“Oh thank, God! I would hate to have to chew out my husband and my son in the same morning.” She leaned in and gave me a kiss to each cheek. “Aren’t you a beauty?” Suddenly she got this look on her face, like she was picturing the future or something.
It reminded me of the Gypsy women who walked around New Orleans offering to tell the fortunes of tourists willing to be separated from their money.
“So, I want to see if you can think on your feet. We get a lot of people who want us to make something with the color orange.” She waved her arms around before tossing out the color, conspiring to find the most difficult.
Little did Miss Sophia know, but I came from the land of crazy color combinations. Orange would give me no challenge whatsoever.
Game face on, I placed my purse on the counter and headed toward the cooler. Back in Townsend Parish we always had a decent supply of flowers. This cooler was out of this world with color and variety, however. Like Amel Demarco in a shoe store I went wild, grabbing stem after stem and filling a crystal vase much nicer than the acrylic I was used to working with. Pulling some greenery from a vat on the work table as well, within minutes I had a beautiful “orange inspired” bouquet.
Sophia had a blank look on her face when I turned back to her. My heart stopped for a moment, fear creeping its way up my spine. I had gambled, using my history with the tastes of folks in the Deep South; seemed dialect weren’t the only things different once you crossed the Mason-Dixon Line.
She shook her head and stepped up to the computer, then hit several buttons. From a printer sitting not five inches from me, a long white strip of paper started pouring out. She walked over and tore apart the white paper, placing them in order, side by side. “All right, Arianna… go.”
Looking at each order, I imagined the story behind the reason for the delivery. It was a lot like people watching, but a little more personal. The final order was for two dozen mixed roses.
“Tell me he didn’t call again,” Sophia spoke from beside me. She was fluffing the last arrangement I had done as she eyed the final order.
“Yep, he was on his way to see Antonio,” Gabby replied not taking her eyes off the tiger lilies she was working with.
Sophia said something in Italian. I got the hint fairly quickly the conversation was not meant for my input or hearing. Again with the secrets.
“Arianna, use the older roses for that one.”
I looked over at Sophia, her eyes were on her cell phone as she typed away. “Sure, if you’ll just point me in the right direction.” I looked around the area for a separate container. Back in Louisiana we had our older stuff by the door so it could be sold cheap. Not the case here in Staten Island.
She pointed at a trashcan, which, sure enough, had several roses in the bottom of it. I pulled them out and started to remove the dead petals. Back when I fist went to work for Mr. Connors, I learned a trick to bring flowers back to life. Looking around I spotted some wrapped candy next to the register. Taking one of the mints and unwrapping it, I crushed it to a powder between two pieces of cellophane. After the powdered candy was dissolved in some water, I added the roses to the vase. They looked so tired. I took the vase and placed it in the cooler, giving the sugar time to do its trick.
While waiting, I glanced around and noticed the mess I’d made. Grabbing a broom, I swept not only my clippings but the ones at Gabby’s feet, too. By the time I was satisfied with the floor, the roses were looking a lot better. I grabbed a bunch of baby’s breath and some greenery then arranged it the best I could, making a bow to fill in the gap. When I felt okay about the arrangement, I turned around to see both Gabby and Sophia smiling.
“I’m sorry, I’m not happy with this particular arrangement. I would have placed a few more roses of a different color, but you instructed I use the ones from the trash. That’s all that was there.”
Sophia and Gabby looked at each other and then back at me. “Trust me, Arianna, if you knew the person those are going to, you would have stomped on the flowers first. They will do just fine.”
Sophia moved away from the counter she’d been leaning on and motioned me to follow. Once we’ve both walked around it she stops, turning toward me. “I see myself in your eyes. You love these flowers as much as I do. You care about the quality of the product, which isn’t something I can teach. You also don’t have to be reminded to clean up after your work. Gabby said you jumped right in and made yourself at home.”
Thinking back on my actions before I worry that I may have overstepped. “I like people who take charge and get the job done, so to speak.” I glanced at the ornate clock hanging over the door. I’m not surprised to see I have been here for almost four hours. That’s how it was for me when I got into what I loved.
“So, if you’re interested, I would love to have you on my team.”
Hell, yes, I wanted to work here! It felt and smelled like home. Sophia told me how much she could pay me. I could survive on it.
“I’ve got one more thing to show you.”
She walked me to the rear of the shop where the back entrance was. Even though the area housed the loading dock, shrubs and vines—which were clearly rose bushes—had been planted. To the right of the dock was a door with a padlock on it. Walking over, she took the key from her pocket and opened it. A small set of stairs lead up to a white door. At the top Sophia opened the door, revealing a small apartment. Small, but full of light.
“It’s only three rooms, but it’s clean, and more importantly, legal. I lived up here until I married my Antonio. When I bought the building, I couldn’t afford much else. Over time I converted it into what you see now, doing the legal thing and procuring the proper permits, of course.”
The cute kitchen had been built to maximize the space it was in. The living room doubled as a bedroom, with the couch converting into a bed. It was bright and clean, and according to Sophia, part of my salary.
“So what do you think?”
Looking around again, I took in the bright light and clean lines. From what I could tell, everything was within walking distance.
“Your face tells me everything. Take my advice, never play poker.” She handed me the keys and a stack of papers for tax purposes.
I hugged her, which she returned with no hesitation before crossing the room and closing the door behind her. Wrapping my arms around myself I spun around in a tight circle, already making plans of what I could make for dinner in my new home. Right after I checked out of the hotel and got some groceries.
Grabbing my keys and purse, I jogged down the stairs. Sophia had instructed me to always leave through the shop entrance and not through the alley. She’d said the neighborhood was safe enough, but you never knew if someone was where they shouldn’t be. I heard Sophia talking with someone as I came in the back door and tried to slip by, not wanting to interrupt, but she must have noticed me.
“Oh, Ari. Come meet my son Dominick.”
MARISSA DIDN’T CALL ME back last night. Same bullshit she always pulls when she doesn’t get her way. Anthony would have cut her loose, moving on to the next girl he had in line. My dad wanted to talk with me again today, so on the way, I called my mom’s shop and asked Gabby to send her a bouquet. Marissa might be a moody bitch, but she was loyal and knew her place.
Gabby was a good girl, the kind my dad would love for me to be with. Too bad she was like a little sister to me and had a fiancé who was over in the fucking desert with the Marines. He’d pulled me to the side before he shipped out to remind me how important she was to him. I gave him my word I would look after her, make sure she had everything she needed. I also offered him a job once he’d had enough of the military life, told him he just needed to say the word. I doubted he would ever take me up on my offer, but it was there if he needed it. Gabby had worked for my mother for a long time and if Mom trusted her, it meant I did too.
As for how my mother felt about Marissa, it was no secret my mom didn’t care for her. She had an image in her h
ead of the type of girl I should be with. One who attended church, made homemade cherry pie, and had her virtue locked away at home in a gun safe. Marissa had never cooked a day in her life, felt church was somewhere you showed up for weddings, and had tossed her virginity the first chance she got. Even though my mother’s shop had won awards from all over the city for her classy and luxurious pieces, I knew she would use the flowers destined for the trash to make Marissa’s bouquet.
I pulled into the club where my dad held meetings. It was one of the dozen strip joints we owned in the city. As I walked in, I noticed a few new girls dancing on the pole. Another thing my Uncle Carmine had told me was, fucking a stripper was like buying a rental car—a bad idea. No matter how pretty it looks, every bastard who rented it before you drove the fucker like it was stolen.
Dad was sitting at the head of the table when I walked in. Anthony was perched to his right, and Uncle Carmine to his left.
“Hey, Nicky,” Uncle Carmine greeted me and slapped my back in a hug.
I swear to fucking god, I will be a hundred-and-nine and that old bastard will still call me by that fucking nickname.
“Uncle.” I hugged him back. “You old bastard, how’s it hanging?”
“Always to the left, Nicky, always to the left.”
I caught the tail end of what Anthony was telling my father. They were talking about the shit that had gone down in Louisiana. “He had a few girls on the side, a bus load of kids, and one steady girlfriend.”
Fucking fantastic. The last thing we needed was an out for justice girlfriend who didn’t want to believe her boyfriend had died in an accident. “Do we need to find her?” I questioned. If Anthony thought she was a loose end, that shit would be tied up right the fuck now.
“I tried,” Anthony started. “But…” he rubbed the area behind his neck, “…well, after our friend met his demise, the girl disappeared in the middle of Mardi Gras. There were three other girls who matched her description, each last seen near the same parade marker. Cameras have the girl entering the street, but no sign of her leaving.” Anthony’s eyes were sharp, his foot bouncing on the edge of his opposite knee while smoke curled into the air from his cigar.
“You get a name?”
“Arianna Covington.” Anthony shuffled some papers, opening a file. “She lived alone, kept to herself, and was still taking care of the father of her deceased boyfriend. No driver’s license and no ID in the state’s record. There is money in a savings account, which hasn’t been touched since her disappearance.”
Eyes flashed around the room, all landing on my father, waiting for him to give further instructions. Someday this would be my responsibility, deciding what action to take next.
“Get an ear to the ground on this Arianna Covington. We’ll let the police help with the legwork of finding her. It’s too much of a coincidence for her to disappear so soon after the accident. She may very well be a face on a milk carton, but this family needs to be certain.” There was a peculiar look in my father’s eyes as he pulled Anthony’s paperwork toward him, closing the folder and crossing his arms over the top of it.
We talked more about some of the hits going on in one of our neighborhoods; punks were roughing up the older storeowners. They paid us good money to keep them, and their property, protected. Dad told Anthony to head over and handle it.
“And you,” my father drawled out.
My attention turned toward him as he rubbed a hand over his face.
“I got a call from your mother this morning. It seems that motherfucker is still trying to rent that fucking pig sty out at a premium. She wants it handled today, or else.”
I knew what he meant. If I didn’t handle this personally she would be crawling up my ass. My mother might be a foot-and-a-half shorter than me, but she would hang me by my balls and not lose a wink of sleep. I’d head over there first thing and get rid of the problem. My mom loved the neighborhood which housed her shop and I’d be damned if some small time junkie would be allowed to fuck it up for her.
“Oh, and before you leave, you need to stop by the back men’s room.”
I shot him a questioning look. “I don’t need to take a piss.”
My father didn’t blink an eye before telling me clearly, “I didn’t fucking ask you if you needed to piss. I told you to go look in the back bathroom.”
Arguing with him was never a good plan. In the hierarchy of things he was much more than my father, he was the head of this family and my boss. If he told me to take a shit on Broadway, then I’d be dropping my drawers during the ball drop on New Year’s Eve.
Standing from my chair, I made my way to the bathroom in the back. When I opened the door, I nearly vomited at what I saw. Marissa was on all fours, one of our men’s dicks in her mouth while his buddy was fucking her ass. She was moaning like the fucking whore she is. Not one of those fuckers looked at me as I closed the door, but they sure as shit reacted when my fist slammed into the wooden door, causing splinters to scatter everywhere. I didn’t wait for the motherfuckers to come out; I would deal with this shit later.
My father was standing in his office by the time I came out, my anger still pumping through my veins. “Well?” he questioned with a knowing look on his face.
“You’re right. Never take a common whore home to your mother, or trust a motherfucking thing she says.”
Anthony looked up from his cell phone, about to open his mouth, when the bathroom door flew open and Vinnie came running in, his fingers still fumbling with his zipper. “I’m sorry—”
“Is it your fucking birthday?” My anger was reaching dangerous levels, all rational thought taking a backseat to the rage barreling forth. “Did I fucking give you permission to mess with my shit?”
Turning toward my father, I questioned him with a look. He, in turn, looked away, silently giving me the answer I needed. “Don’t fucking tell me you didn’t know!” I roared. “Every motherfucker in this city knows her pussy belongs to me!”
He didn’t answer as the door opened again and the whore herself came running in. Tits hanging out, tears staining her face black, and her skirt still bunched around her waist. Gino was close on her heals, his pants held up by the hand not being used to tuck himself back in.
“Baby, I can—” Her words stopped when she found herself looking down the barrel of my gun.
My body didn’t flinch as I pivoted and fired a single shot, a shot which entered the center of Vinnie’s forehead and left a big ass hole in my father’s office door. Marissa turned into a screaming mess. Gino’s eyes grew wide as he started backing up. He made it three steps before my next shot reminded everyone in the building who the fuck I was… and why they were really here.
“Better get your ass on that fucking pole out there. Your rent is due in a few weeks.”
Marissa knew better than to say a fucking word. She was still holding her arms across her tits, eyes closed tight. I holstered my gun as Marissa fell to her knees, her body shaking violently while she crawled out of the room, right past the two men I’d just killed.
She had played me for an idiot, dipping into a pot she had no business dipping in. I had taken her off that fucking pole, given her a nice life… and she pays me back by fucking two of my men? That shit wouldn’t fly with me.
“Don’t forget to take care of that issue for your mother. Her shop closes soon.”
Giving my father and uncle a hug, I headed out.
Taking care of the Zippy and his apartment he kept trying to rent out was easy. Cornelius Ramino was a small time criminal with aspirations to join the family. Dad had given him the name Zippy as a jab when he came looking for work. Instead of clamming up about that shit, he took it on like a badge of honor. He found this abandoned building the city had forgotten about. He moved in and tried to rent out an area in the building. The neighbors knew to contact my mom to get rid of him. I had asked Anthony to handle it, but with the situation in Louisiana, he hadn’t had time to do it.
“Hey
, man.” Zippy answered the door trying to get me to do his lame dick handshake. Motherfucker knew I wasn’t some low level street gangster, neither was he. He’d probably learned that shit from some documentary he’d watched.
The sound of a ball game in the background, the pungent smell of weed, and body odor met me before his nasty smile did. “You have two minutes to clear your shit out. If I find you leering around again, it won’t be just your fucking house I get rid of.”
I moved past him and began pouring gasoline over every surface. Entering the apartment he’d tried to rent, I caught the smell of something feminine, fresh, and delicate. Whoever the girl was, it was her lucky day to have not moved her shit in yet, as this place would be a pile of ash in a few minutes. I checked to make sure no one else was passed out in the building before tossing a lit match inside and shutting the door.
Old man Parker, who ran the pet shop, was watching from his window. He came out of his store, his favorite broom in hand. Mr. Parker had owned the shop since I was a little boy.
“Mr. Santos, good to see you.”
“You, too, Mr. Parker. Business good?”
“Could be better if the young kids harassing my customers would be dealt with like the illegal house behind you.” Smoke rolled from the windows of said house as glass shattered from the rising heat. There was no sign of Zippy anywhere.
“Next on my list, Mr. Parker.” I assured him and noticed old man Dorfman standing on the corner watching the smoke rise from down the street. There were several customers playing dominos on the tables outside his store, many of whom I’ve known my entire life.
“Hey, Mr. Dorfman. How are things?” David Dorfman, a Jewish immigrant who had come over the same time my Nona had, had owned the corner store longer than my mom had owned her shop. He was a good man who tried to keep the place looking nice. His building needed some repairs which I know Mom was planning to try and help with. He was getting up in years; I needed to ask him who would take over for him when he passed. I didn’t want some asshole near my mom or Gabby.
Stolen Secrets Page 5