“If you do that,” Ro said, “we’d need screens to separate the two places. People don’t need to see a messy work area when they come in.”
That’s my pal. Ro might moan a little, but she had a sense of style that would rival the Versace’s. Precisely why Lucie gave her a job designing doggie accessories. Making this place look good would be just the challenge she craved.
By now, Ro had one eye open. As if opening both might tax her. Lucie held out her arms. “Well?”
“We’d have to replace the floors. Under all this dirt, the linoleum is broken. We’ll do laminate. It’s easy to care for, and if you get a decent one, it looks like wood.”
“Sure. And we can repaint.”
“Of course. You realize Petey’s is two doors down.”
Lucie had long despised Petey’s. The food was terrific, but throughout her life, Petey’s had been the place her father and his crew ran their “business.” She’d spent years trying to rise above being Joe Rizzo’s daughter. Her father’s current prison stint hadn’t helped her anti-mob-princess campaign or their sometimes-strained relationship. Lucie had dealt with it. For her mother’s sake. Her mother had been the consistent parent. No matter what, she’d always been present, attentive, and loving. She’d nursed all wounds—physical and emotional.
“There’s nothing I can do about Petey’s. If this place were on the other side of town, I’d be thrilled. But it’s not. This is what we can afford.”
“Despite the possibility of seeing Frankie every damned day since he can’t go twenty-four hours without a meatball sandwich?”
Yeah. That too.
Frankie, her currently off-again boyfriend of four years was also a family friend. His father and Lucie’s father were the closest of friends. At least her father thought so. Lucie? She wasn’t sure she understood anything about her father’s relationships.
Regardless, Ro was right. Petey’s was the epicenter of bad Karma.
Including the day three months ago when she’d gone to Frankie’s, Petey’s meatball sandwich in hand, and he’d hit her with the news. And now, Lucie stood in the mess that was Carlucci’s, trying not to think of that day. Even if her mind battled the memory, her heart ripped itself open and wailed.
Damned broken heart bringing it all back to her.
She’d been standing in Frankie’s living room, holding that stupid bag with the stupid meatball sandwich while he stared at her, his eyes a little sad.
“Luce,” he said, “we need to talk.”
No. They didn’t. Because every time she’d said those words to him, it meant she needed a break. Not necessarily from him, but from the life. Taking a break from the life included Frankie because, despite his determination to stay legitimate, his sense of loyalty bonded him to his family and friends. And those people had no interest in going legit. That loyalty extended to his father, even after he’d put Lucie in danger to protect a twenty-year-old secret.
She set the meatball sandwich on the end table, and with her head pounding and a bead of sweat rolling down her shoulder blades, she slid to the sofa. “Oh, Frankie.”
Ignoring the sandwich, he sat beside her, grabbed both her hands. “Luce, I need a break.”
And, oh, those words imploded her chest, just boom, total annihilation. Worse? She’d done this to him countless times. Always using that exact I-need-a-break phrasing. As the pain ripped her apart, she finally understood how those four little words could decimate a life. She squeezed her eyes closed, fought the tears. Each time she’d done this to him, he’d been downright supportive. Not making a fuss or hurling insults or laying on guilt. Knowing her demons, he’d simply let her go.
Which she would now have to do. She couldn’t be mad. Not at him.
“It’s okay, Frankie.”
“I’ve been loyal to everyone for so long, I’ve become a doormat.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yeah, it is. I’m done with that. I don’t want to leave you, but I’ve waited years for you to get comfortable. Now, I’m not comfortable. I need to walk away and get my head together. We just had this major blowup with my dad and I need to figure out how this thing with him and your family will play out.”
She nodded. “I don’t want to let our relationship go. I love you too much for that. So this time, I’ll do the waiting.” And then, that sadness in her chest surged and she breathed in, closed her eyes. No tears. Please. He deserved to be happy. Even if it hurt her.
“Luce—”
“You don’t have to explain. Not to me. I’m just… sad. But I’ll wait, and hopefully, you’ll come back to me.”
He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. “I love you, Luce. Always will.”
“Excellent. Then I have nothing to worry about.”
He grinned. “Wanna have sex? Leave me a reminder of what I’ll miss.”
She rolled her eyes. Some things would never change. “I’ll do better than that.”
A spark lit in Frankie’s eyes and she was sure it involved something leather and kinky.
“I’m listening,” he said.
She propped her elbow on the table, extended her fingers and waited for him to entwine his hand with hers. “Are you ready for this?”
“Ready.”
She squeezed his hand. “This will be a sacrifice, but I will let you keep that meatball sandwich I brought you.”
And she had. She’d handed over the bag and walked out of his house, hoping the break would be a short one.
That had been three months ago, and she’d been doing her best to avoid seeing him. Not that either of them was bitter. On the contrary, they often spoke on the phone. But right now, Frankie needed his space. For the first time in their history, he was the one who’d called off their relationship.
So, Lucie killed time until they eventually worked it out and got back together.
That’s how it was with them. The love between them was a potent thing and they both just plain stunk at resisting it.
“What about the back room?”
Ro’s voice broke through Lucie’s mind travel, and she turned to see her friend still standing in the doorway.
“The back room? It’s a mess. A bunch of boxes in there. We’ll have to go through them. I’ll do that.”
“What about a bathroom? God help us, I can only imagine what that looks like.”
Lucie wandered to the doorway leading to another smaller room. Probably the old stock room. Yep. Five short rows of shelving units filled the much smaller space. They’d store their accessory supplies back here. Or even make it the sewing room. She’d have to think about it. To her left was another door. She opened it and found a small bathroom with a white sink—circa 1965—and a toilet that should have had a pull cord. The sink and toilet were both rust-stained and the grout on the black and white checked floor looked like it had seen the wrong end of a chain saw.
“How is it?” Ro asked from the doorway.
“The bathroom is… um… It needs work.”
“Hey,” came Joey’s voice from where Ro stood. “What are you nutty broads doing?”
“Your sister is thinking about renting this dinosaur. I refuse to enter.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes!” Lucie said. “Come back here. I need you to see this.”
Her brother had become fairly handy since their father’s incarceration two years ago. If she could negotiate the owner replacing the floor and paying for a new toilet and sink, Joey might be able to install them.
“Roseanne,” Joey said, “your ass looks great today.”
Ro made a pffting noise. “You’d better believe it does.”
“Hey! She’s married.”
Ro laughed. “But my ass still looks good. That’s the important thing.”
“And last time I checked, Luce, my vision was still twenty/twenty.”
Terrific. Barbarian flirting. What more could a girl want?
“This place,” Joey said, “is a hole.”
He stuck his head in the bathroom and his tight-lipped expression, so classically their father, temporarily stunned her. Joey had always had her father’s dark features, but as he got older, he’d become more and more the angles of Dad and less the softness of Mom.
After sniffing once, he winced. She couldn’t blame him. The smell could gas a town.
“If I get the owner to pay for the supplies, can you install a sink and toilet?”
Joey shrugged. “I’ll do you one better. I got a plumber who owes me money. I’ll have him do it.”
“Is this one of your bookie-ing”—was bookie-ing a word?—“clients? I don’t want to be associated with your degenerate gamblers.”
Although her brother sometimes filled in as a dog walker at Coco Barknell, his main source of income was a bookmaking business. And Lucie hated that.
“Listen, goody-two-shoes, how do you think Ma’s plumbing gets fixed? The next time you take a dump, thank my degenerate gamblers.”
Still in the entryway, Ro laughed. “I do adore you, Joey.”
He leaned back and wiggled his eyebrows at her.
Good God.
“Does Mom know that? Not that Ro adores you. About the degenerates?”
“I guess. She tells me she needs a plumber and I tell her I’ll take care of it. We’re lucky this guy can’t pick a winner. She hasn’t paid a plumbing bill since Dad went away.”
“Luce,” Ro said, “you’d better take him up on this. Fixing this trap up will cost you. Save money where you can. Besides, since you pee at your mother’s, your integrity has already been compromised.”
Joey jerked his thumb in Ro’s direction and gave her one of his smart-ass perfect teeth smiles. “Good point.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“Joey,” Ro called, “what other contractors owe you money? She’ll need a flooring guy and a painter.”
Slippery slope, this one.
With Lucie on his heels, he left the bathroom and headed for the door. “Let me see what I can do.”
On the way out, he lightly smacked Ro’s ass. The one that looked great today.
She waved him away. “Hands off, big boy. Looking is one thing. Besides, you had your chance.”
Ew.
“Don’t remind me,” Joey said.
Recently, Ro had admitted to Lucie that she and Joey were an item for a few months while Lucie was in graduate school. But her brother couldn’t commit and Ro had moved on. Lucie wasn’t sure she was exactly comfortable with her brother and Ro having done the nasty. So she stood in the middle of the filthy floor, avoiding eye contact with her best friend because the visions swimming in her mind were too much.
Lucie stifled an ick face. “Sometimes I wish I still didn’t know about you two.”
Ro shrugged. “He really has a sweet side. You don’t see it because you’re his sister. But that’s old news. And with the state of my life right now, not worth rehashing.”
Ro loved her husband. Prior to a month ago, he’d been a good, solid guy and that’s what she needed. Someone to cool her fire once in a while. Except, last month that good, solid guy, who was also president of the Franklin town council, got caught in a strip club doing things he shouldn’t have been doing.
“How are things at home?”
Ro let out a heavy breath, then studied the molding around the ceiling for a few seconds before finally meeting Lucie’s gaze. “You mean my stripper-banging husband? He’s lucky I don’t stab him in his sleep. It takes incredible restraint, you know. I keep telling him not to close his eyes.”
“I’m sorry, Ro.”
She rubbed her nose a couple of times, sniffled, and shrugged. Ro wasn’t a crier. Hated it. She’d sooner cut off her own leg than cry in front of anyone, but Lucie knew the signs. Inside, Ro was coming apart.
“Eh,” Ro said. “It’s only a broken heart. It’ll get better. What do you think about this dump? Is it our new headquarters?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“If you can get it cleaned up in roughly two weeks because that’s when my father comes home.”
“Two weeks!”
Lucie raised her hands before Ro started yelling. “It could be three. I’m sorry! I just found out. They’re having an overcrowding issue and they’re paroling him early.”
Lucie’s father had been locked up over an income tax issue. Not exactly the violent offense the government would have liked to have nailed Joe Rizzo on, but they took what they could get. Lucie suspected the feds were still trying to build a case on her father—they’d been at it for years—but they obviously didn’t have enough evidence to bring him to trial again, and since he’d been a model prisoner, they were letting him out early. Go figure.
And now she had to move her company headquarters from the dining room. Her dad would take one look at the boxes of fabric and sample racks and start yelling about getting that crap out of his house. Thanks for the support, Dad.
“It’s a good thing I love you,” Ro said. “Two weeks!”
“It doesn’t have to be finished. It just has to be usable.” Lucie moved to the side of the store where the design area would be. “Let’s get this half going. Then I can move all the stuff from the dining room here and set up a desk in the corner. We can work out of this half while the other half is being renovated. That’s doable, right?”
Ro put one finger up. “Cleanup.” Another finger. “Paint.” Another finger. “New floors.” Her pinkie. “Bathroom.”
“I’ll take care of cleaning out the back room. Joey will line up the contractors. All you’ll have to do is pick out the floor, fixtures, and paint. Is it a deal?”
“It’ll be a miracle.”
With that, she spun on her Prada sandals and marched away.
“Thank you,” Lucie called after her.
Finally alone in the store, she turned back and took it all in. In a few weeks, this broken-down mess would be the new corporate headquarters of Coco Barknell.
And her father would be home from prison.
Chapter Two
The following afternoon, Lucie stormed down Ashland Avenue with Bear, an overweight Great Dane who totally lacked an aggression gene, pulling her along. Bear may have looked like a force, but the dog was a complete lover. On the rare occasion someone approached to pet the behemoth, he’d go up on his hindquarters, drop his front paws on the person’s shoulders, and nearly knock them backward, aiming for a lick or twelve.
Their first week together, Lucie had learned not to give him much slack. As in any at all. Considering the heat today, and the melting asphalt, a dog his size shouldn’t be moving fast anyway.
In the subtle mayhem of Chicago traffic, a taxi driver sat on his horn. Bear halted, turned toward the offending sound, and let out three rapid-fire barks. That’ll teach him, Bear. Having added his opinion, Bear went back to searching the pavement for a good spot to relieve himself.
Oh, these dogs. If there ever came a time where she’d have to be in the office full-time, hopefully running her Fortune 500 company, she’d miss the quirky rascals. She wouldn’t miss schlepping around in snow in the winter, but being outside during the other three seasons, getting the air and exercise, wailing through the streets on her scooter from client to client, all of that she’d miss.
Somehow, even on busy days, it relaxed her. Made her feel not so trapped by life.
A chirp sounded from her pocket and she moved the leash into her other hand to check her phone. Mr. Lutz. Ahead of her, a group of pedestrians parted like the Red Sea to give Bear room, so it was as good a time as any to take a call.
“Hi, Mr. L.”
“Lucie? Hi. I got your note about the painting.”
After the conversation with Lauren, Lucie had taken pity on the eager student and left Mr. L. a note regarding the title of the painting. “Thanks for calling. You could have left me a note though.”
“It’s fine. What’s up?”
“My new part-timer is an art history major. She’s enthralled and wanted to know the title.”
A man in a suit, also talking on his phone, headed straight for them, obviously not paying attention to the giant dog in front of him.
Without a free hand, Lucie pulled the phone away from her ear and waved it at the guy to grab his attention. “Hey, there. Lady with a giant dog coming through.”
Just before going ass over elbow, his eyes shot wide and he veered left.
On the other end of the phone, Mr. L. laughed. “The painting is called My Darkest Night. My wife says it’s a Gomez, whoever the hell he is. She knows more about art than I do, but Bart convinced me it would be a good investment. He says modern art is hot right now and no one is buying the old classics. I’ll make a fortune.”
“I guess art is like real estate. When the market is dead, you invest and wait for it to come back.”
“Let’s hope so.”
At the corner, Bear stopped to inspect a garbage can and finally let fly a stream of urine so strong it could wash away a small village. The dog, quite literally, peed like a racehorse. While waiting, Lucie went back to Mr. Lutz. “Either way, it’s a beautiful painting. I’ll let Lauren know the title. I’ll be by this afternoon to walk Otis again. He’s my last stop today.”
Lucie ended her call with Mr. L. and swung a right at the corner to head back. Except, the parked car must have appealed to Bear. He tugged, dragging her so he could inspect a tire.
“Don’t you pee on that car.”
But he kept sniffing and she knew what was coming.
He lifted his leg.
“No, Bear!”
Too late. He squeaked out another shot of urine. Terrific. Lucie glanced around, praying the owner wasn’t nearby.
“Glad that’s not my car,” a passing woman said.
“No kidding, lady,” Lucie muttered.
A beat-up Crown Victoria came to a stop on the other side of the defiled car. Other drivers zoomed around, honking at the Crown Vic, but Lucie knew that didn’t matter. Not in this city.
Out of the double-parked car stepped Detective Tim O’Brien. As with the last time she’d seen him, O’Brien wore a suit, gray this time, and a white shirt sans the jacket and tie. Maybe those were in the car. She hadn’t seen him in over three months, but he appeared bigger, more beefcake than the lanky guy she’d first met. And the lonely side of Lucie liked the beefcake look on O’Brien—a lot.
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