UNPROTECTED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Hanley Family Mafia)

by Zoey Parker

  I throw another look back at Jaws, who’s now entirely immersed in ice cream ecstasy. From here, the bulk of the gun in his jean pocket is still visible.

  Yeah, he may look like a Dragon Ball Z character, but Jaws is the best there is.

  By the time I make it back there with my cone of Very Berry Strawberry, Jaws is all finished his Rainbow Sherbet and ready to talk business.

  “So,” he says, smoothing out his rainbow-smeared napkin on the table, “the Piccolos.”

  I nod, and through a strawberry spoonful, repeat, “The Piccolos.”

  He picks up the napkin and speaks to it, “So they stole another shipment, right up under our noses. Turns out they bought out Kyle a few months back.”

  I take an extra big bite, glaring at the napkin myself.

  “That bastard.”

  Jaws shrugs, throws the napkin into a sweeping gesture of dismissal.

  “That’ll be water under the bridge when you hear what I’ve got planned.”

  I lean in.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, we want to completely put them down, right?”

  I shrug, avoid his eager gaze. His excitement is contagious. And dangerous.

  “I don’t know man. I think we should just hit the Piccolos back harder. Steal their next shipment. Maybe take out a few of them while we’re at it. So they get that we’re not ones to be trifled with. So they back off.”

  I shake my head, continue, “I’m not sure I want a full-out war. Not yet.”

  Jaws nods, then shakes his head.

  “I don’t know, Boss. You remember how they responded to trying to talk it out.”

  He self-consciously scratches at his neck, at the angry gash from the last of those talks.

  I stab my spoon into the soft body of strawberry with an added vigor.

  Ah yes, I remember all too well.

  How we’d finally gotten them to agree to a sit-down. How we were going to divvy up areas, girls, stop the feud, figure out a win-win solution. How they tricked us, decided they’d use all of us as target practice instead.

  They’d apparently changed their minds last minute, decided they’d rather use Jaws and his men as target practice instead.

  I inhale, then exhale.

  Letting my temper get the best of me could be fatal. An all-out war would be bloody, and I don’t want to put my family and friends in any more danger than I have to.

  Jaws folds his napkin slowly, studiously. Once it’s as small as it can get, he says, “Just hear me out, ok?”

  I nod, and he continues, “So I’m thinking – I’m thinking we won’t get many chances when they’re caught unawares, surprised. I’m thinking we throw them for a complete loop, you got me?”

  I nod, and he continues, “Problem is the whole clan sticks to that big old house like it’s their jail. Not to mention we don’t even know what kind of fish we’re dealing with as far as Toni Piccolo goes.”

  I frown.

  “Still no word on who he is?”

  Jaws shakes his head.

  “Nope. He’s as good as a ghost, and our sources can’t get shit on him.”

  I shrug, and he continues, “So we need a time when they’re separated – when we can hit them where it hurts. So hard that they won’t be able to get back up again, yeah?”

  I take a big spoonful to hide my smile. I like where this is going, but I’m not about to change my mind.

  “So, I’m thinking – big old Papa Piccolo’s getting pretty long in the tooth. There’s been more doctors in and out of there than girls in your bed.”

  I punch his arm.

  “I’ve been slowing down, you know.”

  Jaws gives another glinty grin and waves the napkin again.

  “Be that as it may, main thing is – the evil old bastard is dying. It’s only a matter of time before he croaks entirely.”

  “So?” I say, “And then Toni Piccolo steps up as the official head of the family. Toni Piccolo – the guy who could be anyone for as much as we know about how he looks. How does the old guy dying help us?”

  Jaws is unfolding the napkin.

  “So, I’m thinking, when the whole sad Piccolo family is at the very sad funeral boohooing over Papa Piccolo, that’s when we do it. That’s when we strike.”

  I grin, but Jaws is focused on the napkin, unfolding parts and refolding others.

  “We blow up their house. Then we wait nearby and shoot a few coming home in the chaos. Maybe even take out Toni Piccolo himself if we’re lucky.”

  Jaws lifts the napkin, which he has somehow folded into the shape of a person. His gaze flicking to mine, his smirk spreading over his face, in one rapid motion he rips it in half.

  As the severed halves fall to the table, I punch Jaws on the arm again.

  “Fuck you’re good.”

  His brace grin still wide, Jaws rises.

  “This calls for another Rainbow Sherbet.”

  He goes to the now lineless front counter, and returns a minute later with what looks like four scoops.

  “I’m hungry,” he tells my stupefied look.

  Then, taking a big bite, he adds, “You know they have Baskin Robbins PJ shorts for chicks now, yeah?”

  I take a final bite of my own, shake my head.

  “No way.”

  He nods.

  “Yeah way, they have ones for Cherries Jubilee, Orange Cheesecake. I’m gonna get Tinsley to wear the Rainbow Sherbet ones for my birthday.”

  “Jesus Jaws,” I say, laughing.

  I’m not sure if I’m amused or weirded out by the image of his Rosie O’Donnell-esque girlfriend decked out in Rainbow Sherbet boxers.

  After a particularly big bite, Jaws shoots me a significant sidelong look.

  I shake my head.

  “I don’t know man. I’m still not sold on this plan of yours. I want to send the Piccolos a message they won’t soon forget, but I feel like that might be going too far. They have allies of their own too.”

  But Jaws can see the excitement in my face even as I deny him.

  He grins orangey pink teeth back then, not missing a beat, adds, “Well Boss, you still have some time to decide. I give the old man three weeks, tops. Three weeks and, if we go with the plan, we’re gonna have a monopoly on the trafficking business. Three weeks and we’re gonna be as good as Gods.”

  Chapter 6

  Toni

  Everyone knows the moment I’m home. No sooner have I closed the front door then out comes Jane racing and Carlos stumbling.

  As I pet Jane’s sleek gray head, I glare at Carlos.

  Figures the one morning I’m late getting home, he’s actually awake, although as hungover as ever if his red-rimmed eyes are any indication.

  He lingers on the top of the staircase. Then he totters down a few steps before righting himself with a palm to one of the golden roses on our walls.

  “You never came home.”

  His voice contains all his irritation at not knowing something, not being head of the family, and being my half-brother at all.

  I slip off a shoe, and address the other one.

  If I take in his disheveled self-righteousness I’m not going to be able to hold my temper.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Carlos stumbles down another few steps, sending Jane into a flurry of barks.

  I pull her back by the leash.

  “Jane,” I scold her, though I’m secretly pleased.

  She’s the only one who hates Carlos more than I do. She can probably smell the corruption on him.

  “Dumb dog,” Carlos mutters.

  I take off the other shoe and, as I’m striding to the kitchen, Jane trotting alongside me, he says, “You never answered the question.”

  I stop, consider continuing walking. But Carlos and his insolent question will just follow me to the kitchen, follow me out of the house even.

  He’ll use any excuse he can to cause conflict. Ever since the words, “Toni’s taking over the family business until
I’m better” came out of our father’s mouth I’ve seen the hunger in his eyes. The hunger for power.

  I turn to face him, while Carlos stumbles down the rest of the steps and strides up to me. He stops an inch away, glaring into my eyes insolently.

  There’s a cut on his lip and suddenly, I’m filled with a strange sort of pity for him, this incompetent try-hard who’s my brother.

  I almost feel like telling him, explaining it to him. That I don’t want this any more than he does, that I’m just trying to honor our father’s wish.

  But the longer I stare into those cold, unfeeling coals of eyes, the clearer it is. There’s no understanding there, no mercy. Carlos wouldn’t understand.

  No, in his snarled lower lip there is only resentment.

  He would take my admission, my weakness – and use it to rip me apart. No, I can’t give him an inch.

  I turn my back on him, head to the kitchen and, over my shoulder, say, “Have you forgotten who’s in charge here?”

  My question hangs in the silence.

  “Madame left her scarf,” a familiar voice says.

  I turn around.

  It’s our nanny, Maria Fernanda, standing in front of Carlos, her hand extended. Out of it snakes a sheen of green.

  My eyes meet Carlos’ in immediate understanding.

  He rips the scarf out of her hand.

  “You dumb bitch, I told you not to say anything!”

  As Jane explodes into a barking rebuke, Maria Fernanda hangs her head.

  “I apologize.”

  Carlos advances, yells at the graying roots of her hair.

  “You apologizing isn’t good enough, you useless old hag! What’s the point of my father hiring you if you can’t do anything properly?”

  She says nothing, keeps her head lowered. But even this doesn’t appease Carlos.

  He advances further, so that he’s so close that Maria Fernanda can’t back up any further because she’s pressed up against the wall.

  “You did this on purpose,” he snarls, his hand slowly rising as he speaks, “Didn’t you? Toni’s always been your favorite, hasn’t she?”

  As his hand towers over her, casting a shadow over her averted, terrified face, I step forward.

  “Carlos, that’s enough.”

  I keep my voice even, my face expressionless. So he won’t see the fear.

  Carlos rounds on me. His hand is still raised and quivering with rage, while his eyebrows are thick angry clusters.

  I lift my chin up, as if daring his blow.

  I repeat, “Carlos, that’s enough.”

  Mouth contorted in a snarl, Carlos turns from Maria Fernanda’s bowed form to my upright one.

  He aims a kick at Jane, who dodges his blow. Then he storms down the hallway and out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

  I stare at it for a minute, grab the handle.

  “Let him go,” Maria Fernanda says softly.

  I turn to her.

  Her bun is sagging and her eyes have their own quiet fury.

  “Okay,” I say.

  Maria Fernanda comes beside me.

  “The dog is true to her type,” she says, patting Jane fondly, “Fast and good and gray as a greyhound should be.”

  Jane isn’t as happy at being patted as she usually is. Her gaze is locked on the door, as if she expects Carlos to return any minute.

  The poor dog doesn’t understand. That Carlos is gone, and that it’s what he’s left that is much worse.

  After a minute, Maria Fernanda rises, says, “Tea.”

  I follow her to the kitchen. Her hand is still shaking as she lifts the old “P” emblazoned kettle to pour out peppermint tea for the two of us.

  Even as slowly as she walks, her tremors cause droplets to surge over the sides of the cups.

  She puts the cups down on the kitchen table, then dabs the spills off the saucers.

  I sit down at the table and, sitting down herself, folding her hands into a creased single shaking entity, Maria Fernanda says, “She came – Madame Laurenz.”

  “When?”

  “Last night when you were gone.”

  I nod, stirring the milk in my tea, swirling it around as the thoughts in my head swirl around.

  It’s never a good sign when that witch Laurenz is in town. She is Papa’s ex-wife after all. What can she want now? What is she planning?

  “Like a crow circling carrion,” Maria Fernanda says to her tea glumly.

  She grabs my hand. Her clasp is not as comforting as usual with her next words, “Be careful. They’re planning something.”

  I try sipping my tea, but my impatience only burns my tongue.

  I nod dully.

  I say, “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry Maria.” Though I believe it even less than she.

  I check my phone but there’s nothing from my wild albino friend from last night. It’s been less than an hour; he’s probably not even up yet.

  The screen goes black, and I glare at the worried stranger reflected there.

  What’s wrong with me? Why did I even give the guy my number anyway? So we had mind-blowing sex, so what? I’ve never given any of the others my number – why start now?

  I shove my phone back in my pocket.

  Whatever, it’s not up to me now.

  Maria Fernanda grasps my hand again, and I meet her kindly gaze with a smile.

  “Be careful,” she repeats, her hoarse voice almost a sob.

  I nod, but Maria Fernanda’s face is only growing more discouraged.

  “Be careful of the darkness,” she whispers.

  My heart goes cold.

  “What do you mean Maria?”

  But her gaze is rooted over my shoulder. I turn and follow it to our family portrait from a few years ago.

  I find the photo just as hideous now as I did when it was taken four years ago. The too-bright too-sharpened image is the definition of overdone. It’s the whole family, and yet we all appear half there, like caricatures of ourselves. All our arms are enlaced, our smiles propped-up. As if our family wasn’t falling apart.

  My gaze goes to my mother, her face all jagged angles and hollows, her smile the most propped-up of all.

  “Your mother tried to resist the darkness, but in the end, it swallowed her too.”

  At Maria Fernanda’s whisper, I glance over. Her deep brown eyes are on the same doomed enigma. My mother.

  “What do you mean?”

  At my words, Maria Fernanda doesn’t react, only shakes her head, repeats, “In the end, it swallowed her too.”

  When I squeeze her shoulder, she flinches.

  I say, “Maria…”

  The words seem to emerge from her against her will, her mouth twisted, her gaze fixed on something invisible to the eye, she says, “Every morning only one side of the bed had to be smoothed out.”

  Then she leaps up and rushes out of the room without another word.

  My gaze returns to the family portrait, to my mother’s dead eyes, the crease of concern on my father’s smiling face.

  For years, I’d sensed it, the rot under the sheen of our easy lives, trips and gifts stacking up like so many useless idols. After what Carlos let slip about “the girls” the other week, there’s no doubt of what the darkness is. And yet, after Maria Fernanda’s admission just now, I’m beginning to think that what my family does for a living is just scratching the surface. That the full horror lying behind the truth is worse than my worst nightmare.

  Chapter 7

  Gabriel

  A nothing of a day and it’s nighttime already. And I still haven’t texted her.

  Sprawled on the armchair I’ve spent most of the day in, I force myself upright.

  Just because it’s the weekend, that doesn’t mean I get to be a piece of shit for the entire day.

  I’ve already exhausted “The Godfather” series, and that phone number is still on my bedside table waiting for me.