by Renee Strong
She poured out a couple of coffees.
“How do you like yours? Creamer and sugar?”
“Sure,” I said. “One sugar.”
When she brought it over to me and I took a sip, I had to work not to make a face. The coffee was terrible. My ma would never allow coffee like that in her house. If it wasn’t Italian, it didn’t get served.
Whatever, I thought. I could introduce Lexi to good coffee. I was looking forward to introducing her to all of the finer things in life—all the things that I could see she’d been deprived of, looking around her apartment.
She had decorated it as well as someone on a budget could. It was clean and maintained, with fresh paint on the walls and hand-drawn art in frames.
“Your pictures?” I asked nodding to two portraits on the wall. One I recognized as Rosie the Riveter. I wasn’t sure who the other was.
She nodded. “Just something I do for fun. And to brighten up the place.”
“I like them,” I said. “Can you do one for me?”
She sat in front of me. “Sure,” she said, a shy smile spreading across her face. “It’s not Van Gogh or Renoir but I can do that.”
There was a lot I wanted to ask her. I could have sat and chatted with her for hours finding out everything about her—all of those little inconsequential things that make up a person, like how they like their eggs in the morning, or what their favorite season is and why.
But my phone was blowing up. That was a sign that Bobby needed me for something and if he didn’t hear from me soon, he was going to get antsy.
I hazarded a look at my cell.
Yo, Dom. Big deal happening. Need you, bro.
I clicked the button to lock the screen. Two more minutes and I would answer Bobby. Just two more minutes and I’d have enough Lexi to keep me going for another little while.
I had something I wanted to ask her and I felt weird asking it. She looked amused when I asked.
“A date?” she said and took a big sip of her coffee.
“Yeah,” I said. I could feel the back of my neck flush. Jesus, this woman brought out emotions in me that I thought were dead or buried. I didn’t know I still had the ability to get nervous about a girl. “I haven’t been on one since—” I thought hard “—I was a teenager, maybe? I’d like to bring you out somewhere nice.”
She nodded as she mulled it over.
“A date?” she said after a beat. “I’d like that. I haven’t been on one in a long time either.”
“It’s settled then,” I said. “Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock. I’ll take you out for dinner and dancing.”
I figured I couldn’t go wrong with dinner and dancing. They were classic date elements, right? Plus, being who I was, I had connections with some of the best restaurants in the whole city. I could get us a table and that extra-special service like you wouldn’t believe.
“Tomorrow night,” she agreed.
I took another sup of coffee. I’d forgotten in my excitement how awful it was and I regretted the swig I’d taken immediately. I forced my mouth not to pull into a grimace and put the coffee down on her coffee table.
I had my shorts and trousers already on so I reached for my jacket, which was hanging over the back of a chair.
“I’m real sorry, doll, but I’ve got to go.”
I picked up my jacket.
“Oh,” she said and she seemed crestfallen. “But I’ll see you tomorrow night here?”
“You will,” I said and I put my jacket on. Her eyes widened as I started doing up buttons.
“Your shirt!” she exclaimed. “Wait and I’ll give it back.”
“You keep it,” I said. “It looks better on you anyway.”
Bobby and the guys would have a field day when they saw me saunter in with a jacket and no shirt on. Let them. I couldn’t give a shit.
I bent down and gave Lexi a soft kiss on the lips.
“See you tomorrow,” I said.
She smiled again and I almost decided to stay. My phone beeped again and I knew it was Bobby getting angry.
Dammit, I thought. Duty calls.
Chapter 5
Lexi
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a dress. I didn’t have a lot of occasion to go getting gussied up. I mean, where exactly did I ever go? From my apartment to the bar or to see my mom: the end. I threw the odd trip to the grocery store in there and every couple of weeks caught up with a friend for a coffee and a slice of pie in this cute little café nearby, and that was about it.
But in preparation for my date with Dominic, I went out and bought a new dress. I probably shouldn’t have. Actually, scratch that—I definitely shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like I had the money to spend on things like that—rent was due soon and I was already pulling my tips together furiously to pay for Mom’s care that month.
And that was presuming I was even gainfully employed anymore. I wasn’t going to think about whether I still had a job to go back to until after this date, I vowed. Mike needed me, I assured myself. I’d go in and convince him of that on Tuesday. Until then, I was going to let myself actually live a little in fantasy land, where I looked pretty and a guy like Dominic was keen to have me on my arm.
The dress was an investment, I decided as I stood in front of the mirror. Yep, that was it. This dress was absolutely essential for my future. All the same, I tucked the price tag into the dress so that it couldn’t be seen. Just in case I had to return it for an unexpected bill.
I was hoping I could keep it and that it would get a lot more outings. When you’re going out with a guy like Dominic, who looks so good, you have to make the effort. I didn’t care that I was going to be living on rice and beans and ramen noodles for the next few weeks. As I stood in front of the mirror, admiring myself, I knew the decision was a good one.
I looked hot, if I do say so myself. I’d gone for a retro, 1950s style dress with a full skirt. It was the kind of dress that was made for a woman with curves and mine were filling it in all the right places. It was black with tiny white polka dots and the cinched waist flattered like you want a dress to.
I’d paired it with red heels, from way in the back of my closet, and a deep red lipstick to remind Dominic of my lips. I wanted him to kiss them. If I thought a giant red arrow would have done the trick, I’d have painted one onto my face, too. I figured the red lipstick would do the job so resisted going that far.
My hair, usually scraped back or pinned into a bun, was curled and bouncy. As I twirled in the dress one more time (I’d done it more times than a grown-up should at the point), I thought to myself, Fucking hell, Lexi, you look like a lady. Obviously a lady with a potty mouth but a lady all the same.
I flicked my gaze to the clock on the wall. The sound of the seconds ticking past were way too loud. Just a minute after a quarter of seven. If I kept looking at the clock, I’d start pacing again and it was not easy to do in heels this high.
To keep myself occupied, and to steady my nerves, I decided to mix myself a drink. One gin and tonic would do me right, I reckoned.
I leaned into the back of one of the cupboards and found the dusty old bottle of gin I’d been saving for guests. It was still pretty full.
Did I have any tonic? I wasn’t quite sure. If it wasn’t in this cupboard, it would be in the fridge but my fridge was empty enough that I knew exactly what contents were in it right now.
Shit.
I was just debating whether to drink the gin neat or not—like I said, I’m a goddamn lady—my head still stuck in the cupboard, when behind me, I heard a loud crash and the splintering of wood.
I shimmied back out of the cupboard, as gracefully as one can in a full skirt and heels, and turned to see what the noise was.
Those two shitty locks had turned out to be entirely useless. I might as well as been sticky-taping the door shut for all the good locks had done. Someone had kicked them right in, and my door was hanging by one hinge. And that someone was stari
ng me right in the face.
I tried to gather my thoughts as quickly as I could but I wasn’t quick enough. Before I could blink or say a word, I’d been punched in the face. Bang and I was out cold.
I had been itching to get back to Lexi all day and Jesus was Bobby riding my ass because of it.
We were standing in my mom’s dining room, a group of men deposited in twos and threes in all around the room. To a one, they all looked shady as hell—long, shotgun-hiding coats paired with slacks, or jogging pants and jackets, depending on their age. Each wore a wool cap pulled low. Their appearance and demeanor clashed with my mom’s floral wallpaper, the chintzy lace curtains and tablecloth.
I cast my eye over the room watching for anyone who might scuff or damage anything. Not the older guys—they knew respect. It was the younger, cocksure ones who would give you the problems, guaranteed.
I’d asked Bobby to stop having them meet here. I didn’t like it. It was a hangover from when Dad ran things from the house. With him gone and with me and Bobby in charge, there was no need to carry on the tradition here.
As soon as we had a better venue, Bobby promised, we’d stop meeting here.
I flicked my gaze back to him and then to the clock on the wall. Bobby noticed me anxiously counting the minutes.
“I’ve never seen you in this much of a rush to meet a piece of tail,” he said with a short guffaw. “What has she got, chocolate-flavored tits or something?”
I turned back to him and snarled.
“You keep your fucking mouth shut and show some respect, Bobby.”
He backed up a step, the smile dropping from his face, and he put two hands up in deference.
“Dom, I was kidding,” he said in a small voice. “No disrespect meant. Honestly.”
He stared at me in bemusement for a couple of minutes, waiting to see how my mood would turn. I decided to let it go and shrugged.
“Okay, Bobby. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I just don’t like it when you talk like that about girls.”
Bobby leaned his head to one side.
“That so?” he said, a smirk twisting his lips.
“Yeah,” I said, running my tongue under my bottom lip. That was a mistake. He knew me well enough to know I do that when I’m trying to hide something.
“You don’t like when I say stuff about girls or this girl?”
That dick. Like I told you, he can read me like a book. I turned my back on him a little so that he couldn’t gauge my expression any further. It was too late. He had it figured out.
“So Dom’s got himself a keeper kind of woman,” he said low. “She nice?”
I turned back to him. He was smiling, still with the hint of teasing on his face, but he was genuinely interested.
“She’s fucking amazing, Bobby,” I confessed, startling myself at how easily my sincere feelings came out of my mouth. “I don’t know what it is about her but I need to be near her. You know what I mean?”
Bobby sighed and his mouth twisted into a frown, his eyes troubled. “Yeah, I know what you mean. That’s what I felt about Elena.”
Oh real nice, Dominic, I told myself. Way to be an insensitive prick.
If I could have kicked myself I would have. In my rush to see Lexi, and my obsessing over here, I’d managed to bring up Bobby’s deepest felt pain.
Elena was Bobby’s wife: “was” in that she wasn’t around anymore. She was dead about five years. The shit that really stung was that she didn’t need to be—her death was completely avoidable. Of all the things that can kill you in the world of the mob—contract murder, liver failure, too much coke exploding your heart, or just plain old stress—a stupid, ordinary car accident was what had killed Elena.
She and Bobby had been married just a couple of years when she died. They hadn’t even had children. As Bobby had told me one night after a few drinks, she had trouble getting pregnant but they were seeing some fancy doctor to try to get there.
She was on her way to one of those appointments—Bobby was running late because of the job—when she got sideswiped by a drunk driver.
Bobby had never forgiven himself. He didn’t talk much about Elena ever since—even now, three years after the funeral—but I knew it still cut him up inside.
The guy who killed her had gotten off with a slap on the wrist; when I found him though, I bet he wished he could have gone to jail instead. He never saw me coming until it was too late. Appropriate justice, I’d told Bobby. Exactly like Elena hadn’t seen that drunk driver until he cut her life too short.
I leaned against the wall, picturing Lexi in my head. When I thought of her, I felt this warmth throughout me. I wondered if this was what happiness felt like. I hadn’t much to compare it to. Mine and Bobby’s childhood had never exactly been a barrel of laughs.
When I was younger, I’d run to another city to try to find a feeling like the one Lexi made me feel. I’d been pulled back to Angel City when my father died. That feeling had continued to elude me until a few nights ago. I had no clue what had changed and why I felt so good. I just knew I did.
“I don’t know what it is about her, Bobby,” I said quietly. Vince, Tommy, and a few of the other guys were in close earshot. They’d given me enough trouble when they’d seen me arrive home shirtless the day before. They didn’t need to know my business.
“She just has this light around her, you know? Like everything she touches just seems better?” It sounded stupid out of my mouth. I wasn’t exactly Shakespeare, that was for sure.
But Bobby nodded sadly at me.
“I know exactly what you mean.” He grabbed my arm and clenched it tight, a little too tight for comfort, fixing me with this intense look. “Hold onto a girl like that, Dominic. That’s something very special.”
I nodded once but sighed as I thought on it. The memory of how Elena had died, and remembering how unusual a “normal” death was in our lives, had prompted my concern. “Is it fair though, Bobby?”
He raised an eyebrow to ask “what?”
“I mean, bringing an outsider into this life?” I went on. I’d seen the shit my mom had gone through with my pop. I’d seen how miserable a lot of the mob wives looked, waiting for their man to come home, worrying that he might not. Only the strongest thrived in our world. “Lexi wasn’t born into this. Should I tell her to walk away now?”
It would kill me to let her go now. I’d had a glimpse of something special—it would pain me to give that up when I’d just had a taste of the possibility of something great with her. But I would never want to put Lexi in harm’s way. It was selfish to put my desire for her above her well-being, right?
Bobby shrugged. “That decision isn’t mine to make, Dom. And you know, it’s not up to you. If you like this girl as much as you say you do, you need to give her the choice. You have to tell her what’s she’s getting herself into.”
My stomach lurched with anxiety and fear—more new sensations for me.
He was right, of course. The choice about whether to walk away had to be Lexi’s. But the thought of her saying no made me feel like I was going to get sick.
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I guess.”
To the right of us, one of the younger guys, a rat-faced pipsqueak named Marc Anthony pulled something out of his pocket. I caught the glint of a revolver. He was showing it to one of the other guys, Frank. Frank’s face went white when he saw my expression.
At the sight of the gun, I strode clean across the room in three steps and put myself right into Marc Anthony’s face.
“What have I told you about taking that shit out in my mother’s house?” I said low but menacingly.
Marc Anthony’s face fell. He thumbed the butt of the revolver nervously.
“I meant no harm,” he bleated after a second. “I was just showing my new piece to Frank.”
I positioned myself so I was a quarter of an inch away from his nose, close enough that he I could see the sweat start to form on his forehead.
; “I don’t give a fuck what you meant,” I yelled right into his face. “I’ve told you before, my ma doesn’t witness anything like this. You do not flash a piece around in her house. Do you understand me?”
He looked at the other guys around him for support but none met his eyes. All of them, a group of fifteen or so men, ranging from late teens to forties and fifties, knew better than that.
Defeated, he said, “Yeah, I understand, Dominic.”
I stood and stared at him for just enough time to make him really uncomfortable, until his breath was audibly getting shallower with fear. Then, without a word, I turned away and walked back to Bobby.
Bobby shook his head and gave a shrug, anticipating my reaction.
“Where do you get these fucking idiots, Bobby?” I asked him in a low voice that no one else could overhear. The more experienced guys started chatting loudly to cover mine and Bobby’s conversation. They at least had some smarts about them.
“Ah, he’s young,” Bobby said charitably, glancing in Marc Anthony’s direction. “Besides, he’s Sal’s kid.”
I gave him an expression as if to say, “So fucking what?” I’d never liked Marc Anthony. I didn’t care whose fucking kid he was.
Bobby ignored the expression.
“Sal says he’s always wanted to be a made man; he asked me to do him a favor and to bring him on for bigger jobs. I couldn’t turn down one of pop’s associates so I said I’d bring him out on the job tonight to try him out with the crew.”
I blew out a sharp, exasperated breath.
“You’d want to be fucking careful, Bobby. A kid like that—a kid who doesn’t know how to do what he’s told—could get you in trouble. You be careful.”
Bobby bared his teeth in a big grin.
“Always am, little brother. Always am.”
He looked at the thick gold watch on his wrist then back at me, a sly smile on his face.
“Hadn’t you better get out of here? You’re all dressed up with somewhere to be, remember?”