by K. A. Ware
A fine mist of rain coated me quickly as I made my way down the block. It wasn’t really rain just kind of a haze of moisture, which was common faire for the Pacific Northwest. Keeping my head down, I pushed forward focusing on avoiding puddles more than on where I was going.
I was jostled when someone shoved passed me, causing my bag to fall off of my shoulder.
A distinct cologne filled my nostrils and I physically recoiled. There was something about that particular scent that triggered an onslaught of memories. Guilt immediately pulled heavily on my heart as I remembered why the cologne had been familiar. It was the same kind Eddie used to wear.
Shaking the thoughts from my head, I turned around to catch the back of the douchebag as he hurried down the street. He was wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, shoulders hunched, and his hands in his pockets.
Fucking asshole.
Thankfully I was able to catch my bag before it hit the ground. I hitched it farther up on my shoulder and continued on.
I should have just stayed in bed today.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I said as I slid into the booth across from Mia once I finally made it to the restaurant, damp and irritated.
“I’ve only been here a minute,” she responded without looking up from her menu.
“So does the baby ever want anything other than Italian food?” I asked.
“Mmm, It’s all about the pasta. Whoa, did you swim here?” she asked, finally looking up at me.
“Yep, better tell Carlo to start building an ark,” I deadpanned.
“Don’t say that too loud. With how crazy he’s been acting, I wouldn’t put it past him.”
I laughed. I had to. She was calling him crazy? They were both batshit.
“Seriously, he’s driving me nuts. I can’t even leave the fucking house without a shadow. It’s worse than it was when I was in college,” she complained.
“I don’t see a shadow now,” I commented, scanning the busy restaurant.
“Matty’s in the car outside and Angelo is in the bathroom. He’ll be back any minute,” she answered dryly.
As if on cue, Angelo appeared at the end of the booth and squeezed in beside Mia, who reluctantly moved over to make room.
“Hey, Frankie. So what looks good?” he asked completely oblivious to the sideways death glare Mia was giving him.
“Dude, seriously? It’s girl time; get your own table.”
“But— “
“No buts. Go,” I demanded, pointing at an empty table about ten feet away for emphasis.
“You’re going to make me eat alone?” he asked.
“Yes!” Mia shouted, pushing his shoulder. “I swear to God, if you don’t get the fuck out of this booth right now I’m going to fucking stab you with a butter knife.”
“Jesus, fine. I’m gone,” Angelo said getting up and moving to the free table.
“Un-fucking-believable,” Mia seethed. “Since when do I have to threaten bodily harm to get one of my men to listen?”
“Since Carlo came back, and as much as I love you, he’s scarier.”
“We’ll see about that,” she muttered and returned her attention to her menu. I couldn’t help but smile at how bent out of shape she was about having someone worrying about her.
“Why do you keep looking out the window?” Mia asked, after our waiter took our order and left.
“Hmm? Oh, sorry. I’m just feeling kind of off today,” I said absently.
“Why?”
“It’s nothing,” I said waving her off.
“Bullshit! Tell me.”
“Christ on a cracker, I got some flowers delivered at work today, but I don’t know who they’re from,” I admitted.
Her nose scrunched up and her brows furrowed, “You got flowers?”
“Do you have to look so surprised?” I griped.
“Whatever. There wasn’t a card or anything?”
“No. That’s what’s weird. I called the flower shop and the order was placed online using a just the name John and prepaid card.”
“I don’t like that,” Mia said. “I don’t like it at all. It’s too soon after everything went down with the Russians. Do you have any idea who it could have been?”
“No, I thought maybe my mom, but flowers aren’t really her style and she definitely wouldn’t go through the trouble to hide that it was her.”
“You’re not seeing anyone are you?” she asked. Her tone told me if I’d been seeing someone and neglected to tell her she was going to skin me alive.
“No. Come on, I would have told you if I was seeing someone.”
“What about old boyfriends?”
“I don’t have old boyfriends,” I said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I really did not want to get into this with her right now. Angelo was too close and if there was even a chance he could hear I didn’t want to risk it. Not to mention the subject would bring up other shit that I didn’t want to discuss with anyone—even Mia.
“I don’t understand…” she said trailing off. “Oh my God, are you gay?” she asked suddenly.
“What? No!” I hissed. “Keep your fucking voice down!”
“Well how am I supposed to know? You’re a fucking hermit. Seriously, you’re a litter box away from being a crazy cat lady, and then you go and say something like that, I’ve got to wonder.”
I rolled my eyes and looked up at the ceiling, letting out a heavy sigh before I looked back at her. “It’s not like that. I don’t do boyfriends. The hookups that I have are few and far between—never a repeat—and they know nothing about me. It couldn’t be one of them, okay?”
“So you’ve never had a real relationship?” she asked.
“Seriously? I’m twenty-five, not forty.”
“I know, it’s just kind of weird. No boyfriends in high school or college? You’ve never been in love?”
Heat rose in my cheeks and an ache settled in my chest at her words. “Nope. I was a loner in high school after Enzo left and Eddie took off to do whatever the fuck he wanted. In college I was too busy focusing on school and hacking to bother with a boyfriend. I like it the way it is. If I have an itch that needs to be scratched, I go out and pick someone up. It’s cleaner that way, no messy feelings to get in the way,” I said flippantly.
Mia narrowed her eyes at me, clearly not buying it, but she didn’t push. I liked that about her; she knew when to let it go. “Okay, so no ex-boyfriends. Has anything else happened that was out of the norm?”
“No, nothing. The lady at the flower shop said it was strange but didn’t really make a big deal about it. Maybe it’s nothing,” I said, trying to convince myself more than Mia.
“Hmm, maybe. I don’t know. I think you should consider taking some security with you for a while—just in case.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Were you not just complaining about your security detail?” I asked incredulously.
“That’s because mine is totally unprovoked. The flower thing is creepy, and in our line of business, it’s better to be safe than sorry.” She said the last part quietly. Her eyes were unfocused and she was staring off into nothing. Suddenly she shook her head and cleared her throat. “I think it would be a good idea, at least for a little bit. If nothing else happens then we can forget about it.”
“No.”
“Frankie—” she started to protest but I interrupted her.
“I can be just as stubborn as you, so just drop it. This is a one-off incident; in fact, we don’t even know that it’s an incident at all. Getting flowers isn’t exactly threatening, Mia.”
“Fine, but you have to promise me that if anything else weird happens you’ll let me know right away, okay?”
“I promise,” I said, both relieved and a little leery that it had been fairly easy to convince her to back off. Before I had time to consider it further, the waiter brought us our food.
“Thank God, I’m starving. Eat fast, we have an appointment at the dress boutique in h
alf an hour,” she said, digging into her bowl of pasta with reckless abandon.
Note to self: don’t get between a pregnant woman and her food. You might lose a finger.
After lunch, we drove a few blocks over to the boutique. Matty and Angelo happily stayed in the car while we headed inside for what could only be my personal version of Hell.
“Oh my God,” I whispered to myself when we walked in. We were greeted by a sea of tulle, lace, and sparkles. I instantly wanted to run.
“Isn’t this great?” Mia asked excitedly. She was beaming from ear to ear. “Normally I’m not huge on shopping, but this is different. I’m getting married!”
“Yeah, must be really exciting.”
What did I do to deserve this?
“What, you don’t want to get married at some point? Come on, it’s every girl’s dream.”
I just shrugged.
“Please! One day you’re going to find the perfect man and fall in love and I’ll be there to make fun of you the whole time,” she said confidently and turned her attention to the attendant that was approaching.
You can find the perfect man and fall in love, but if he doesn’t love you back, it’s not exactly happily ever after.
“You must be Mia. Oh look at you—such a young bride, and you’re positively glowing! I’m Helen. I’ll be assisting you today,” she said brightly. She was a tall woman in her mid-forties, and a little on the thin side, which was accentuated by her tight pencil skirt and tailored peach jacket.
“Yes, and this is my friend, Frankie. She’s going to help me pick out a dress,” Mia said politely.
The woman cut her gaze to me and pursed her lips disapprovingly as she took in my black leggings, biker boots, and leather jacket.
I lifted my chin, meeting her eyes in defiance. I wore my leather jacket and bad attitude like armor. Because the louder they were, the less likely someone was to take a chance on getting to know me. My prickly exterior prevented me from letting someone in who would eventually disappoint me.
“Hmm,” she said dismissing me and turning her attention back to Mia. “So, do you have any idea what kind of style you’re looking for?”
“A-line for sure, something that flows. The wedding is at the end of April and I’ll probably be big as a house by then,” Mia said rubbing her belly.
The woman blinked, looking from Mia’s belly to her face and back again. “I see,” she said critically. “Well, that’s very short notice; most dresses we sell are custom to order. Usually, a bride picks out her dress anywhere from six to twelve months in advance. Along with the quick alterations you’ll need leading up to the wedding, it might be difficult to find what you’re looking for here.”
Oh, hell no.
I was about to jump in and give this judgmental bitch a piece of my mind when Mia spoke up, ice dripping from her words as she addressed the attendant.
“What’s your last name Helen?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, did I fucking stutter? What is your motherfucking name?” Mia’s voice was steady but she was livid.
Oh shit, there’s a lot of white in this room. It’d be a bitch for our cleaner to take care of a mess in here.
Helen stiffened and looked down her nose at Mia. “I really don’t think— “
“I didn’t ask you to think, you fucking cunt! I asked you what your fucking last name is!” she screamed, advancing on the woman.
“J-Jones,” she stuttered, taking a step back.
Hearing the commotion, another woman rushed to the front of the store. “Is there a problem?” the younger woman asked, her eyes round as saucers as she took in Mia’s aggressive posture and the trembling older woman in front of her.
“Yes,” Mia said. “This woman was incredibly rude and disrespectful to me and my friend.”
“I’m terribly sorry, what can I do?” the younger woman asked.
“Nothing…” Mia said, waiting for her to introduce herself.
“Amanda,” she said hurriedly.
“You don’t need to do anything, Amanda. I’m handling it,” Mia said without breaking eye contact with Helen as she pulled out her phone.
She snapped a picture of the startled woman, fiddled with her phone a bit and put it to her ear. “Angelo? I just sent you a picture. Her name is Helen Jones. Get on the phone with the owner of…” she leaned over and caught sight of the sign on the front desk, “La Rouge Boutique and have her fired,” she demanded. There was a pause, then, “I don’t give a fuck if you have to buy the motherfucking store to do it. Get. It. Done.” Mia ended the call and turned back to Helen, “You might as well pack up your shit now. You’ll be unemployed within the hour.”
“W-what? W-who are you?” Helen asked.
“I’m the future Mrs. Carlo DeLuca,” Mia said haughtily, and then as if a switch had been flipped, she turned to Amanda with a sweet smile. “I’m looking for an A-line dress, something flowy.”
“O-Of course, I’ll pull a few things for you. Follow me,” Amanda stuttered.
Holy fuck. Mob Queen bridezilla is a million times scarier than the shit they play on those reality shows.
6
Enzo
Present
“I come bearing money,” Leo said as he walked in and set a duffle bag on my desk. We were in my office at the hotel where all my enforcers brought the loan payments in to be counted and recorded.
“Everyone paid?” I asked, opening the bag and starting to sort the bills. I had a process with my men. They’d bring me the cash and wait while I counted and recorded all the payments. If they were short we’d find out together. That way no one was even tempted to skim off the top.
“Sacks gave us a little action but we got what was due,” he said getting comfortable in the chair on the other side of my desk.
“What kind of action?” I asked, more curious than worried. Sacks was a skinny little dickhead who was almost always into us for at least a couple grand, and as soon as he was paid up, he couldn’t wait to borrow again. The guy had a serious gambling problem.
“Tried to slip out the back at Casa, but Michael was there waiting. Didn’t take much convincing before he coughed it up,” Leo said with a smile. I nodded my approval.
“You and Michael working well together?” I asked as I placed a stack of twenties in the bill counter. Matty, Leo’s old partner, had been laid up after the warehouse explosion a few months ago and wasn’t up to chasing around people that owed money quite yet. I put him with Michael, Gina’s father, thinking both of them might learn a thing or two, and I was right. Since they’d started working together, they’d become one of my best collection teams.
“Really good, actually. He’s kind of old school but some of his tricks still work,” he grinned.
“Good. Here,” I said, handing him a piece of paper as I finished recording the last payment.
“What’s this?” he asked looking at the single name and amount due on the paper.
“Franco. He’s been dodging the other guys for a few weeks now. Need a fresh set of eyes on him; it’s time for him to pay up—either cash or flesh.”
“Got it,” Leo responded, nodding in understanding, his face finally turning serious.
Yeah buddy, this is a big deal, better start fucking acting like it.
“Dismissed,” I said. I looked back down to the ledger and noted I still had two more deposits expected to come in before the end of the day.
My phone buzzed on the desktop and I picked it up to see a text message from Angelo.
Angelo: Next time, you get wedding duty
Me: What did she do this time?
Angelo: Couldn’t just complain about a rude employee, made me make an offer on the fucking store so she could fire the lady herself
Me: You’re joking
Angelo: Wish I was
Me: Still, not taking on your babysitting duty
Angelo: At least your girl is behaving
Me: Not my girl
Angelo: Yeah okay
I locked my phone and slammed it down on my desk with more force than I’d meant to. Frankie wasn’t my girl—never really had been—but that had been my own stupid mistake. I had no one to blame for the one that got away but myself. Shaking my head, I tried to focus on the ledger in front of me, but it was useless. The numbers on the page blurred into memories I’d long since locked away.
7
Enzo
Age 20
10 years earlier…
I was finally home after nearly two years of weekly letters and sporadic satellite calls home; I was finally standing in my childhood home surrounded by practically everyone I knew. Friends and family packed wall to wall into our tiny townhouse drinking and eating. Some girls I remembered vaguely from high school were dancing in the middle of the room.
Everyone was there to welcome me back from my first overseas tour, I should feel grateful that so many people wanted to celebrate with me, but I felt trapped. The press of bodies all around me, laughter filling my ears, and all I wanted to do was lock myself in my old bedroom and be alone. Well, maybe not completely alone.
Frankie had written to me every week, sometimes with news about what was going on back at home while I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, sometimes questions about what I was doing. I’d looked forward to her letters, even the ones that were just a single page, telling me what they’d eaten for dinner and about the exams she was studying for. Seeing her messy handwriting scrawled across the page was comforting.
I wrote her back, but not as often as she wrote to me. There wasn’t a lot to tell her about, at least not a lot I could tell her. If I let her know just how dangerous things really were she’d lose her mind with worry, and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want any of them to worry; it was useless. Their concern wouldn’t make me any safer. It was up to me and the men in my unit to worry about IEDs and insurgents—not the people we left at home. I didn’t tell her about the roadside bombs, the snipers, or the active shooters. Even thousands of miles away I was protecting her, the same as always.