t think it mattered where I lived.”

  I took one of the cookies Auntie Nora was offering me just so she’d stop shoving the platter in my face. Butch eyed the cookie as I set it on my plate, untouched. I nudged it in his direction and he gobbled it up greedily. His mouth must’ve been like a garbage truck, able to plow through cement.

  “An Italian not close to his family… interesting.” Carlos took a slow slip of limoncello.

  “Carlos Luzzi.” Auntie Nora interrupted this time. “This man has agreed to join us for dinner. Stop interrogating him.”

  I took another cookie from the platter out of a massive feeling of gracio
usness towards Auntie Nora. I even took a feeble nibble at the outer edges – which made no indent whatsoever.

  “Really, it’s okay.” Michael looked down at his plate, a saddened expression coming over his face. “My parents passed when I was young. I was raised by a German family. A wonderful family, despite their being German. They’re my family, now. That’s why I’m not on the Italian side of town.”

  “Great. Good job, Car – Sir – Grandfather,” I spat the last word. “Let’s go Michael; you don’t have to answer any more questions.”

  Michael shot me a weak smile. I squeezed his hand and together we stood and I grabbed his jacket from where Nora hung it on his way inside.

  “I’m sorry I can’t come with you right now.” I gestured towards my car outside. “But I really appreciate you showing up to this weird function, thingy. And don’t worry, it’s not just you. Carlos puts every male that enters this house through the wringer, but this was out of hand. It’s my turn to apologize.”

  Michael swooped in and kissed my cheek. “It’s not your fault. It’s just family. What does your grandfather do, by the way?”

  “He’s uh, a businessman,” I said, kind of unsure. “I don’t really understand what he does.”

  “Cool. He’s got quite the place,” Michael gestured around.

  “Yeah, he’s been successful.”

  Michael kissed me on the cheek and gave me a small salute as he walked to his car.

  I waved goodbye and watched as he pulled out of the driveway. He didn’t look back, and I didn’t blame him one bit.

  Returning the house, I cornered Carlos. “What the hell was that?”

  “I don’t trust him.” Carlos poured more limoncello into his tall, skinny glass.

  “Oh, really? After two seconds of meeting him? Daiii.” I spoke the Italian word for Come on. It just happened to sound like “die.” I guess it could’ve been taken in English or Italian at this point.

  “Carlos, he’s a good judge of character,” Butch chimed in. “He knew the second Layla walked in that she was a keeper.”

  I gave Butch my best smile, halfway upturned lips at best. “I bet.”

  Butch leaned over and began slobbering all over his girlfriend again.