"Yes?"
I opened the door and saw Margaret Bertoli standing in the hallway. "Luisa, I was wondering how you're doing. Tomasso left for his work, and I know it's not comfortable spending all your time in an unfamiliar house, let alone a closed off bedroom."
"Thank you, Señora Bertoli. I'm fine," I said, brushing my hair behind my ear and trying to regain my composure. "I was actually about to see what there was to eat around here.”
Margaret smiled and nodded. "That sounds good. Well, Carlo is out late for business, so how about the two of us have a relaxed dinner? Say . . . raid the fridge in t-shirts and shorts? I'm sure there’s a tub of ice cream in the freezer there if you’re interested."
I couldn't help it. The older woman's youthful enthusiasm and relaxed charm washed away the last of my doubts and worries. "That sounds perfect. Let me brush out my hair, and I'll join you."
Chapter 7
Tomasso
Four days later, the police were pissing me off. Twice, I'd had to stop my rounds as they always seemed to be in the area when I was going for a pickup. "This is getting to be bullshit," I complained to Pietro. "Fucking Fritz is more focused on trying to catch me on some piddly shit than on finding who was responsible for that explosion.”
"That's been turned over to the FBI," he said as we had coffee in a late night diner. "The Seattle police are stuck in neutral, with the federal agencies taking up all their spotlight, so they're left doing what they've always done—chase their own tails and try to get to us."
I shook my head, reaching for the sugar and pouring a long stream of the white crystals into my cup before stirring it. “Either way, it’s still bullshit."
He shrugged and sipped at his black coffee. "I've been dealing with it since before you were born, kid. Actually, it's not as bad as it used to be. The Seattle PD's been trying to get the Bertolis since before your uncle's time. For a while, around the time you were born, there were a couple of real go-getters on the detail. One of them was one of those super-cops who thought that he'd be polishing the commissioner's badge some day. He was a major pain in the ass."
"What happened to him?" I asked curiously. We were in a coffee house owned by my family, and at two in the morning, the customers were few and far between.
"Almost no man is a perfect human being," Pietro said with a chuckle. “He was a tough cop, but he also had a weakness for high school girls. And not seniors, either. More like freshmen. So, when the media just happened to get a video of him propositioning one who looked like she could’ve been underage, he went away. Didn't even need to get our hands dirty at all with that one."
"And since then?" I asked.
"The Bertoli case has been passed around like it’s a bad luck totem," Pietro said. "As long as we keep the street violence down and keep the gangs from growing, they won't make too much noise. It's ironic, because doing those things helps us even more than it helps the cops."
I chuckled and sipped my coffee. "Still, it's getting on my nerves."
“Just keep patient. You have the brains and you have the physical skills, so now, just learn some patience," Pietro said. "Actually, I asked you here tonight to talk about something else, something I didn’t want to discuss inside your father's house."
"What's that?" I asked, setting my cup down. I rubbed at my eyes, feeling the sand behind my eyelids.
"You’ve been neglecting one of your other duties," Pietro said matter-of-factly. "While I know there has been some tension between you and Miss Mendosa, she’s a guest, and she hasn’t been allowed to leave the house for nearly four days. Just today, my son had to come from the office to bring her some fresh clothes to replace what she'd lost in the explosion."
I sighed, trying to come up with the words to tell him how difficult it was for me to spend time with Luisa. Ever since the Space Needle, I couldn't get her off my mind, nor the way she’d flat out rejected me. It wasn’t something I was used to, so it was difficult to deal with. Normally, women threw themselves at me. The worst part was, I still wanted her so badly that I'd dreamed of her twice in those same four days.
In the end, I realized there wasn't anything that had gone through my head that would change the fact that I'd avoided doing my job. "You're right, Pietro. What should I do?"
“Figure out a way to give her some of your time. I'm sure she’d enjoy getting out of the house or something."
Pietro chuckled and finished off his coffee. "Besides, she’s a beautiful young woman. If I didn't know you better, I'd think you didn't like spending time with pretty girls. Too much time in the company of men does nobody any favors. Think about it."
He got up and paid the bill for our coffee, leaving me behind. I did think about it, and I went home, stopping outside Luisa's door. It was three in the morning, and I could hear her sleeping inside. Realizing that there was nothing I could to at the time, I went upstairs to my room, stripping down and setting my alarm. I wanted to be up by ten, and I felt like I could sleep until past noon with no problems. Sighing, I pulled the sheets up over me and rolled to my side, hoping I'd have a dreamless night.
"Luisa?"
I found her in the television room, watching something I didn't recognize on Netflix, looking antsy. "Luisa?"
"What?" she snapped before pausing the video and taking a deep breath. She was dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a blouse, but other than that, she looked stressed, frazzled. "What can I do for you, Tomasso?"
I came in and sat down. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. I realize I've not exactly been the best host."
"I'm fine," she growled, reaching for the remote. "Anything else?"
I sat back and crossed my feet at the ankles, looking over. I realized that Pietro had been right. She was getting frustrated. "You don't seem fine to me. You look like you're going stir-crazy, and you have a pretty decent case of cabin fever to boot. I'm just saying, if you want to get out of the house, then let's do it. My treat."
“Are you asking me on a date?" Luisa said with a chuckle, looking over at me with her face brightening. "How romantic."
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. "Not a date. Just . . . getting out of the house. There’s got to be something you’d like to do.”
She thought for a second and shrugged. “You tell me. What is there to do in this town?"
I laughed and shook my head. "No clue. I've been out of town for so long and stuck just working since I got back. I took you to the one tourist place I know of. Unless you like baseball? The Mariners always have tickets for sale, and I think they're in town right now."
"No, thank you," Luisa replied. “Not too much into sports unless it’s soccer." She thought, then brightened again. “Why don’t you just take me with you for your pickups? I don’t need to go to some tourist location. I just want to get out of the house."
I blinked, surprised. "Seriously? I don’t know . . .”
Cocking an eyebrow and quirking her mouth, she gave me a sarcastic half-smile. “Why not? What are you doing tonight—making a hit on someone?"
Her sarcastic question let me chuckle, and I shook my head. "No, just picking up payments. I've got four places to go to tonight, maybe more if the cops are off my ass. Tell you what. I’ll see what Pietro says."
Luisa gave me a cryptic smile and nodded. "What time?"
“After dinner? Eight or so.”
"It's a date," Luisa said musically, reaching for the remote.
"It's not a date,” I said, getting up and walking out. "It's work.”
"It's a date!" she yelled back, laughing. It was weird how she could go from bitchy to sweet in about 2.1 seconds.
I was sitting in the casual dining room, looking at my plate of broccoli and chicken I’d prepared when I heard high heels on the tile. "Looks delicious."
I looked up and nearly fell out of my chair seeing Luisa standing there. She looked stunning—I'd never seen a woman look so sexy in such a conservative set of clothing. She skipped the skirt for slacks that seemed
to accentuate just how long her legs were, and the jacket was pinched at her waist, hugging her torso. She'd put on a men's style dress shirt and tie instead of a blouse, but the way the silk and cotton bulged out over her breasts made her look even sexier than if she'd worn a plunging neckline. "Holy . . . well, you look dressed for work all right."
My reaction wasn't what she was looking for, and she frowned, crossing her arms under her breasts. I wasn't sure if it was intentional, but it made her already curvy chest stick out even more, to the point that I had to try to keep my attention on her face. "If you’re finished with dinner, I’m ready."
"Just a few minutes," I said, trying to recover my cool. "Pull up a seat. I was just getting my grub on."
"I noticed," Luisa replied. “Don’t worry, I ate earlier."
She sat down in the chair across from me, stretching out her legs. I rushed my way through my dinner, choking down my food just to give myself a reason to not stare at her, and put my dishes in the sink. "Come on, let's go."
Luisa smirked as she got up, and I knew she'd been trying to distract me while I ate. Saving my comments about that for myself, I got in my car and started up the engine. "Just to warn you, I’m carrying today," I said, opening my suit coat to show her my Beretta. "Part of the job."
“Is that supposed to scare me? In fact, can I have one too?" she asked, taunting me. “How about something with some real kick to it?"
I gave her a look. “No.” I started up the engine and left for my first stop, a dry cleaner that had accepted a loan from my father ten years ago, and in return, Dad was a twenty-five percent silent owner in the business. My cash pickup was actually Dad's monthly share of the profits.
"Good evening Mr. Bertoli!" the owner greeted us with a smile as I came in with Luisa. "My, my, you have a partner tonight. And who’s the lovely lady?"
"Luisa Mendosa," Luisa introduced herself, smiling. "It's a pleasure, but I'm not Tomasso's partner. I’m just a guest tonight."
The man nodded and shrugged. Turning, he picked four hangers off the rotating rack and laid them over the counter before getting a totally normal bank deposit bag. "Here you are, Mr. Bertoli. Two suits for you, two for your father, and the deposit for this week. Do you need anything else?"
“That’s all," I said, shaking his offered hand. "I might have some suits to drop off next week though.
"Of course, Mr. Bertoli. It's always a pleasure doing the dry cleaning for your family.
“As always, thanks,” I said, waving. "Take care."
"Until next time, Mr. Bertoli."
In the car, I saw Luisa looking over at me, an amused look on her face. "What?"
"You're a nice guy, that's all," Luisa said with a chuckle. "I thought it was just an act the other day—for my benefit. You act like an asshole often enough that it’s refreshing to see."
I returned her look evenly. “Don’t go saying that too much. You’ll ruin my reputation. But yes, I’m a nice guy, and I'm an asshole. Nice guys don’t make good wise-guys.” I sighed. “You might not like the next stop.”
"Why? Is it filled with assholes?"
I chuckled and shrugged. "You could say that. It's the Starlight Club, a strip joint we're part owners of. There should be a decent crowd tonight, so if you want to avoid the offense to your delicate nature, you might want to stay in the car."
Luisa took up my challenge, and her dark eyes glittered as she stared out the front windshield. “I’m not a delicate flower, Tomasso. I thought you’d have picked up on that by now. Drive."
"All right, but I warned you," I said, putting my car in gear and driving out toward the club. I found the parking lot about three-quarters full, but as expected, the reserved parking spot for me was open. Closing my door, I still hit the lock. The Starlight Club was in that sort of neighborhood. "Come on. Watch your ass. Literally."
The interior of the club was dim, and the ghosts of cigarettes long past still hung in the air. I appreciated Seattle's recent ban on smoking, even in strip clubs, but it would still be years before the stench fully worked itself out of the building itself. The bouncer saw me and waved to the bartender. Tonight it was Terry, the manager of the joint. "Mr. Bertoli! It's an honor, sir!"
I never did quite understand why Terry was always overly submissive to any of us who were sent in to collect our money. We never had to worry about Terry. He always had his money on time, and he often threw us freebies on top of it. It was like he was afraid we were going to pop off and start shooting up the place at the drop of a hat. That's not good for business—his or ours. He probably just watched too many gangster movies.
"Thanks, Terry. The place looks busy tonight." I looked around and noted that business seemed to be doing pretty well. The girls all had smiles on their faces, and it wasn't just the normal work smile either, but the smile of a working girl who was making good money.
Terry nodded. "We've got a special attraction tonight, sir. Patty Smiles is doing dances starting at ten thirty."
"Who?" I asked, curious. I'd never heard the name.
"She won an AVN award for best new teen," Terry informed me. "She's doing a club tour in between shoots. She's commanding ten thousand for tonight alone, but we've already cleared that back on just the bar. The rest of the girls are getting in on the generosity too. We've got her booked for Saturday night as well. I'm expecting a full house then."
I looked as on stage, a girl whose real name was Betty but whose stage name was Vicki Sinz worked on untying the knot on her schoolgirl outfit. The stage was surrounded by the vapid, horny faces of the men who'd never even get a chance with her. I gestured to her. "She's working out well. You guys missing Carmen?"
"Girls like Carmen are special, but they always come and go," Terry said with a shrug. "Actually, most of the customers come, then go too."
I laughed at the old joke and turned to Luisa. "What do you think?"
"She can't dance for shit," Luisa said disapprovingly, looking at the stage. "Too fast, no tease, and she certainly doesn't know how to move."
"You think you can do better?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow. "That ain't like your jiu-jitsu, you know. The flow isn’t the same."
“I’ve danced for more years than I've done jiu-jitsu," she replied haughtily. "And I can out-dance any girl here."
I looked over at Terry, who shrugged and handed me the envelope for the pickup. "I make no claims, sir. I just pour the drinks and hand out the paychecks."
He didn't say it in his tone, but I could tell that he was a bit offended. Terry might have only been a strip club manager, but the man did his job well and took reasonable pride in his work. As for me, it was a little hypocritical since I often thought just as highly of myself as she obviously did, but I decided to teach Luisa a little lesson. I turned back. "Okay then. If you're so much better, prove it."
"Excuse me?" she said, shocked. "You really expect me to dance for these half-drunk losers?"
I shook my head. “That’s your choice, but I’d like to see you put your money where your mouth is."
Luisa stammered, her eyes flaring with anger. I had her, and she knew it. Her pride was way too much to back away now. “Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. "But not in public."
"No, of course not," I replied with a smirk, knowing I'd won. "Terry, get us a private room. I'll have a beer while I'm waiting since I'm driving, but let Luisa here use the back to prepare. She definitely needs to lose the suit."
“You think you’re clever, don’t you? I’m not getting naked for you," Luisa said in a low voice, leaning in. "You’re not worthy of that."
"We'll see." I grinned. “Go with Terry, and he'll make sure you don't have to do anything embarrassing. I'll wait in the VIP."
Chapter 8
Luisa
"That arrogant bastard!" I muttered to myself in Portuguese as I thought how stupid I was. I should’ve just walked out and forgotten the stupid challenge, but my pride wouldn’t let me. I longed to make Tomasso eat his words.
"Nobody your height. We had a girl who worked here three years ago that was six one, but she bought all her own stuff and took it with her when she left. What are you, like six foot?"
I shook my head. "Five eleven, if I remember the conversion right. One hundred and eighty-one centimeters."
Terry nodded, then thought. "Well, no offense, but unless you’re wearing granny panties, why not just work with what you have on? Win your little bet and be on your way.”
I thought about it and shrugged. Terry wouldn’t be my first choice on fashion advice, but he’d do. I unbuttoned my jacket and took it off, showing him my shirt. "Okay, now what's underneath?"
I sighed and loosened my tie, unbuttoning my shirt to reveal my bra that I had underneath. It wasn't the sexiest I owned. I'd packed for business and not seduction, but it wasn’t bargain store lingerie either. "What do you think?"
"And the panties? No offense. I don't know if you'll even need to show them, but it pays to be sure."
I chuckled and turned around, undoing my pants and giving him a flash of my backside. "Matching. Good enough?"
He laughed and gestured with his hand that he’d seen enough. “If he doesn't get hard from that, send him my way, because that man is gay," he said with a laugh.
Reckless (Bertoli Crime Family #2) Page 6