by S. A. Wolfe
“Yes. Insane.” She laughs. “What were we thinking? I hope nobody walked by our closed door and assumed that we were screwing.”
“People close their doors here all the time so they can shut out the noise and make phone calls.”
“Except Carson. You never told me why you tore his door off the hinges.”
I sigh, embracing her tighter so I can kiss the top of her head. “That was a bad time. I don’t want to talk about that now.”
Emma tilts her head up and her eyes are like warm, inviting pools of chocolate with swirls of amber liquid that make me dismiss my doubts about myself and us, at least temporarily. I know this won’t last. It never does.
“Any time you want me to nail you, or do anything else for that matter, text me.”
“Dylan, we have to chill it on the sex-at-work. This is wrong.” She shakes her head and that sexy, demanding voice from earlier is replaced with Miss Worker Bee.
“Hey, thanks for making my day. Now that I know this turns you on, I’m going to wear this tool belt everywhere. The grocery store, the gas station, in every room of the house.”
Emma smirks and stands next to her chair, looking very prim and proper again. I walk over to the door, unlock it and swing it open. I lean against the doorframe as we both take in the obvious silence of an empty office that has gone to lunch.
“Yeah, everyone is lining up to see us.” I grin.
“Shush, we got lucky, that’s all,” she whispers. “I’m going to run to the restroom to freshen up. Give me a ten-second head start so it doesn’t look like we’re going together.”
“Ah, geez. You’re funny.”
As she grabs her purse and sails out the door and down the hall, I am two steps behind her. She looks over her shoulder, scowls at me then quickens her pace to get to the women’s restroom. I laugh as I enter the men’s room. When I finish, I wait in the hall for her, leaning against the opposite wall. She exits the restroom and glares at me.
“You’re not supposed to wait around for me—it blows our cover,” she whispers.
“What cover?” I laugh. “I’m feeling very energetic for some reason. I think I’m going to check on some things in the factory and then I’m going to bring you back a sandwich since you didn’t get all the necessary nutrients for a well-rounded lunch. How does that sound?”
She’s about to say something when one of her damn burner phones rings in her bag.
“Unless it’s your grandmother, I know this can’t be good.”
Emma pulls the phone out of her bag. “Yes?” she answers, looking at me.
I’m not leaving until I have a full report on that phone call.
She is quiet while she looks down at the floor. “Okay. That should work. I’ll see you soon.”
I hate the sound of that.
Sixteen
Emma
It was like any other day until Robby Marchetto saved me.
Behind Ray’s Pizza, my girlfriends and I are carrying our pizza slices to an empty picnic table. A few tables away, Robby Marchetto and his friends are eating and laughing, capturing the attention of every girl and envious guy around him.
Robby is enigmatic, handsome, on the verge of being a man at eighteen, and I always notice him. I am fifteen, still an invisible wallflower to Robby’s circle. I will never be tall and voluptuous, but my rail thin figure has finally sprouted some curves, and my face is blooming into a simple prettiness, giving me a hopeful boost that maybe boys will start asking me out.
As I follow my friends out of the pizza shop, I sneak peeks at Robby’s gorgeousness—his dark hair that he rakes with his fingers so it flops carelessly around his pretty face; his tan, muscular body from days spent at the Jersey shore; and that impossibly perfect smile that makes girls fall in love with him and fantasize about being his girlfriend. I am no different than those silly, young girls. Robby Marchetto is my idea of the perfect boy.
As I carry my food to my table and glance at Robby letting out a rambunctious laugh, an older boy—a senior from a rival school—blocks my way. Startled, I attempt to walk around him.
“Hey, sweetness. You’re pretty. Who are you with?” he says and I freeze, unaccustomed to having any boy talk to me like that.
He’s tall—another popular jock—and attractive with his own following, but nothing like Robby. I stammer, perhaps mumble an “excuse me” to get back to my friends, but the boy doesn’t let me pass.
“I’m with my friends,” I finally say and try to walk around him.
He grabs my arm in a hostile way, making me nervous.
“Why don’t you come sit with me and my friends? I’d like to have a pretty, little thing like you next to me.” He smiles, yet there is a cruelty in his tone.
“She’s cute,” one of his friends says, sitting at their table only a few feet from me.
“I wouldn’t mind that sweet mouth going down on me,” the boy in front of me says.
I panic. My friends’ table is farther away, and they have no idea that I have been separated from them.
The boy’s presence bombards my brain with all sorts of warning signs. I consider dropping my pizza and slugging his face with my backpack. Before I can react, the boy is thrown to the ground, and Robby Marchetto is sitting on his chest, pummeling his face with his fists.
“Don’t you fucking touch her, asshole, or I’ll damage you so bad that no one will recognize your face!”
I drop my pizza and watch as Robby defends me. I look around at the other picnic tables; all the students are watching Robby defend my honor. I feel sick to my stomach watching that boy get the beating of his life, however I also feel a joyful quickening, elated that Robby is doing this for me.
As Robby stands up, he gives the kid one final, swift kick in the gut. The boy groans—he’s next to tears—and rolls over in pain, but Robby yanks him to his feet effortlessly.
“Apologize to her!”
The boy’s nose is bleeding and his cheeks are swelling into purple mounds. He looks at me and that cocky smugness is gone. He looks scared and demoralized.
“Sorry,” he mumbles to me.
Robby shoves him back to his table where his shocked friends remain silent.
“Wait here,” Robby tells me softly.
He goes to his own table, picks up a plate with a slice of pizza and comes back to me. He then puts his hand on my back and walks me to my friends who are gaping in awe.
“Sit down. You can have mine,” he says, placing the slice of pizza in front of me.
I am too stunned and nervous to say anything, so I sit as instructed.
He leans in close to me, and I turn to see his beautiful features up close, an inch from me. Those dreamy eyes and the lips every girl fantasizes about kissing are right within my reach.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yes, thank you.” I finally say something to show him I am a living, breathing girl.
“Good.” His mouth curves into a slight smile. “If you ever have any problems with any of these guys, Emma, you let me know.”
I nod, dumbfounded that he knows my name.
“Everyone calls me Robby. I hate that. You can call me Robert, okay?”
“Okay,” I manage to reply.
He goes back to his table with the popular seniors and lunch resumes, yet I am in a delirious daze for the rest of the day, perhaps the week.
I know in a few months he’ll be leaving for college and I will be stuck in high school, pining over a boy who will be dating girls his own age. However, I am in love with Robert Marchetto, and right then, I am the giddiest fifteen-year-old. I will hold this torch for him all through high school and college, through boyfriends I compare to Robert because of that one day and his chivalrous act that left me wanting more.
***
“Emma,” Dylan says as I hang up the phone.
As we walk back to our office, Robert’s call makes my shoulders slump.
I lean against my desk for stability while Dylan stands directly in front of me and crosses his arms, shielding himself from my bad news.
“It was Robert.”
“And? Are we meeting with him?” Dylan spits the words out like it’s something foul.
“Yes, but he didn’t say when. He just said he’ll see me soon.”
“Christ. I’ve had it with this guy.”
No sooner are those words out of his mouth than Daisy appears in the doorway, breathless and excited. “Emma, there is a gorgeous Roman god standing at the reception desk asking for you.”
I glance up at Dylan and his expression darkens with anger.
Daisy whisks herself away to accommodate the guest who makes everything else seem irrelevant. I can see why. As I round the corner of the reception counter with Dylan’s large presence behind me, I see Robert in a way that others see him. Impeccably dressed with a striking handsomeness that can be intimidating. His good-natured, easy-going charm is what reels people in. He is comfortable with himself and with anyone; it is an innate talent of putting others at ease to make them worship you.
“Robert.” My voice falters.
“Emma.” He glances at Dylan. “I was hoping we could go some place and talk.
“You can talk somewhere else,” Dylan says, taking command of the situation. “I’m going, too, but I’ll give you some privacy. Get your car and follow us out to Rupert’s Grill on the interstate. It’s loud enough so no one can hear you and the locals won’t be snooping.”
Robert doesn’t look too pleased with the arrangement, but he isn’t going to argue. Dylan takes my hand and walks by Robert, opening the door and leading me to his Jeep, which we drove in this morning. Robert follows us in a black Camry with Connecticut plates. Clearly his many friends are helping him stay off the grid as much as possible.
Dylan and I don’t speak on the way to the restaurant. He certainly wants to control the situation, and at the same time, he’s trying very hard to be patient with me and give me some leeway with this uncomfortable problem.
The parking lot is virtually empty as we pull in. Dylan gets out of the Jeep and rounds the vehicle to my side then opens the door and holds my hand as I jump out. His hand tightens its grip on me as Robert follows us into the restaurant. Once inside, we choose the bar section where the music is louder.
We haven’t shown any public displays of affection, but Dylan cups my face with one hand and kisses my cheek before walking two tables away where he can keep an eye on me and watch Robert’s face, I assume, since he won’t be able to hear our conversation. Dylan’s sudden territorial mark catches me off guard and leaves me feeling branded. It is an effective move on Dylan’s part. Robert’s eyes narrow in displeasure.
When we sit, a waitress stops by and introduces herself, keeping her attention on Robert the whole time and only giving me a cursory glance. She recites some appetizer specials, and Robert says those will be fine and then hands back the menus to get rid of her. I glance over my shoulder at Dylan. His face is solemn with a fury skimming the surface and then he breaks it with a quick wink for me. My heart zings as I catch his mouth curve slightly.
Robert unbuttons his suit coat and rests his forearms on the table. “Are you two serious? You’ve only been here a few weeks.”
“We’re not going to talk about that.”
“Why not? We used to talk about everything, Emma.”
“We broke up last summer, which was almost a year ago. It’s over, Robert.” I shake my head at the memory of the screaming match that led to soft, understanding murmurs and joyless sex. Then he let me go, though perhaps in his mind it was with the understanding that all things are temporary, even break ups.
“It’s never been over for me. You know that.” His eyes glint as if they are watery. I have never seen Robert shed a single tear. It must be the lighting.
“I’m not little Emma, the teenage girl that crushed on you for years. And I’m not college Emma—I’m not that person any more. What’s wrong? Why are you here?”
“You’re the only good thing I remember. Everything has gone to shit in my life. My family, my career, my friends, and those promises my dad made to keep me out were a lie. All of it was a lie. You were the only real thing in my life. You were the only good person. You loved me.”
His voice still shows his strong will, yet there is an undercurrent, a hint of fear. This is a side of Robert that I have never witnessed before. A teenage girl always expects her knight to be bold and larger than life—forever; she never envisions something that could bring him to his knees because that isn’t part of the fairy tale.
For years I only saw Robert through that teenage girl’s eyes. When we dated, I was swept up in a tidal wave of love and lust, his kindness, and the way he protected me like he did for little Emma. Sitting before me now is a man who is breaking. He has kept the veneer in place, yet the breath of life seems to be seeping out of him. His eyes look sorrowful, and I can’t help feeling a bit sad for him. I reach out and place my hand on his.
“So this guy must really care about you. He brought in a team to keep you safe from me, I’m guessing,” Robert says, tilting his head to his right.
I look to my left. At the bar I see Cooper settling onto a stool. He nods at me, and for the first time, he doesn’t look like the cute, funny Cooper from work. I see him the way others see him: a tough, leather-clad, unshaven biker.
My surprise at seeing Cooper doesn’t go unnoticed by Robert.
“I’m pretty sure there’s another one behind me,” Robert says with a little smile.
I lean to my left to look past him, and sure enough, Carson is sitting three tables behind Robert. Carson looks just as rough with his longish hair and scruffy face. He puts his sunglasses on the table and checks his phone but glances up at me. Our eyes meet, and I realize that, whoever orchestrated this army of support, is a unified front against Robert. It makes me feel that much safer.
I slowly pull my hand back from Robert’s.
“I heard your dad is in trouble,” I say, wondering where to begin.
“Good, old Dad. He’s worse than… he’s setting me up, Emma. Remember that drug bust from two years ago? The one that made its rounds in three different states?”
“The one that hit all those colleges and they questioned all those students?”
“Yeah, it was an eight-figure deal and some of my dad’s guys went down in that.”
“I remember,” I respond, thinking back to that year at college and how I had become unhappy with Robert. He was anxious, short-tempered, and angry at his father, yet he refused to talk to me about it.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Emma. I’m taking you into the city for a little vacation. We’ll get away from school and forget where we grew up for a while. Just you and me. And we can talk about our future.”
I remember that time very well.
Robert had just started working at the prestigious law firm. He thought he had unbound the chains that shackled him to his gritty childhood when his father had been working his way up in the organization. Robert had wanted to be as far away from it as possible and I had, too. The dirty money that paid for his family to live well and afford him an exceptional education weighed on him heavily with guilt, though he wouldn’t talk about that. It’s one of the things I admired about him—his desire to be better, and to do something legitimate with his life that wouldn’t be an extension of his father’s corruption.
This is also how I’ve justified being with Robert. I felt we were cut from the same cloth; we didn’t choose to be in that bleak world of criminals, our fathers put us there. Together, Robert and I would expunge ourselves from the harsh reality of the violent organization that surrounded us.
We were dreamers, and the young Emma in me had still been in love with Robert. He had been my beautiful savior, the boy who would protect me. Five years after the pizza shop incident, when he saw me in my father’s offi
ce and immediately asked me out, my heart slammed against my chest and did a back flip. I was twenty at the time and his attention had wiped out the memory of every boyfriend and date before him.
It wasn’t just that he was a perfect specimen of masculine beauty; I saw the inner side of Robert, a good soul that wanted to be better than his father and the men in his family before him. The world saw him as a wealthy, handsome man who could parade around with a pretty woman on his arm and live a lifestyle of means that most don’t acquire.
It’s true—the expensive cars, clothing, restaurants and trips have come from blood money. I’m not going to kid myself into thinking it’s anything less heinous than that. It is also true that Robert and I became kindred spirits in our decision to cut those ties and make it on our own.
When he had been hired by the law firm, Robert stopped accepting money and gifts from his father. He purchased a modest, one-bedroom condo in a Jersey suburb and visited me on weekends at college, taking me on nice but affordable getaways in the city. Sometimes he would book a room at an inexpensive hotel near campus and we would spend the weekend together, eating take-out and watching movies while I also caught up on my studies.
I had loved him. I had imagined that there would be a future of a blissful marriage, a home with children, and careers we could both be proud of. It was easy to love Robert then. He was the same starry-eyed romantic as me, and he’d treated me with loving care and a resolve to make things right against the twisted world we’d grown up in.
It didn’t go as planned, though. Before the drug-ring bust, other incidents regarding the Marchetto family were splintering Robert’s optimism and future plans. There were times he would show up at my college apartment to pick me up when he was quiet and removed, angry about something he refused to discuss. He would say he was protecting me from ugly truths, but what good is a relationship where someone is kept in the dark?
My idea that we were more than lovers, that we were partners, became increasingly difficult to believe as I realized Robert was becoming secretive, and with that, more needy for my attention and approval.