For the Love of Flowers

by Kelsey Hodge

  The Salvatores have been linked to the Romanos for as long as I can remember. Even though we aren’t contacted by blood, they’ve always felt like family. To know that one of their deaths is at my hand, regardless that the order came from Dad, will probably haunt me for the rest of my life. Dad looks at it like any other killing of a snitch. For me, this one is different. Of course, all the Salvatores understand the nature of our business. They also know what happens when someone talks to the cops. Knowing all this doesn’t make the day any easier.

  Dead on midday, the door to the shop opens, and Frank walks in.

  “Good afternoon, Lorenzo, you ready to go?”

  “One minute, Frank. Just have to fix my tie, and I’ll be right there.”

  Frank turns me around and takes the tie out of my hands and ties it into a near-perfect Windsor knot. “If I waited for you do to it, we would never get there,” Frank tells me.

  I smile to myself. Frank is right. I can’t tie a tie for the life of me and probably would have been standing there in ten minutes trying to get it right.

  “Thanks, Frank. One of these days, you’ll have to show me how you do it, in case you aren’t around one day.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, you know that,” Frank states, looking at me for a second.

  “Yeah, I know, Frank. Just saying…”

  Frank looks at his watch, and a slight frown comes over him. “Time to get going. It’s gonna take us at least forty-five minutes to get to the church.”

  Precisely forty-five minutes later, we pull up to Corpus Christi Church and spot my parents outside. Dad is dressed in his tailored black Armani suit, fitting his body almost like a second skin. Dad has what can only be described as typical Italian looks: strong square jawline, black hair, beautiful olive skin, and a look that states he isn’t to be messed with; it is almost Mafia like. This, of course, means my mother is very much the typical Italian housewife. The life and soul of any gathering, but today, she has a somber look on her face, but is still impeccably dressed in her black Prada suit with a plain white shirt, black stockings and her best black Louboutin, that will flash that hint of red when she walks. Her brown hair is pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

  “Hi Mom, Hi Dad,” I say, walking up to them.

  My mother pulls me into a hug that would make some onlookers think she hasn’t seen me in years, not days. Her embraces always look the same. “Lorenzo, the flowers are beautiful. You did the Salvatores proud.”

  “Thank you, Mom, but I wish that weren’t the case.”

  Dad turns to me on hearing this and whispers so only I can hear. “Lorenzo, Tony was a snitch. He was seen talking to a known cop. He also knew what would happen if he was found out. He paid the price.”

  Snapping my head in Dad’s direction. I can’t believe he said that. I never thought of Dad as heartless, but at this very moment, as I stand on the steps outside the church doors, I see a glimpse of the cold-hearted businessman who thinks of nothing more than the next shipment. No care for the lives he’s destroying and with a sobering clarity, I realize this could be my fate.

  Before I can dwell on this thought too much, the service starts, and we enter the church, making our way to one of the pews in the front. Everyone in attendance understands the reason behind his death, except the dad conducting the service. It’s almost laughable hearing him talk about a life ended too soon.

  Over an hour later, we finally leave the church and make our way to the burial plot located in the church cemetery on Riverdale. Mom has come with me and Frank, and she’s done this on purpose. I wait for the questions to start.

  “How’s is the shop doing, Lorenzo?”

  Mom always asks about the shop, never the work I do with Dad. She had learned a long time ago that having no knowledge is sometimes a good thing, especially if the cops ever come knocking on her door.

  “It’s good, Mom. Getting a few more flower orders and the additional planters for gifts are doing well too,” I tell her, but more is coming.

  “That’s good.” She pauses, getting her words together for the ‘but’ that’s coming “but you know I worry about you doing it all alone.” Here it comes. “You need a wife and to start a family. Your time is running out.” It’s always the same with my mother; I think she has wanted me married since I left school.

  “Mom, I’m happy. I don’t want a wife. I’m not ready for children either,” I say to her again.

  “It’s not right for someone of your age not to be settled down,” she answers back.

  “I’m only thirty,” I say. “Not over the hill yet, and I want to make sure the shop is successful before settling down with anyone.” It is already, but if she knew that, she would be even worse. Just when I think the conversation is over, she drops the bombshell.

  “Well, there are going to be some nice girls at the reception that I want to introduce you to,” she says it so nonchalantly, it takes a second to register.

  Turning to face my mother, I say, “Please tell me you haven’t organized a matchmaking scheme at a funeral?” The smile that spreads across her face tells me that’s exactly what she has done.

  “Some good Italian families are attending this funeral. It’s perfect for meeting the right girl.”

  “No, Mom, it’s perfect for you. Why can’t you leave this alone?” I wish I could tell her I’ve met the perfect person for me. It’s a he, not a she.

  “If I leave it alone, you’ll never find someone, and I’ll never get my grandbabies.”

  I open my mouth to say something but stop myself. This a discussion we’ve had time and time again. Until I’m brave enough for the truth, it’s one that will continue. It’ll be a long reception, and we have the burial to get through first.

  What feels like an eternity but is only fifteen minutes, we pull up outside the gates to the burial ground at Riverside and slowly make our way to the plot for the interment. Usually, this doesn’t take too long, but today, I wish it would go on forever so I can avoid the reception and the very awkward conversations I’ll be having later.

  The burial plot is on the side of a slight incline, so we must walk up from the roadside. The view across the river seems befitting as the final resting spot. I see the funeral procession up ahead and to the left, before ground levels out and follows a road around. I end up facing the grave with my back towards the road. I find it strangely peaceful, not being able to see the world behind me. I can concentrate on saying goodbye to Tony.

  Twenty minutes later, the coffin has been lowered into the ground, and everyone has started to leave when a snippet of conversation from one of the other mourners hits my ears.

  “What is he doing here? He’s not welcome here.”

  “Cannot believe a cop would have the nerve to show up today.”

  Suddenly, my blood runs cold, and I turn around in time to see a figure walking away in the distance with his back to me. But I would recognize that back anywhere. What the hell is Wyatt doing here? Did he spot me and if he did, how do I explain my presence, especially after him telling me to be careful this morning?

  True to her word, the introductions start about an hour after we arrive at the wake, when everyone is milling about chatting. I cannot stop thinking about Wyatt being at the cemetery and don’t spot her coming over with a girl until it’s too late. I have no choice but to be introduced. She looks to be in her mid to late twenties and is beautiful. Sofia is about five foot seven; she comes to above my shoulders, with long, black, wavy hair that falls to below her shoulders. Her face is heart shaped with piercing almond-shaped green eyes and full lips. If I were straight, she would be ticking all the right boxes.

  “Lorenzo, this is Sofia,” Mom says.

  I shake her hand and smile, hoping it comes across as genuine. I wait for the excuse my mother will give to leave us alone. Sure enough, not a minute later, she says, “I’ll see if they need help in the kitchen.”

  I’m left alone with a woman that I want nothing to
do with, and I’m trying to figure out what the hell I can say to let this woman know I’m not interested without telling her I’m gay.

  “Sorry about my mother.”

  “It’s okay, Lorenzo. My mother is the same. She wants me to get married and never stops going on about it.”

  “What is it with mothers?” I say with a slight smile.

  “I wish they would leave this alone.” I feel a little better that Sofia seems to understand, but the conversation dries up after this point. My mind soon drifts to Wyatt, and it’s only when I feel a hand on my arm, I realize that Sofia has asked me a question.

  “Sorry, was miles away then. Did you ask somethin?” I say, being honest.

  “I only asked what you did for a living? But if it helps, a penny for them.”

  “What?” I don’t not fully understand what Sofia means.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she says again.

  Realizing what she has said, I answer, “It’s nothing. Just thinking, that’s all. To answer your question, I’m a florist and have a shop in the East Village.”

  “Wow, I would never have guessed you were a florist.” I see the surprise on her face.

  This, of course, is the standard response I get whenever someone hears what I do, and I honestly don’t mind. I love flowers and working with them every day. So what if it’s not a typical job for a man. I’m doing what I love, if you ignore the behind-the-scenes situations I deal with.

  “I love flowers and making beautiful creations, knowing they will make someone’s day.”

  “It’s refreshing to meet someone who genuinely loves their job.”

  Suddenly, I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This conversation is going too well, which means that in any second, she’ll ask me for my number with the standard, ‘Do you want to meet for coffee sometime?’

  “Look, Lorenzo, you seem like a nice guy, but I want you to know I’m not interested in seeing anyone now. I would love to meet for a coffee at some point but purely as friends.”

  This isn’t what I expected, and I’m amazed that I’m not standing there with my mouth hanging open. The relief I feel is almost overwhelming. “I actually would like that, Sofia.” I suddenly have a thought that might be beneficial to the both of us. “I had an idea. We both want our moms off our backs. Let’s make a few coffee dates but indicate to our mothers it’s something more. Fingers crossed, they may leave us alone, for a while anyway.”

  “Normally, I don’t like lying to my mother,” she says, unsure for a second, “but now, I’ll do anything to stop the marriage talks. Let’s do it a few times and see what happens.”

  We exchange telephone numbers as my mother walks into the room and spots us. We notice the smile that spreads across her face. With a nod to each other, we confirm the plan.

  “It was lovely to meet you, Lorenzo. I’ll be in contact for that coffee,” Sofia states loud enough for my mother to hear and walks away.

  I can tell that my mother is pleased with herself when she comes over. “Oh Lorenzo, I’m so pleased that you and Sofia are hitting it off. She’s a lovely girl.” She doesn’t continue talking about how beautiful Sofia is like I thought she would. Instead, she says, “Your dad got a phone call and is asking if you’ll meet him out front.”

  Shocked but knowing not to ignore a request from Dad, I make my way outside and see him standing by his car. When he spots me, he gets inside; this is a private conversation linked to a drug shipment or movement within the city.

  I follow him inside and close the car door behind me.

  “You’re making your mother happy by chatting with Sofia. She’s a nice girl.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I guess you didn’t drag me out of the wake to discuss Sofia.” I want him to get to the point so I can get this over with.

  “You’re right. I received confirmation that we’ll get another shipment in two weeks. It’s coming in ahead of schedule, so we’ll need to make sure the ship is protected.”

  “I’ll check the information and see what the possibility of it being boarded are. I’ll protect it as best I can.”

  Dad nods his head, his signal that the conversation is over. I get out of the car and make my way inside again. My future now has a deadline.

  Chapter 8 - Wyatt

  I reach the end of my desk, turn, and head to the other end, only to turn around and walk back, doing this a few more times until…

  “Wyatt, what the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been pacing for an hour now,” Liam asks me, concerned.

  Suddenly startled, I stop my walking at the sound of Liam’s voice. I look at him, open my mouth to say something but close it again, only to open it again but still, nothing comes out. I start pacing again.

  What the hell is Lorenzo doing at the burial? I only see his back, but I would recognize him anywhere. He works for the Romano family, but why would he then have to attend the burial? I can guess that he did the flowers, but then again, that wouldn’t mean he would have to attend—so why the hell was he there?

  I can’t honestly say why I went to the burial myself, but I hoped that maybe someone would jump out as a lead, and I would get some answers, but all it has done is give me with more questions. The first one being, should I tell Liam that I saw Lorenzo?

  I stop, turn towards Liam, and open my mouth, trying to form the words but close it again, having absolutely no clue how to deal with this. I should say something but what? “Oh yeah, went to the burial today. Guess who I saw? Yep, Lorenzo.” There would be questions asked that I cannot answer.

  My pacing is linked to my worry over Lorenzo and his safety. I cannot believe that after our conversation this morning, he would put himself in that dangerous situation.

  Stopping, I realize that if I’m going to get the answers I want, I must stop behaving like an anxious boyfriend and think like the detective I am. But in my gut, I won’t like the answers I find. I move to my desk, sit, and find my voice.

  “I want to look further into the Romano family. There’s something there. I also want to investigate Romano’s Flowers. We’re missing something.”

  “You want to look into Lorenzo’s shop? Wyatt, what the hell is going on?” Liam asks, confused.

  “I don’t want to say until we’ve looked into things. Trust me, okay?”

  “Okay, but I’m not happy about it. Where do you want me to start?”

  “Let’s start at the ship. I think that’s where it all starts, and we need to go from there.”

  The next two hours go by in a blur. We’ve investigated the shipping logs, going back almost two years. There’s no definitive pattern, with no way of knowing when the next shipment is due to come in.

  “Are we missing something, Liam? I would’ve thought there would have been a pattern,” I ask him, confused.

  “I don’t think we are, Wyatt. We aren’t dealing with normal shipments here. I think we need to go about this differently.”

  “How do you mean?” Looking over to Liam, I wonder if his face will give anything away.

  “Think about it. We’ve been looking for a shipment that comes in regularly, like coffee, but we’re dealing with flowers. These have a shelf life. They’re needed at different times. I think we need to stop looking at the shipyard but shift to the wholesaler and see if we can get some records.”

  Liam’s right, of course. I had been looking at this the wrong way. The link here isn’t the ship but the wholesale. I take a step back for a second to look over the information we have and check the ship’s manifesto and see that the flowers all go to the wholesale. If drugs are coming in via the flowers, they’ll be shipped out from the wholesale.

  “You’re right, Liam. We need to get to the wholesaler and see if we can get to their shipment records. We’ll need to get a warrant.”

  Liam looks surprised before he asks, “Do you think we’ll need a warrant?”

  “Yeah, I do. I don’t think the wholesalers are as clean as we think. Turning up out of the blue and
asking for the information, we’ll get a resounding no. By the time we get back there with a warrant, there’ll be nothing to find,” I explain to Liam.

  “Right. I’ll follow your lead on this. Your instincts aren’t normally wrong.”

  “Thanks, Liam. Can you organize the affidavit and get it over to Judge Morgan at the Magistrates?”

  “No problem. What are you asking for?”

  “Just request access to the records for the flower shipments. We need to make out that we’re more interested in where the flowers come from and not where the flowers go once they’ve arrived. I think we’ll need to tread very carefully if we want to get what we need.”

  “The Romano family is involved, especially with the wholesale, and it’s much more dangerous than we thought.”

  Two hours later, we’ve managed to get the warrant for the wholesaler.

  “Never thought to check, where is the wholesaler?” I ask Liam, as we leave the police station. Liam gets into the driver’s seat of the SUV.

  Looking at the paperwork in his hand, he says, “Looks like we’re off to Chelsea. That’s reasonably close to Lorenzo’s shop, but I have a feeling that’s a coincidence.”

  I don’t reply to this as I’m not so sure, but I hope he’s right. I don’t say anything else on the drive over to the wholesaler; all I can think about is Lorenzo. I pray that it doesn’t involve him in any of this.

  We pull up outside a double-fronted shop about halfway down the street with a green awning that covers the length of the shop with the letters, ‘JOE’S FLOWER WHOLESALER’ in gold. We’re in the right place. The entire glass-fronted shop is hidden behind buckets of fresh flowers, in every color imaginable, all protected by the shade of the awning.

  We get out of the car and notice more buckets lining the edge of the sidewalk by the road, leaving enough room for two people to walk side by side.