Suckered

by Gina LaManna

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Well, am I?”

  “Don’t ask a question until you’re ready for the answer,” he said. “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.”

  “How long can you keep this lifestyle up?” I asked my grandfather. I was starting to feel more than a little confused. Exasperated, too. “Giving me these assignments, running all of your businesses, organizing the meetings at Marinello’s, maintaining the laundromat. You’ve built an empire, Carlos.”

  My grandfather fell silent. I waited, unable to tear my gaze from his face.

  “You knew what—and who—I was when we first met. One thing I’m not is a liar.” Carlos’s eyes burned with intensity. “I’ve never hid who I am, and I don’t have a problem with it. Do you have a problem with me? Or what I do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t think so before, but maybe I haven’t been thinking enough.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “You’ve been wanting to ask for years, but you were afraid. What I’m trying to figure out is if you were afraid of the answers, or if you were afraid of me.”

  “Can’t it be both?” My answer came out short and harsh, even though I hadn’t meant it that way.

  Carlos recoiled. He stepped back, swallowed as he considered a response. When he spoke, it was deathly quiet. “I don’t think it’s me you’re afraid of, Lacey. I think you’re afraid of you. Of what, or of who, you are. Of what’s next for your future.”

  My hands were shaking. “What do you mean next?”

  “Lacey, listen closely, because I will not say this again.” Carlos’s voice took on a surprisingly soft tone, his words almost comforting. “You are not meant to follow in my footsteps. Not because you can’t—you could if you wanted to—but you shouldn’t.”

  “But—”

  “You are engaged to a man I respect, employ, and consider a friend. You might have kids someday. How long is this going to last?” Carlos asked, his gaze piercing. “It’s your life. You’re tied to the Family now, but what happens in a few years? Reputation is everything in this business. Your mother left us, she chose a different life for herself so she didn’t have to be associated with our name. Will you leave us, too?”

  I looked away, making a few weird noises in the back of my throat because I didn’t know what to say.

  “You know, Nora never wanted you to work for me. It took some time, but eventually I convinced her it should be your decision. You are smart. Sometimes, you’re almost competent. Many times you’re lucky,” he said with a small smile. “Regardless, you’re my granddaughter, and you always have a position with the Luzzi Family. I mean that for as long as I’m alive. But still, that doesn’t answer the most important question. What is it that you want?”

  I cleared my throat. It took a minute for me to speak. “I haven’t really thought about it, I suppose. Not seriously.”

  “Then think about it, and think about it hard. I’m old, Lacey. It’s too late for me. I got into the business young, and by the time I even considered getting out, I’d lost the opportunity to do something else with my life. You must understand that what works for me, for my family, might not work for you. My years are numbered, and my options are limited. You, however, are just getting started. You can do anything you want.”

  “I need…” I cleared my throat again. “I need to talk to Anthony.”

  “Yes, that would probably be a good idea.”

  “What if…” I gulped in oxygen. “What if I have kids, but I want to keep working? I can’t get a job! My resume is a pile of…a pile of sparkles and glitter and mobsters. What if we don’t have kids? What if I’m a terrible mom? What if Anthony—”

  Carlos raised a hand. “I didn’t say you had to decide everything this second. I just asked you to think about it.”

  “Well, now you’ve got me thinking, and when I’m thinking, the words just flow out of my mouth. Sorry.”

  Carlos made a zip-your-lips motion. “Quiet. Thinking is best done in your skull.”

  “I like to talk through things out loud.”

  Carlos shook his head. “It’s a bad idea. Then, everyone hears all of your stupid ideas before you land on the good one.”

  “Is that why you’re silent so often?” I blinked. “You’re thinking through all your stupid ideas before you find the good one?”

  Carlos gave me a murderous gaze.

  “See, you’re silent right now,” I pointed out. “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t have stupid ideas.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me,” I said. “I’ll keep thinking aloud, then.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Carlos had picked up the pace with a more determined stride. We no longer wandered aimlessly through the alleys. “You asked what sort of thief I was,” Carlos said, coming to a stop in front of a restaurant. “Well, here is your answer.”

  I looked up at the restaurant, but Carlos shook his head.

  “I got into the criminal lifestyle out of necessity,” he said. “Then, I went through a period of greed. Eventually, I forgot about necessity and greed and became an artist. Now, I am nothing at all.”

  “You’re not nothing,” I said quietly, my heart aching at the hurt in his voice. “You’re a lot of things, but nothing is not one of them.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Carlos blinked, his face pulling back from the dream-like haze that’d manifested in his eyes. “Lacey, there’s one more thing you need to know.”

  “Really?”

  Carlos nodded. “I told you I didn’t lie, and I won’t start now.”

  I frowned. “What is it?”

  “I do believe in magic.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “There are artists. I should know, I’ve been one,” he said, the look of reverence creeping back into his gaze. “And then there is The Violet Society. Lacey, The Violet Society is magic. Be careful when you play with magic.”

  Chapter 15

  “Un cappucino,” Carlos ordered without looking at the barista. His gaze flicked to me. “Do you want something?”

  “Um,” I hesitated. “Coffee, please?”

  Carlos closed his eyes, a sign I’d said the wrong thing.

  “I don’t understand why it’s impossible to find a cup of coffee bigger than a glass of mouthwash in this country,” I said, a little too defensively. “Don’t get me wrong, the cappuccinos are great. I’d just like a few bigger size options.”

  My grandfather shook his head, changed his order to two cappuccinos, and turned back to face me. He started to explain the difference between coffee and espresso when he was interrupted by the barista.

  “Carlo?” The voice boomed big, loud, round. “Come va, Carlo?”

  My grandfather turned slowly, unexpectedly answering to a name different than his. “Gio!”

  In a million years, I never expected to see my grandfather looking like a kid on Christmas morning. I wasn’t even sure Carlos believed in the spirit of Christmas, and I really didn’t think he had the capacity to look excited. I was wrong.

  The barista lumbered out from behind the bar. A big man with a reddish tinge to his face made his way toward Carlos. This guy had dark hair streaked with more gray than black, and he wore all dark clothes—black pants, black shirt, black shoes—and a white apron around his waist.

  The two men hugged with gusto. Carlos clasped the barista hard, even though he only came up to his friend’s shoulder. The man by the name of Gio nearly crushed Carlos in his embrace.

  They kissed cheeks amid a flurry of rapid Italian, patting each other on the back so many times it looked like a weird version of the Heimlich maneuver.

  “She’s yours?” Gio waggled his eyebrows after their ten-minute-long greeting, taking a step back and eyeing me. “Good, Carlo. She’s belissima.”

  Before I could correct Gio’s incredibly uncomfortable insinuation, he scooped me up in a breath-stealing hug, smelling sl
ightly like warm bread.

  Backing away, I extended a hand and hoped for a shake. “I’m Lacey.”

  To my dismay, Gio ignored my hand and went straight for my face. I wasn’t used to cheek kisses, so I screwed up our little dance and went the wrong way. Which resulted in Gio planting a huge, wet kiss on my mouth instead of my cheeks.

  “Oh, wow,” I said, backing away and running a hand across my lips. “That was…slobbery.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t understand English very well, so he just kept smiling and nodding as Carlos explained that no, I wasn’t his new wife, but his granddaughter. When Gio finally understood, he murmured some apologies and then kissed me again. Finally, I stepped behind Carlos and used my grandfather as a shield.

  “This was my first job,” Carlos said, gesturing to the restaurant. “I worked here in the back, stocking and cleaning and doing the dishes. Gio and I started together a long time ago.”

  “And he never left?” I asked.

  Carlos shook his head. “Family-owned restaurant. It’s Gio’s now.”

  Before we could talk more, Gio forced us into chairs, spread napkins across our laps, and somehow had three glasses of wine poured and four plates of appetizers ready to go on the table.

  Gio plopped himself down at the table and spread a napkin over his own lap. “I’ll have the ravioli, Vin,” he shouted to a boy behind the counter. “Enough for three.”

  “What else you eat?” he asked us, rattling his glass against the table until Vin, a tall, lanky kid probably not old enough to have his driver’s license, ran and refilled it with icy water.

  Carlos switched to Italian and the two men conversed while I debated an array of one hundred and twelve pasta dishes. I finally ordered something that looked and sounded like pumpkin from Vin.

  Twenty minutes later, the dishes were on the table. Carlos surprised me with an announcement before he dug into his food. “Lacey’s marrying Anthony.”

  “Anthony?” Something in Gio’s eyes registered surprise. “Niceee.”

  “He’s, uh, very nice.” I smiled in agreement. “Do you know Anthony?”

  Gio bobbed his head as if he understood, but it wasn’t until Carlos translated that Gio’s eyes brightened in recognition and he nodded in double time.

  Carlos, however, didn’t let Gio speak. “It’s time to eat.”

  Chapter 16

  We finished the meal late.

  By late, I meant sometime after dusk. The sun had set while we’d devoured four courses of food. I’d eaten everything from a weird caprese salad—the only salad I’d ever seen without lettuce—to piles of fruit, hunks of bread, and after dinner sweets. All of it paired with wine.

  We took a shot of grappa at the end of the meal. Grappa tasted disgusting, but I drank it anyway and pretended I didn’t feel like vomiting.

  By the time we said goodbye, Gio’s face was red and even Carlos was grinning. I was so far past the stage of unbuttoning my pants I was considering making a Snuggie out of napkins and wearing it home. Then I realized I wasn’t even wearing pants. I still had my sundress on, but I was so full I hadn’t even noticed.

  My dress swooshed around my body as we stood up and kissed a somewhat drunk Gio goodbye on the cheek. This time, I’m pretty sure he didn’t even attempt to hit my cheek. He dove straight in for a kiss on the mouth, lingering just a second too long.

  “Goooodbye,” he sang. “Goooodbye!”

  “Thanks for dinner,” I said, wiping my face. “And for your hospitality.”

  Gio bobbed his head and smiled like he did anytime I spoke. Except for the slobbery kisses, I liked him. Gio never asked me difficult questions, and he smiled at everything I said. He also didn’t understand me, and sometimes, that was a bonus.

  To my surprise, I watched Carlos blink a few times as we walked away.

  I squinted. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be. But then it happened again.

  Was he…? I stared intently at my grandfather.

  “What?” he growled. Any sign of emotion was gone now. “Stop looking at me.”

  “Gio’s nice,” I said, aiming for nonchalance. “He’s your friend from the olden days?”

  “Olden days?”

  “You know, a long time ago.”

  Instead of arguing, Carlos gave a quick shake of his head. “It doesn’t feel that long ago. Sometimes, it feels like just yesterday. Gio and I used to…” he trailed off, almost surprised to find himself indulging in a story. “Never mind.”

  “I want to hear,” I said.

  Carlos looked reluctant to say more, but eventually he continued. “Gio’s father hired us to work for him when I first came to the city. We made one lira a week, which was nothing, even then. We had good times working together.” Carlos paused to smile at a distant memory. “I remember Gio’s father would order dinner once a day. He had the worst memory—he’d give us an order and forget it the next second.”

  My heart warmed, and not because of the story. Because of the almost giddy gleam in Carlos’s eyes. “I’m guessing you two were trouble makers?”

  Carlos let out a bark of laughter. “Gio and I would see how many days of the week we could swap his father’s order to something completely different. He rarely noticed, but when he did…well, he’d let us know about it.”

  There was a good chance that Carlos had completely forgotten my presence. He continued on, staring ahead into nothingness. I looked forward to see if I, too, could see something, but there was nothing there except crumbling buildings and passing pedestrians.

  “Once, he ordered orzo and we gave him risotto!” Carlos slapped his knee and laughed until tears popped into his eyes. I played along, even though I didn’t really get it. It wasn’t like they’d swapped filet mignon for a hot dog. “Gio’s father was so upset he made us scrub the floor the entire night. We slept a few hours in the morning and went right back to work.”

  “Gio called you Carlo,” I said. “What was that about?”

  “It’s my name,” he said blankly. “You didn’t know?”

  “Everyone calls you Carlos.”

  “When we came to America we had to…” He cleared his throat. “We had to apply on a few occasions for visas. It’s difficult, you’ll understand. I had passports for all sorts of names: Carlo, Carlos, Carl, Carlito…I might have been any one of them. The name that got through successfully was Carlos, so I stuck with it.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No.”

  “Is Anthony’s real name Anthony?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “Think in your head first, like we talked about.”

  I threw my hands up. “If your name changed, why wouldn’t his?”

  Carlos just shook his head.

  We walked in silence the rest of the way home.

  When we reached the apartment building, I started for the staircase. Carlos reached out and stopped me before I opened the door.

  “I told you I started out of necessity as a thief,” Carlos said slowly. “And that much is true.”

  I glanced up and down the sidewalk, but nobody was paying us any attention. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

  “I don’t have to, but I want to clarify something.” He caught my gaze and held it. “When Nora and I left for America, we had nothing. Nothing except for each other. And when your spouse is hungry and lonely and needing for basic things, a man finds himself doing whatever it takes to ease his wife’s pain.”

  Carlos’s eyes watched mine, prisms of emotions reflecting back at me.

  “I don’t regret that, Lacey, but I didn’t have much of a choice. At least, I didn’t think I did.” He cleared his throat, glancing at the ground. “You have a choice. Don’t make the same one I did.”

  Chapter 17

  “This thing is incredible!” Meg held up an icy cocktail, waving as I returned to the bar after stepping outside for a brief phone call with Lizabeth. “I need the recipe.”

  I wrinkled my nose and sli
d into a seat. “It tastes like the bartender just poured every kind of alcohol in the bar into a single glass.”

  “Yeah, but they slapped a sexy name on it.” Meg looked down at the menu and sounded out the words. “I’m gonna start serving a fancy drink called the Negroni. Or better yet, the Meg-roni. Before you know it, Shotz is gonna be the next hot date spot.”

  “I’m not sure it’s got the right ambiance for a date spot,” I told her.

  “Well, it’s never too late.” She grinned. “Maybe I’ll change the name of the bar to Little Italiano or something. I mean, I’m pretty much one of the Family anyway, and now I’m gonna be serving these fancy little cocktails.”

  I took a sip of my house wine, a red blend that rocked my world. I hadn’t intended to order alcohol, but after my hike with Carlos I was thirsty and, in Italy, wine was cheaper than water. So really, it was a no brainer. Plus, they sent out a fancy little carafe with a reserve of extra wine—at no extra charge. Maybe I was in love with this country.

  “Anyway, how was your date with Carlos?” Meg eyed my full glass of wine. “That bad, huh?”

  “We walked and we talked,” I said with a one-shoulder shrug. “Nothing special.”

  “Um, scusi moi? Carlos talked?” Meg’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s pretty freakin’ special. What did he say?”

  “Mostly grunts.”

  “Eh, figures.”

  After Carlos had left me on the front steps pondering life all by my lonesome, I’d been rescued by the Queen of Camo. Meg and Clay had stomped back from the grocery store and found me still dazed from Carlos’s advice.

  Meg must have sensed something was wrong because she’d sent Clay straight upstairs, hooked my arm in hers, and marched me around the corner to a hole-in-the-wall bar.

  “Did you find anything on Alessandra?” I asked. “A name, location, anything?”

  “We found her name,” Meg said. “Actually, Clay did. I mostly napped.”

  I waited patiently. I took a sip of wine, and waited some more. Finally, I shook my head. “Well, would you like to tell me her real name?”