by Gina LaManna
I glared at Meg, but she’d squeezed her eyes shut.
“No, you can’t take me,” I said. “But anything else, feel free.”
“I don’t want you,” the person behind the gun said. He pulled the mask over his head and let it drop to the seat beside him. “I don’t understand how they wear those things in movies. Whenever I breathe it fogs up my glasses.”
The man—or should I say boy—behind the mask was no more than fifteen years old. He had hair as orange as Joey’s skin and was as skinny as Joey was muscled.
“Hey, I know you.” I pointed, my hand still above my head. “You were at the laundromat. You almost gave me a freaking bloody nose. Only the twins beat you to it.”
“No, I wasn’t.” The kid’s face turned such a brilliant shade of red that it bordered on purple.
“Yes, you were. You were talking to Clarissa and Marissa. You’re not Russian, are you?” I glanced skeptically at his hair.
“Nah, he ain’t,” Meg cut in. “He’s one of those whatchamacallits. An Irelandian.”
“Irish? Probably,” I agreed. “Only explanation for that head of hair.”
“No, I’m not. I’m Italian.” His face nearly steamed with anger.
I laughed a hearty laugh and Meg guffawed.
“Seriously,” Meg said. “I hear some people from the islands in the Caribbean are permanently sunburned. You sure you’re not one of them suckers?”
“I’m positive. My name is Alfonso Campani.” He took a deep breath and his freckles expanded from the exertion. “I’m Leo’s nephew. And I’m Italian.”
I paused. Part of the reason was because we potentially had Leo’s nephew in the car with us. The second reason was because the gun was twitching dangerously close to my right nostril.
“Okay, I believe you,” I lied. “But please do not pick my nose with that gun. Set it on the seat next to you, and we’ll talk.”
“Why should I?” He clicked off the safety.
I spoke as slowly as possible. “You came here for a reason, didn’t you? I’m assuming it wasn’t to kill me. Because if you’re as Italian as you say you are, then you know you’d be signing your own death certificate. Carlos doesn’t let his Family members die without consequences.”
“Yeah, not even if he hates you. Carlos don’t even like Lacey, but he’d shoot you between the eyes if you killed her.” Meg looked far too pleased with herself.
I glared at her bluntness, but I spoke to the boy. “Do you want to wind up in a body bag? How old are you? Fifteen? I bet you don’t have your license yet.”
“I bet you ain’t ever even had a honey. You wanna learn how to handle a woman? I’ll give you your first kiss if you let us go in peace.” Meg puckered up her more than plump lips.
Poor Alfonso flinched and set the gun on the seat next to him.
“Don’t let her kiss me,” he warned in my direction.
“Meg, you need to stop offering your body to men holding guns. It’s never worked once.” I patted her on the shoulder. “It’s a nice gesture, but honestly, not necessary.”
“I don’t mind.” Meg looked a little disgruntled as she fluffed up her breasts.
Alfonso groaned, and his skin morphed from red to green like a set of Christmas lights.
“Puke outside the car only, buddy,” I said.
“He’s just not ready for a real woman, is all.” Meg said.
“Exactly.” I patted her leg.
Alfonso finished dry heaving and then plunked himself back in his seat.
“Tell us why you’re here,” I said.
“I know who killed Leo Campani.” He nodded seriously. “I was going to tell Carlos at the laundromat, but your weirdo cousin kicked me out.”
“How on earth did you expect to get to the back room at your age? You’re a nobody. I’m his granddaughter and that was the first time I was ever invited back.”
“Yeah, but I had information.” Alfonso puffed out his chest. “And I’m a boy.”
I stuck my finger in his face. “Don’t you ever say that again or I’m going to force you to make out with Meg.”
Alfonso gagged briefly, but recovered more quickly this time. “Sorry. But I figured someone wanted to know who’d killed my Uncle. Uncle Leo worked for the Mob.”
Alfonso again puffed out his chest in a way that made him look like a constipated penguin. He looked so proud of his Uncle, when in reality Leo had been nothing but a sleazy associate with no future in the business.
“So, who did it?” I asked.
“I did.” Alfonso smiled. “I killed him.”
Now it was my turn to gape openly at the kid. “What on earth? Why would you kill anyone? Especially your own Uncle? And especially anyone with ties to the Family?”
“He’s suicidal,” Meg quipped.
“Am not,” snarled Alfonso. “But I want to be part of the Mafia. I’m Italian. I’m tough. I killed my own Uncle. I made my bones.”
“I don’t think you understand how this business works,” I said. “You don’t just pick someone to kill and immediately you’re in. The orders come down from the top and you have to carry out the mission. Your Uncle wasn’t even a made-man. He never got the instructions. He’s never killed anyone, Alfonso.”
“Yes, he has. He’s killed loads of people, he told me!” Alfonso put his hands on his hips, but a gleam in his eye reflected the first bit of fear. “You’re just discriminating because I have red hair.”
“I’m not,” I said. “My name is Lacey. My mother didn’t even give me an Italian name.”
“Yeah, but you got a big, fat Italian nose, dark hair and tan skin. You look Italian. I look friggin’ Irish.” Alfonso scowled.
“Yeah, but you can overcome your beauty issues,” Meg said. “I have a hair artist that can work wonders. She could even do your eyebrows and your pubes if ya ask nice enough.”
“Really?” Alfonso looked her way. “I mean… no.” He flushed and looked in my direction. “What do you mean Uncle Leo hasn’t killed anyone?”
“Leo was a scumbag and a low man on the totem pole,” I said. “No offense, man. The only reason Carlos even cared is because he wanted to make sure it wasn’t a Russian attack. In fact, he’ll be happy to hear it was just a kid. Again, no offense.”
“Offense taken to the second, not to the first. That’s why I killed Leo—‘cause nobody liked him anyways. Even my ma said he was a skeezeball, and she was his sister. I did you guys a favor.” Alfonso’s lip quivered.
“Well, I’d give you an A for effort, but that would be illegal. You can’t just walk around killing people,” I said sensibly.
“Carlos won’t protect me?” His lip really shook now.
“Carlos doesn’t even know you,” I said. “I’m sorry, but we’re gonna have to turn you in.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a former cop,” Meg said. “Too bad for you. Maybe if you didn’t vomit when I offered to kiss you I’d be lighter on my sentence, but it’s too late now.”
The look in the kid’s eyes turned to all out panic. He fumbled with the door handle for a few seconds while I groped for his arms and the gun slid under the seat. He managed to unlock the door and wiggle out of the small hole. I grabbed the edge of his jacket, but he’d already started sprinting away. I righted myself from the car and turned to chase a second man into the graveyard. By the time I’d righted myself, I nearly tripped over a mass of flesh and squeals not three feet from the car.
“One step ahead of ya, sister.” Meg smiled from her perch on Alfonso’s chest. “Guess I haven’t lost it all.”
“What do we do with him?” I asked.
“Kill him. Or give him to the cops. Or give him to Carlos. Those two are probably your only options.” Meg nodded.
“That’s more than two options,” Alfonso pointed out.
“Not really,” said Meg. “Since Carlos will just kill you anyway, the end result is the same. So, what will it be? Killed or cops?”
“Not looking good,”
I said.
“NO!” wailed the boy.
“I’ll tell you what. I am going to make a judgment call here.” I looked at Meg. “If this… child killed his Uncle, I have the feeling that’s not something Carlos has time to deal with. He doesn’t get involved in things like this.”
Meg crossed her arms. “Only when it’s like, a bazillion dollars.”
“Right. And he definitely doesn’t want his hands dirty with this, especially if he didn’t even like Leo in the first place.”
“What are you saying?” Meg asked.
“Just let me in the Family.” Alfonso broke in, his eyes watering a bit.
“Sorry, they don’t allow crying in the Fam. Or so I hear, I’m not Italian myself,” Meg said.
“I’m not crying.” He wiped his eyes hastily.
“Let’s bring him to the cops. They can do a more thorough investigation. If it turns out to be him, great. They’ll lock him up or put him in juvie or whatever it is they do, and we still get paid. Carlos doesn’t have to worry about the Russians—we’re all happy. If it turns out not to be him, they let him go, and we don’t waste our time.” Meg nodded.
“And if it isn’t him, then we jump right back in the case,” I added.
“That sounds good,” Meg said. “We can still poke around in the meantime at the bar just in case.”
“It’s perfect,” I said. “Except for one thing.”
“When you say one thing like that, it usually turns out to be one very big thing.” Meg narrowed her eyes at me.
“This is a little thing.” I smiled. “I have a training session with Anthony in thirty minutes, and I really can’t miss it. He might kill me.”
Meg nodded again. “Either that or just not ever have sex with you. Which could kill you, I suppose.”
She leaned down to Alfonso, which wasn’t far as she was still splayed on his chest. “That man is a hunk of fiery love.”
“Burning love,” Alfonso said.
Meg stared him down.
“What? I’m just correcting the song lyrics.” Alfonso shrunk back.
“That’s a song? Damn, I’m in the wrong business. I could be the next Britney, don’t you think?” Meg fluffed her hair so that it flew right into Alfonso’s face.
Alfonso spat in an effort to clear his mouth of her long strands. “Britney after her meltdown and two kids.”
“Now, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day. Keep it up, pal.” Meg stood and tugged the kid to his feet. “Get in the car before I change my mind and squeeze the dickens out of you.”
Meg snapped a pair of handcuffs on him. She’d probably forgotten to return them, along with a few guns and a cop car, when she changed careers.
“What should we do with him?” I asked. “I’d drop him at the station now, but the police have a nosy business of asking questions and wanting us to fill out paperwork, and I just don’t have time for that.”
“I know. You drop me off at your apartment. Me and Clay will watch him while you go train and then when you come back we drop him at the police station.”
“You are a rock star,” I said, giving her a huge high five.
“I told ya I could be the next Britney!”
“Right. Can you sing?”
She pursed her lips as we climbed in the car. “Does that matter these days?”
“What are you doing with me?” The prepubescent redhead sullenly glared at us.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Meg winked.
Alfonso turned as white as his teeth.
We pulled onto the freeway and he remained silent the entire ride to my apartment. As I dropped him and Meg outside my door, the latter making odd kissing noises the entire time, I thought I heard Alfonso squeak, “Watch it, I’m a minor.”
“You’re not my type,” Meg said, then patted his butt. He yelped and jumped forward onto the artfully decorated front stairs.
Chapter 3
“Doll.”
I nearly leapt out of my sweatpants—which wouldn’t have been a difficult task as they were plenty loose. Between my sweatshirt and sweatpants, I think I could have surrounded the earth once with all the material swathing my body.
Anthony no-last-name happened to be my kind-of-trainer, former body guard, and sort-of-crush. He stood well over six feet tall and was made of solid muscle, though it fit handsomely within his skin. He had dark, wavy hair situated just right, complementing his dark brown eyes that melted from dark chocolate to a milky cappuccino depending on his mood.
He wore a black, long-sleeved shirt made of spandex-like material that fit so tightly it could have been painted on. Sharp, black trainer pants sat snugly at his chiseled waist, just underneath a tasty rack of abs.
A tiny tattoo of the word Italy peeked out above the neck of his shirt, and I often wondered if it wasn’t the result of a drunken weekend in Vegas; that sort of tattoo seemed so out of character for the perfectly maintained specimen that was Anthony. Though whether he even drank alcohol or ever lost control was beyond me. It didn’t seem like he was the type. Then again, I didn’t even know his last name.
All of these reasons added up to the larger reason that I was wearing enough clothes to house a polar bear. I had taken to wearing baggy clothes after a run in with Anthony at the gym hot tub that had nearly caused me to faint on the spot. Or orgasm. Sometimes they felt similar. I was trying out a natural method of birth control: dressing like a man in order to remind both Anthony and myself that I shouldn’t be attractive to him.
It seemed to be working, as he hadn’t made any advances after rescuing me from a crazy Jewish man who’d been posing as an innocent, struggling Italian. Maybe it was the clothes that did the trick, or maybe it was the fact that he worked for my grandfather, the Godfather. It was difficult to tell.
“Doll,” he said again.
I blinked and brought my eyes up to meet his. “Hey, what’s up? I missed ya, pal.” I smacked his shoulder lightly.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry, rough day,” I explained. “I’m still a little bit wired.”
“I can tell. I can help you with that if you want.” Anthony leaned forward and rested his hand on my side, on that tingling, sensitive area right between my hip and my stomach.
I flinched and leaned into him, blushing so hard that I must have turned as red as Alfonso’s hair.
“I, uh, don’t know about that,” I stammered.
“What do you mean?” Anthony backed away.
“I mean, I just—I’m confused.” I trailed off, looking for help.
“Did you or did you not come here today for a training session?” The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
“Oh! Oh, yeah. Exactly. I’ve been working out so much lately, I think it’s making me scatter-brained. Maybe I need a few days off.” I crinkled my nose.
“Hmm, I see. Two days off wasn’t enough?” His eyes glittered. It was obvious he knew that my mind had temporarily taken up residence in the gutter.
“Oh, just stop it already. You know what I mean,” I said.
He caught me again, right in the middle of the lobby with one hand on each of my hips. He leaned his head close to my ear and whispered, “I have alternative methods of burning calories. Just say the word, sugar.”
I meant to swat him away, but it took me a full thirty seconds to move. My body was frozen next to his. I enjoyed closing my eyes and pretending for a second that we didn’t have a crazy, complicated connection, made even trickier due to the fact that we worked together. He smelled manly: a hint of pine and lemon on his skin, and an expensive, heavenly musk clinging to his clothes.
“So?” he asked against my ear. “Which will it be?”
“Uh, treadmill. Bicep curls. Maybe the elliptical if I’m feeling frisky.” I took a step backwards.
“All right, then go get changed and we’ll get started.”
“This is what I’m wearing.” I looked down at my clothes and gave a sharp nod of approval.
“Are you trying to repel all men, women and children with your choice of clothing?” He eyed me up and down with an amused tilt to his chin.
“Kind of.” I jutted my chin out defiantly.
“Well, it’s not working. If you think clothing can stop a man on a mission… Honey, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
I followed Anthony as he sprinted up the three flights of stairs to the cardio equipment. I felt like I’d completed my work out by the time I got to the top, wondering the whole time exactly what sort of mission he had in mind.
*
“I have a question,” I huffed, pausing mid-curl with five-pound weights.
“Keep going,” barked Anthony.
I curled once more. “If you had—” I gasped.
“You’re at eight,” Anthony shouted. “Two more to go.”
I squeezed one more out.
“Nine,” Anthony counted.
I heaved a large breath and prepared to do my last curl. “Somebody locked up who had killed someone, what would you do with them?”
Anthony stared back at me. Then he shook his head.
“One more,” he growled.
“Fine.” I grunted and completed my last curl.
“Now, was that a made up excuse to get out of exercise—or do you really have somebody locked up?”
I walked to the drinking fountain and didn’t make eye contact as I muttered, “Kind of.”
“You should not keep murderers hanging around. Is he at your house?”
“Also kind of.”
“You have got to stop these meetings with dangerous criminals. Do you understand me?” Anthony sat me next to him on the bench, probably harder than was necessary.
“I get it. But it’s not like I send out invitations to tea and crumpets with the entrance fee of a body. They just stumble into me. Literally.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Fine, I’ll try,” I huffed, and realized we both had our arms crossed. I gave a small smile. “So, can you help me?”
“Are you going to give me any information?”
I half-rolled my eyes and then stopped, reminding myself I actually did need his help. I explained some of the situation, leaving out other, less important parts.