by Kelsey Hodge
I brush a stray hair away from his face, thinking back to when we first met.
Two years ago.
A last-minute text from my brother reminds me that it’s Mom’s birthday meal tonight, and it has me googling local florists, praying that one is close to me. Romano’s Flowers is three hundred and fifty yards away from me. Their website states they’re still open. Looking up and down the street, I locate what I think is the shop and make my way to it.
Pushing the door open, without looking at the assistant, I ask, “You still open.”
“Yes, what can I help you with?”
Finally looking up, I’m faced with the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. It causes my pulse to increase, and I even sport a semi. I’m struck mute to the point where the assistant must ask, “Do you need any help?”
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I finally find my voice. “Yes, sorry. I need a bouquet for my mother, but I need it tonight. I ideally need to take it with me,” I explain.
His lips twitch into the tiniest of smiles. “I’m guessing you forgot her birthday and are now panicking because you’re seeing her later.”
“Bingo,” I say, beaming. His voice has a creamy, velvety texture and a hint of an Italian accent.
“Okay. Can I ask you some questions about your mother?”
“Um, oh right,” I replied, confused.
“What’s her favorite flower? Do you know her favorite color? How much were you looking to spend?”
Thinking about the questions for a second, I reply, “Um yellow, I think. No idea on the favorite flower, and I was thinking maybe fifty to sixty dollars.”
“Okay, I can work with that. Yellow is a nice base color. First, I can do you a bouquet of yellow lilies, blue iris, and red gerberas with some eucalyptus leaves, which you can take tonight. Then how about one of our hyacinth indoor grow sets? It comes with a ceramic bowl, so your mother can grow it at home and have a reminder of you.”
“Wow, that sounds perfect. I love the idea of the hyacinth. Thank you,” I say, shocked that he also gave me a present idea.
“Give me ten minutes to make up the bouquet. The grow pots are to the left, if you want to choose one. Each pot is different. I’m sure I can do all this for fifty dollars.”
“Thank you again,” I say, shooting him a smile as I head to the display.
True to his word, ten minutes later, I’m making my way out of the shop, and I’m walking down the street. When I stop suddenly, I turn round and walk back into the shop. The assistant looks up with a smile. God, I hope I’m right that he’s gay.
“Well, hello again, did you forget something?”
I place my flowers on the countertop and pull out a notepad and pen from my pocket.
“Look, I never do this, but here’s my cell number. I’d love to take you out for a drink if you fancy it. “The shocked look on his face is priceless, but the smile that comes afterwards is breathtaking.
“Do you always carry a notepad around with you, in case you need to give out your cell number?”
I laugh. “No, I’m a cop, so it comes in useful. If you fancy it, send me a text.” I hold out my hand to him. “By the way, my name’s Wyatt.”
He takes my hand, and I swear I feel an electric shock travel up my arm.
“Thank you, Wyatt. I’ll think about it.”
Picking up my flowers, I turn to leave the shop, but as I reach the door, he calls my name.
“Wyatt.” I turn to face him. I see his megawatt smile is back. “The name’s Lorenzo.”
“Bye, Lorenzo.” It leaves me hopeful with a spring in the step.
I spend the next two days checking my cell, hoping to receive the text. Just as I give up hope, thinking I got it wrong, my cell beeps. Picking up the cell, I see that I have a new text message from a number I don’t recognize, and my heart jumps into my throat.
>Hi, this is Lorenzo, from the florist shop. If you’re still interested, I would love to meet for a drink!
I stare at my cell for what feels like hours, re-reading the text message, not quite believing that he finally got in contact. I think carefully about my reply before sending.
>Yes, I’m still interested. I’m free on Friday if that works for you?
His reply comes back almost instantly.
>Friday works for me. Time and place?
> Do you know the Phoenix Bar on 13th?
The Phoenix Bar is a well-known gay bar in the Village, with a friendly atmosphere but it’s also a little hit and miss crowd wise. If quiet, it would be a great place to get to know each other.
>Yeah, I know it. See you there at 8?
>It’s a date.
>Smiley emoji.
He gives me a smiley emoji, a fucking smiley emoji. I almost jump out of my seat and do a fist pump in the air, but then remember that I’m in office, so settle for a small fist pump at my desk. Unfortunately, Liam spots it.
“What’s got you so happy?” Liam asks me.
“I have a date on Friday.” Leaving it there as I’m not ready to give details.
That night, we chat for hours. The bar is quiet, thank God. We end the night with a kiss that makes my toes curl, and we’ve never looked back from there. A year later, we move in together.
I check the time on the bedside clock and realize I’ll have to get up and get into work. I detangle myself from Lorenzo and head to the bathroom for a quick shower.
When I return to the bedroom, Lorenzo is still fast asleep; I go over and give a quick kiss to the lips, and nothing. Smiling, I think sometimes he’s so dead asleep, an electric cattle prod wouldn’t wake him up. I kiss him again, a little firmer this time, and he finally stirs beneath me,
“Good morning, handsome, I’m off to work. It’s still early. Go back to sleep; I wanted to say goodbye,” I say to him.
Lorenzo wraps his arms around my neck and pulls me down onto the bed in a deep passionate kiss. “Do you have to go to work?” he says as he grabs my hand and places it over his morning wood.
“You’re an evil temptress, you know that?”
“Yep. It’s one of my many charms. So, can I persuade you to stay for a while?”
Groaning, I go in for another kiss and take a quick look at the clock, but I’m out of time.
“Sorry, babe. I would love to, but if I don’t go now, I’ll be late.”
Lorenzo gives me his puppy dog look and bites his bottom lip, knowing what that does to me.
“Don’t give me that look,” I tell him. “I promise to make it up to you later, but I gotta go.”
Lorenzo finally drops his arms, and I give him another kiss and leave the bedroom. As I walk down the hallway, I hear him shout, “Leaving me with morning wood, to spend time with another man. If I didn’t know Liam was straight, I would be worried.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Love you too, babe!” I shout back and head out.
Liam is already at his desk when I get there, looking over the files again. When I reach my desk and sit, I see the shipping manifestos for the “Fiore Rosso.”
“Morning, Liam, what are you looking at?” I ask.
“Morning, Wyatt. How was the day off?” he asks. “You got me thinking on the flower shipments, and I thought I would delve deeper to see if there’s anything we missed.”
“My day off was good. Spent the day with Lorenzo being tourists,” I tell him. “When you say delve deeper, what exactly are you looking at?”
I’m intrigued by what Liam is thinking. Any link with the ship had already been dismissed, even though I’m sure it’s the missing link. There’s no evidence to back me up.
“I think you’re right, Wyatt, the Fiore Rosso is involved somehow. I requested the docking records going back five years to see if I find a pattern. The ship has had routine inspections, and they always come back as clean.”
“We know this, Liam. That’s why we’re hitting a dead end,” I state, even though Liam knows this.
“But I’ve spotted a pattern to t
he inspections,” he explains.
This comes as a complete surprise, as the inspections are supposed to be random, to make sure the captains are doing everything above board. If there’s a pattern to the checks, and we can work it out, this could be the break we’ve been so desperately looking for.
“Are you shitting me?” I ask. “If you’re right, and we can work out the pattern, we’ll be on to something. You know that, right?”
Liam hands me a shipping record from two years ago. All the dates that the Fiore Rosso docked are highlighted, and there’s an asterisk next to the dates the ship was inspected. Liam explains that he didn’t look at this file, but he’ll give me dates when he thinks the inspections took place, and I need to cross-reference them. The first few dates match, which I pass off as being lucky. By the time Liam has given me six dates over six months, I’m sure he has found something.
“How d’you work it out?” I ask, a small seed of hope growing in my gut.
“It wasn’t easy,” he says. “A lot of cross-referencing with previous years was needed. When an inspection is due to take place, more personnel is needed, so additional planning is needed. I realized that these dates would have to get booked in advance. Now, they cannot use the same dates every year as this has to be random, but I believe it works on yearly cycles. So, year one, they would inspect the first, fourth, seventh, and tenth shipment. Year two, they would do third, fifth, eighth, etc.”
I can’t believe he worked this out, but this brings up another question.
“I can’t believe it, but how could someone work this out, without having access to the records?”
With a smirk on his face, he explains, “Here’s an interesting fact; the company organizing the shipment can request past shipments. It wouldn’t take a genius for someone to work out the pattern, which means they can pick and choose which boats bring the drugs in on.”
This is the break we’ve been looking for. All we need to do now is see if we can find out if the records have been requested before, but Liam is already one step ahead of me. “I contacted the records office and asked if the details of shipments had been requested before, and they were. About two years ago, the flower wholesaler requested five years’ worth of records, stating something about ships not arriving on time. I also did some digging on the wholesaler, and you’ll never guess who the part-owner is—Alfredo Romano. They’ve been owners for generations.” Liam pauses for a second, unsure if he should tell me the next piece of information. “I requested a list of business that the wholesaler supplies flowers to, and Romano’s Flowers is on it.”
“First of all, this is huge. If we can find out when the next shipment is due and cross-reference it to your pattern, we might get lucky and get hold of the drugs. Second, I would’ve been more surprised if Romano’s Flowers isn’t on the list, especially if they’re part owners of the wholesale.”
Liam only mentions the florists because Lorenzo works there. He isn’t involved; he isn’t even a Romano. That doesn’t mean I won’t talk to him about staying away from the Romano family. A conversation I’m not looking forward to.
I’m about to ask Liam if there’s a way to check for future shipments when he throws today’s local newspaper at me. I hadn’t even noticed that he stopped looking at the files.
“Liam, why are you suddenly throwing a newspaper at me? Thought we were looking at the shipping records.”
“Wyatt, look at the obituary section.” His face tells me I won’t like what I see.
Looking to the bottom of the page, I see nothing at first, and I’m about to say so to Liam when a name in bold jumps out at me.
“IN MEMORY OF TONY SALVATORE”
My mouth goes dry, and a cold shudder travels through my body, as I realize my informant is dead.
Chapter 7 - Lorenzo
I wake to the lovely smell of fresh coffee wafting through the apartment. I roll over with a contented smile until I realize that Wyatt is supposed to be working. Who in the hell is making coffee? Bolting upright, I listen to the noises coming from the kitchen and heave a sigh of relief at the distinct sound of Wyatt’s whistling. I happily get out of bed and make my way to the kitchen.
“Good morning, handsome,” I say. “What do I owe this pleasure?” I reach my arms around his waist to kiss his shoulder.
Wyatt spins around, pulling me into him. “Good morning, handsome yourself.” He pauses briefly. “I needed to talk to you, so I don’t have to go into work till later.”
“Okay; that doesn’t sound good.” I look at his face, trying to see some clue about the conversation we’re about to have. As usual, his face gives nothing away.
“It’s not good,” he states, “But nothing to do with us, and more to do with your work.”
My stomach drops. Shit, has he figured something out? Does he know what has been happening behind the scenes? Does he know I’m a Romano? I try to keep my face and body language as neutral as possible. This isn’t the time to give anything away.
“Okay.” I move out of his embrace and get my favorite cup out of the cupboard, filling it with coffee and make my way to the dining table on the other side of the kitchen.
Wyatt pulls out a chair opposite me, sits, and twists his cup in his fingers, not looking at me at all. He’s nervous, which isn’t like him. I decide to break the ice. “You’re starting to make me nervous,” I say.
“Look, Lorenzo, this will sound very odd, but I want you to be careful at work.”
Fuck, he knows something.
“Why?”
“I spoke to someone in the Romano family linked to the case, and he has turned up dead.
Shit, he’s talking about Tony. How the hell does he know Tony? Suddenly I realize… Wyatt is the cop Tony was seen talking to, the reason the family took out the hit. I feel the color drain from my face. I’ll have to be careful with what I say, so I pretend to be shocked.
“That’s terrible, but why do I need to be careful?”
Wyatt takes a deep breath. “The death has been recorded as natural, but it’s bullshit. The Romano family is dangerous, I can feel it.”
“But why does this affect me?” I ask, trying my best to stay calm. “What makes you think the family is dangerous? I’ve had no problems.” I try to harness all my acting abilities, hoping I’m not giving anything away and asking all the right questions. Thankfully, now, I seem to get away with it, but I need this conversation to end soon.
“Does Romano know you live with a cop?” Wyatt asks. “It’s too much of a coincidence that I talk to the man and next thing, he ends up dead. I’m trusting my instincts on this.”
I feel myself shaking. The conversation is hitting a little too close to home for my liking, but if I don’t continue it, Wyatt will wonder why and might ask more in-depth questions.
Trying my best to pull myself together, I answer his question and think about what the next appropriate question from me should be. “I’ve never mentioned my private life to Mr. Romano, and he has never asked me. But I’m still confused if you think there’s something more to the death. Why aren’t the cops looking into his death?”
Wyatt sighs and wipes his hand over his face. “Thank God Romano doesn’t know. His death was recorded as a heart attack, linked to an unknown heart defect, which only came to light after his death.”
I almost burst out laughing at that piece of information. I wonder how Tony’s death will be recorded. The Romanos have had a coroner on the payroll for as long as I can remember. It’s one of the reasons the family has managed to stay off the police radar. With Wyatt on the case, this will change, and I need to try to get him off the scent.
“I’m not sure what I can say, Wyatt, but if the death is anything other than what’s recorded, the coroner will have to report it. I think you’re looking too much into this, but I’ll take on board what you’ve said.”
“Please, Lorenzo, I’m serious. I have a horrible feeling about the Romanos. If you hear anything, and I mean anything you think
is odd, let me know. I love you too much to see you hurt. I need to know you’re safe.”
Realizing I need to be more convincing, I walk around to his side, crouch down next to him, and grab hold of his hand.
“I know you’re serious. I still think you’re overthinking, but I promise to stay safe.” I make a point of looking at my watch. “I have to get ready for work.” I stand, but as I’m about to make my way back to the bedroom, I lean down and kiss him. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
Once in the bedroom, I head straight for the bathroom and close the door, finally feeling like I can breathe. Holy crap, that was an intense conversation. I hope I gave nothing away. I quickly shower and get ready, dressing in black dress trousers and a white shirt. I grab my black tie and put into my work bag. I can’t stop thinking about the conversation with Wyatt, and that it happened today of all days, the day of Tony’s funeral.
I make my way back to the kitchen to find that Wyatt hasn’t left his spot at the table and is now staring into his half-drunk cup of coffee.
“I’m making some toast, you want any?”
“What?!” Wyatt replies startled. “Oh, no thank you.” He looks at his watch, but I don’t honestly think he’s looking at the time. “I’m gonna jump in the shower and then head to work.”
Getting up from his chair, he makes his way to the bedroom but pauses at the top of the hallway.
“Please, Lorenzo, remember what I said.” With that, he vanishes into the hall.
With a heavy heart, I grab my toast and bag and make my way to the shop. Today will be a long day. The funeral isn’t until lunchtime and of course, I did the flowers. I need to check on them before they’re collected. If they aren’t perfect in every way, I won’t hear the end of it from Dad. But it’ll keep my mind occupied until I must make my way to the church, I’ll meet the family before we all make our way together to the burial plot after the service.
In the end, my morning goes quicker than I thought. I finish two pedestals to stand at each side of Tony’s coffin and then a simple cross to lay on top. They’re comprised of red and white roses and some simple green ferns. They’re beautiful in the design’s simplicity and a perfect sendoff for Tony, who would have hated anything over the top.