Again, my mind drifts to Antonia. The fact that I can’t shake her alarms me, but I ignore it as I begin to wonder if that dickhead, Hound, did her dirty.
Muttering a curse, I divert my gaze away from Richie and swipe a hand over my face. The second my palm grazes the bruise on my jaw, I flinch, and Richie notices.
“You gonna tell me what happened, or should I take a guess?” he questions.
I really don’t want to get into it with him. The guy is relentless. If I tell him I went out of my way to bring a girl her license and got my ass handed to me, it will be all over the department. I’ll be hazed for weeks and I’m not looking to relive my days of being a rookie. No fucking thank you. I did my time.
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit. Who’d you piss off this time?”
“This time? You make it sound like this is a regular occurrence,” I grunt.
If I was having this conversation with my cousin, Tig, he’d say this is a regular occurrence and remind me I was Graham’s punching bag too.
That’s what you get for helping a friend.
No one lets you live it down.
Richie doesn’t know I took a hit from Soraya’s husband, though. I start to think that makes him the perfect candidate to confide in. Lord knows I need someone to straighten me out and the hazing might be worth it if it means putting Antonia out of my head once and for all.
“I met this girl…pulled her over yesterday and gave her three tickets.”
His eyebrows shoot up and I can tell he’s struggling not to laugh in my face.
“A chick gave you that shiner?”
“No, you jackass,” I hiss, gritting my teeth. “Her boyfriend did.” I pause and shake my head. “Hell, he’s not even her boyfriend. I don’t know what the fuck he is.”
“So, wait, let me see if I got this straight. You pull some girl over, give her three tickets and her man takes a fist to your face?”
“Not exactly,” I groan, preparing myself for the cackling that’s about to ensue as soon as I tell him the whole sordid tale. “I told you about the anniversary party for Tig and Delia that Soraya roped me into helping her plan, remember?”
“Yeah,” he replies, narrowing his eyes. He slows for the red light and turns to me, giving me his undivided attention. “Well, yesterday I had to meet her for lunch to discuss the party and when I got to the office to pick her up, I discovered the girl I pulled over was Soraya’s new intern.”
“So?”
“So, apparently she dropped her license when I pulled her over and accused me of stealing it.”
A grin teases the corner of his lips as he flips his gaze back to the street.
“Oh, this is too good.”
“Shut up, dick.”
Fighting the smirk, he clears his throat.
“I’m sorry, go ahead.”
I’d take a fucking bullet for him, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him. In fact, right now, I can’t fucking stand him.
“Anyway, after I convinced her I didn’t take her license, I went to lunch with Soraya as planned but I couldn’t stop thinking about her and even if I could, Soraya wasn’t gonna let me.”
I pause, recalling our conversation and the text she sent once she left.
Send her an edible fruit arrangement
It’s not a terrible idea.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach for my cell phone and pull up Soraya’s number.
“What are you doing?” Richie questions.
I have no fucking idea, but when a woman consumes your every waking thought, you need to do something. The only way to get her out of my head is to get my fill of her. Then I won’t spend every minute wondering how she tastes. I’ll quit thinking about wrapping all that wild hair of hers around my fist and I’ll stop imaging what sounds she makes when she comes.
Jesus.
It’s worse than I thought.
“Dude, you’re sweating,” Richie comments. “Are you having a heart attack or something? A stroke, maybe?”
Ignoring him, I press the phone to my ear.
One night, that should do it. The dreams will come to an end, my dick will calm the fuck down and I won’t do ridiculous shit like searching the rap sheets of criminals she may or may not have fucked.
I listen as the phone rings and my gaze snaps back to Richie.
“What do you know about the Corrupt Hellraiser’s MC?”
He blinks.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn. I pull the phone away from my ear when no one answers, making sure I dialed the right number. “Why the fuck is no one answering?”
“I take one day off,” Richie mutters and I turn back to him. “One day and you lose your mind.”
Tell me about it.
The receptionist answers the phone and I quickly ask for her to connect me to Soraya’s private line.
“Are your ears ringing?” Soraya greets.
“Come again?”
“Well, Antonia and I were just talking about you,” she reveals. “I hear you were quite the good cop yesterday. Not too many officers would go out of their way to bring a woman their license after hitting her with three tickets.”
“Yeah, I’m a catch,” I mumble. “Should I relay that message?” she quips.
“Funny. If the advice column thing takes a dive, you should give stand up comedy a whirl,” I retort. “You got any more jabs you want to take, or can we get to why I’m calling?”
“You better be calling me to tell me you figured out a way to get Tig and Delia to the party.”
I roll my eyes.
This is the first, and last time I voluntarily subject myself to planning a party. Actually, I take that back. I love a good party. Take the Super Bowl, for instance. I go all out for the big game. There’s a four-foot hero, wings for days and beer on tap. I even decorate my apartment with vintage football jerseys and buy football shaped paper plates. I’m telling you, I throw a mean party.
It’s surprise anniversary parties that just aren’t my thing.
“I’m working on it,” I mutter.
Lies.
Straight fucking lies.
“Marco…” she warns.
“I’ll get them there,” I promise. I’m not above arresting them and dragging them to the restaurant. Whatever it takes, I got this—that’s if I get my head screwed on straight. “I need your help.”
“With?”
“Antonia.”
“I knew it!”
“Please don’t gloat. It’s not very becoming,” I say. Richie laughs silently beside me, and I flip him the bird. “Will you help me or not?” I sigh.
“Depends what you need,” she retorts cheekily.
I remain silent. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“Marco,” Soraya calls. “I don’t have all day.”
Muttering a curse, I grip the phone tightly and grind out my request.
“How do I send an edible fruit arrangement?”
Go ahead, laugh.
Richie does.
* * *
“You’re pathetic,” Richie says, as he takes a seat on top of my desk. Slightly startled, I peel my eyes away from my cell phone and look at him. He lifts the cold, half-eaten slice of pizza from my paper plate and takes a huge bite.
“I was eating that,” I point out.
Chewing, he shrugs his shoulders and folds the slice. He drains the oil from it before taking another bite. With his mouth full, he answers.
“No, you weren’t. You’re too busy staring at your phone to bother with food.”
This is true.
After Soraya had a good laugh at my expense, a call came over the radio. Richie and I had to respond to a robbery in progress, so I hung up with her and switched into cop mode. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to chase a perp down Canal Street and it was a welcome distraction from the fact I had just coerced my friend into sending her intern a bouquet of fresh fruit.
When we returned to th
e precinct with the perp, I called Soraya, but she was on a conference call and couldn’t get on the phone with me. On top of that, the woman isn’t answering my texts, so I have no idea if she sent the arrangement. I wonder if the receptionist will hang up on me if I call the office again.
I lean back against my chair and fold my hands behind my head as Richie pops the last bite of crust into his mouth.
“Soraya isn’t answering me,” I explain.
“Do me a favor, if I ever tell you I’m bored with Tina, remind me of today,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t miss this nonsense.” With an exasperated sigh, he points a finger at the phone in my hand. “Stop being a pussy and ask for the girl you want to talk to and leave Soraya out of it. Cut through the bullshit and be a fucking man for Christ's sake.”
“To be fair, I’m not usually like this,” I defend.
“No, you’re not. Which tells me you’re either in over your head or you’ve met your match.”
I find the latter part of that sentence is disturbing.
“Bite your tongue,” I hiss, considering his first theory.
Antonia is a smoke show, but I’m overly invested and that might be why I don’t like the idea of her hanging around a guy like Hound. Just like the man in me can’t stop thinking about her sweet ass and perfect tits, the cop in me can’t ignore the fact she might be in trouble. I know she thinks she’s capable of handling a guy like that, but let’s face it, he’s a criminal. God only knows what he’s capable of.
I look back at Richie.
“You never answered me before when I asked you about the Corrupt Hellraisers,” I point out.
He raises an eyebrow.
“You were serious about that?”
“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t speak just to hear myself talk.” I drop my hands from behind my head and straighten in my chair. “When I dropped off her license a guy from the club showed up at Antonia’s house. She was pretty pissed at him and made it like we were on a date. That’s who gave me the shiner.”
Richie quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms against his chest.
“So, you think this girl is mixed up with the club, that’s why you’re running in circles, ordering chocolate dipped fruit on a stick.”
I think about that for a second. Before I searched the database this morning, I tried to rationalize what I was about to do. I told myself I wasn’t looking to single-handedly take down a bunch of bikers. Hell, I’m not even looking to take down one. I’m just a nosy prick who doesn’t like the idea of another man sniffing around something I have an interest in.
Right?
Shaking my head, I picture her face. Those eyes. That mouth. All that wild hair.
The things I’d do to her.
One night.
That’s all I need.
“She’s hot as fuck too,” I add. “And she’s feisty. Light your shit on fire kind of feisty. But you don’t care because you know she’s one of a kind and you’re the lucky bastard who gets her, so you ignore the crazy.”
He nods.
I knew he’d get it.
“I’m putting in for a new partner,” he deadpans. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
Possibly. A sane man would walk away and forget he ever laid eyes on Antonia DeLuca. He’d tell himself the girl is the definition of trouble and if a man isn’t careful, he’ll lose himself to her before he even gets a taste.
Yeah, Richie’s right.
I’ve lost it.
But it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I admit that.
“I got the perp, didn’t I?” I say instead.
“What perp?”
Surprised, Richie and I both turn at the sound of Tony Dinaso’s voice. We met in the academy and instantly hit it off. There aren’t too many boys in blue who share a fondness for hair gel and after we graduated, we managed to remain tight despite being appointed to different precincts.
A couple of months ago, Tony got transferred to our precinct and promoted to the Gang Intelligence Unit. Sergeant Floyd felt Tony was a good fit for a sting operation he was working on and for the last two months Tony has been shadowing one of the soldiers of the Bendetti crime family.
“Oh, look what the cat dragged in,” Richie quips.
“You pinch Bendetti?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” he replies, lifting his eyes from the file he’s flipping through. He meets my gaze and points a finger at my cheek. “What happened to you?”
Richie chuckles and I shoot him a glare. Before I can warn him to keep his big trap shut, the desk sergeant shouts for me.
“Hey, Pirelli! You got a visitor.”
Chapter Eight
Marco
“What the hell is this, huh?” Antonia questions as I reach the front desk.
I barely have a chance to process the fact that she’s standing in my precinct before her eyes lock with mine and I lose all train of thought. Those fucking eyes, man, even when there is a murderous gleam radiating from them—they’re hypnotizing.
Clearing my throat, I pull myself together as she huffs out a breath and shoves the oversized bouquet of fruit toward me. Jesus, leave it to Soraya. Talk about overkill. This thing probably costs a fortune, and Antonia doesn’t even look all that impressed.
Lifting my chin, I stare at her over the top of the bouquet.
“Looks like some cantaloupe, pineapple…oh, and the green stuff is honeydew,” I reply, reaching out to pluck a piece of melon from one of the sticks. Popping it in my mouth, I grin at her.
“I know what it is,” she hisses, pushing it at me again. “What I want to know is why you sent it to me!”
Fearing she might send the fruit across the precinct, I take the bouquet from her and raise an eyebrow at her.
“You don’t like fruit?”
“It’s melon,” she argues, gritting her teeth.
“Okay,” I reply slowly. “So, you don’t like melon then.”
“I like melons just fine,” she snaps and angrily slams her palm against the desk. My brain short circuits following the movement and my gaze gets stuck on the Johnny Cash tee stretched across her chest.
“Yeah, I’m a fan myself,” I confess.
Of both Mr. Cash and melons—specifically hers.
“I don’t know what you’re up to…”
“I’m not up to anything,” I tell her. Admitting I’m using produce to get into her pants will only send her running. I pull out a piece of pineapple and offer the stick to her. “Try it.”
She narrows her eyes for a split second before dropping her gaze to the piece of fruit. Pulling the pineapple off the stick, she pops it into her mouth. A satisfied grin spreads across my mouth until she closes her eyes and moans loudly. The busy precinct seems to come to a standstill, and everyone turns their attention to Antonia.
“Oh…yes…so…good.”
Her eyes open and lock with mine as her pink tongue sneaks out and runs along her lips. My hands tighten around the bouquet as I struggle to remain unaffected by her shenanigans. My dick doesn’t get the memo though, and twitches against the zipper of my jeans. The boys in blue hoot and holler as I bite back a groan and a smug expression washes over Antonia’s face.
“What’s your game, Pirelli?” she asks as she crosses her arms against her chest. I lose the battle, and my gaze lowers.
“Eyes up here, officer,” she snaps. “Answer me.”
“Uh…what was the question?”
“Why did you send me an edible fruit arrangement?”
Shrugging, I set the bouquet on the desk and glance around the packed precinct. Everyone with a badge is waiting for me to respond, including Richie and Tony. I focus on my partner.
“Can you finish booking the perp?”
He gives me a nod and I turn to the desk sergeant, Judy. She’s in her late sixties and a bitter old tool who hates me. Seriously, I’ve tried my hardest to get the broad on Team Pirelli. I bring her coffee in the morning and last
Valentine’s day, I got her a box of Godiva chocolates. She told me she threw them in the trash, but I caught her stuffing her face in the break room later that day.
“Hey, Sarg,” I call, flashing her a grin. I don’t know if she’s lost control over her facial expressions or if she’s had too much Botox, but she never smiles. Actually, that’s not true. She smiled the other day when I fell down the stairs.
“Here, this is for you,” I say, pushing the fruit toward her.
“Hold up,” Antonia interjects. “You mean to tell me I carried that ridiculous thing on the subway so you could give it to her? Oh, hell no.”
Judy takes the arrangement from me just as Antonia lunges for it.
“Give me back my melons,” she demands, leaning over the desk.
“You heard the man,” Judy says. “They’re my melons now.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I suppress a laugh and step around the desk so that I’m standing beside Antonia.
“Enjoy, Judy,” I call over my shoulder as I take hold of Antonia’s elbow. “Let’s go, Curly Sue.”
I start to lead her away from the desk, but she pulls free. Turning to me, she pushes both her hands against my chest and gives me a hard shove.
“I’m not going anywhere with you! You just gave that old lady my edible fruit arrangement!”
I flinch at her choice of words and quickly take her hands from my chest, lacing her fingers together.
“You just called Judy an old lady. We better make a run for it.”
I’m only partially teasing but considering Judy isn’t rushing to kill Antonia, I think she might’ve missed the dig. To my surprise, though, Antonia doesn’t snatch her hands away from mine.
Look at us making progress.
Testing the waters some more, I pull her closer. She lifts her chin and stares up at me skeptically and as predicted, I get lost in those brown eyes.
“Fuck the fruit. Let me take you to dinner, instead.”
Her eyes widen and she looks at me as though I just suggested we take a trip to the moon. Then she bursts out laughing.
“What?”
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