by Gina LaManna
“I don’t want Carlos to think I’m keeping secrets from him.”
“Let’s wait a day or two.”
“Why?” I didn’t feel comfortable keeping secrets from Carlos, which might sound hypocritical since I’d wanted to keep my relationship with Anthony a secret from the Family. But that was different; work was work, and Carlos was my boss. My personal life was just that – personal.
“Carlos didn’t give me a heads up that you’d be working on an assignment out here. I had no idea about the diamonds until you told me.” Anthony’s voice became softer. “Which probably means one of two things.”
“Which are?”
“The first, he figured that whatever you’re looking into isn’t dangerous. I know Carlos would never risk your safety.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really?”
“He wouldn’t risk your safety without having me near. He wouldn’t send you into a dangerous situation without someone watching your back,” Anthony said. “And before you take offense, it’s because he loves you. We all have backups in the business – myself included.”
“Am I your backup?” I wiggled my way up next to him.
“Babe, you’re allergic to guns.”
“Not these ones.” I flexed my muscles, placing Anthony’s hand on my bicep in case he couldn’t see the teensy bulge.
He ran his hand up my arm, tickling my skin until he cupped the nape of my neck. A soft breath whispered across my lips as Anthony gently kissed my forehead. “I’d prefer you be my partner, not my backup.”
The butterflies in my stomach went crazy, and I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to Anthony’s. He took his time with a long, lazy kiss that heated me up from the inside.
“Shame the bed is broken,” Anthony said.
“Who needs a bed?” I grinned, my lips still against his.
Anthony groaned as he reclaimed my mouth, pressing me up against the door of the closet. “Don’t you tempt me—”
Anthony was interrupted as someone opened the broom closet door from the hallway, and the two of us tumbled out together and landed in a tangle on the floor.
Meg stood over us, her hands on her hips. “Well, this is awkward.”
A crowd rapidly formed behind Meg. Dan, Alfie, and Marco pressed close by, the latter looking particularly offended that I’d been discovered in the closet with a different boy than him.
I gave a sheepish grin. “It’s not what you think...”
Chapter 18
“I CAN’T STAND SITTING around doing nothing.” I twisted uncomfortably on the lawn chair, one of those that stretched out, allowing the user to fall asleep while sunbathing. I ran a hand through my hair and stood up, frustrated at my inability to relax.
Meg had no such problem, lounging comfortably on a hammock that spanned the width of the porch. She was the picture of vacation: small bikini, icy drink in hand, not a care in the world.
I felt as antsy as if it were my prom night, when I wasn’t sure my date would show up. I walked up and down the porch, made circles around the hammock and tapped on my front teeth, an annoying habit I’d picked up years ago.
“You’re making me dizzy. Take a chill pill.” Meg swirled her drink with a tiny, pink umbrella.
“I can’t relax. I have too much adrenaline.”
“Well that’s your problem. But you’re making it my problem, since my stomach is getting queasy watching you run in circles.” Meg took a long slurp of her iced tea. “Why are you worrying, anyway? There’s nothing you can do right now.”
The whole herd of us, everyone staying in the Luzzi Family cabin, had done a late lunch after Anthony and I had toppled out of the closet. We’d scrounged up everything we could possibly put together into an edible meal and gobbled it up, leaving the pantry one hundred percent bare.
Alarmed by my half-hearted concoction of boxed mac and cheese – heavy on the cheese – Marco, Alfie, and Dan had evacuated the cabin shortly after lunch and declared they’d be driving to town and buying fresh ingredients for a “civilized” dinner. It was the first time I’d agreed with anything Marco had to say. Maybe I didn’t want to marry the guy, but I was less discretionary when it came to food. If he could cook, I could handle the eating part.
But that didn’t stop me from declining Marco’s repeated invitations to accompany him and his friends to the city. I stayed back, begging for “girl time” with Meg. After nine hundred and sixty-four rejections, Marco had gotten the picture. Then he’d climbed into his teensy Fiat and puttered away, shouting out the window that he’d be back to cook me a romantic dinner tonight, one on one.
Anthony had been standing right next to me. “That’s not happening,” he said, his mouth a firm line. “You can be sure of it.”
After reassuring Anthony that I had no intentions of eating dinner alone with Marco, he’d calmed down and announced that he also had an errand to run. He’d climbed into his fancy car and disappeared in a cloud of dust, leaving Meg and me to relax on the front porch. And wait.
“Enough waiting,” I said. “Where did Anthony have to go, anyway? Why couldn’t he say ‘I have to go to the grocery store’ or ‘I need more deodorant,’ instead of just saying it’s an errand? That’s so broad. It could mean anything.”
“Maybe he’s embarrassed,” Meg said. “I had this one boyfriend – a fellow cop – who only used wet wipes when he went to the bathroom. Never touched toilet paper. Once, he ordered a huge box from Amazon and had delivered it to office. The wrong someone opened it on accident. Nineteen little boxes of baby wipes.”
“I really don’t think he’s gone after baby wipes,” I said. “Just a gut feeling.”
“You never know.” Meg shrugged. “That man was a big, tough guy. Tried to convince me day in and day out to try it. Said it’d change my life.”
“And did it?”
“Yeah, absolutely. Feels like I’m wiping my bottom with a cloud,” Meg said, shaking her head blissfully. “You should really try it sometime.”
“Okay, well I still don’t think he’s going out for baby wipes. But regardless, he should have just told me. I mean, we’re dating now. And co-workers. We’re going to have to get used to this sort of personal stuff.” I ignored the fact that I’d told Anthony the previous night that it was okay to lie about some things. Maybe he got confused and thought this was some thing. It wasn’t.
“Those office romances are tricky,” Meg nodded. “I just told you that story about the wet wipes? He was a cop, like I said. When I broke up with him, he quit and moved to Timbuktu.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s a fact. Ask anyone.”
“Fine, I believe you,” I sighed. “But this is my assignment. He shouldn’t be trying to take it over.”
“There is no assignment, Lacey.” Meg stood up, stomped towards me, and set a drink in my hand. “You are supposed to be on vacation. Carlos asked you to go to a bar and gather some gossip – you did that, so just call him with the information and leave it be. Let the cops handle the other stuff.”
“The Luzzis don’t let the cops handle our business. I’m a Luzzi,” I said, a bit more forcefully than I intended.
“Of course you are.” Meg patted my back. “Nobody’s arguing that. But we don’t even know that this was directed at you. It could be random.”
“Do you think it’s random?”
“No, of course not. But I want this drink, and you are terrible at relaxing. You make me feel bad about myself.” Meg shook her mane of hair, walking back over to the hammock and flopping onto it. “I instruct you to take a four-hour break. I insist that you take three sips of that drink in your hand, and I am commanding you to stop sucking at being on vacation. Seriously, Lacey. You’re driving me nuts.”
“I just want—”
“I know you want to show Carlos you’re capable and be the first mobsterista on the face of the earth to lead the Luzzi clan. Or whatever. But how about what I want?”
I paused. “What
do you want?”
Meg glared at me. “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said? Take three sips of your drink immediately and sit down. Then shut your brain off. Three hours. We can compromise – three hours of laying out on the porch in peace.”
“That’s not a compromise,” I muttered. “You’re being kind of a dictator.”
“Enough!”
I sulked for a second, taking a long gulp of the icy drink. “Did you put anything in here besides vodka?”
“Yeah,” Meg grinned with a wild expression. “Gin and whiskey and rum.”
“This is potent.”
“We’re on vacation.”
“I already feel hungover.”
“Then the only solution is to have another sip,” Meg said. “You promised three.”
I didn’t remember promising anything, but I took another sip to appease my friend. She’d come up here on vacation with me, and I didn’t want to completely ruin her trip, just because I fell into trouble left and right.
I could probably handle two hours of relaxation. I sat back in the chair, closing my eyes. It would give me time to think and hatch a plan, so when the boys and Anthony returned, we could get right back to work.
Chapter 19
SOME TIME LATER, MEG’S snores woke me from an accidental catnap. The warmth of the sun, the lull of the breeze whispering against the leaves, and the steady lap of the lake against the beach combined to make the perfect vacation soundtrack. Coupled with the toxic cocktail Meg had duped me into drinking, I’d been a goner. Never stood a chance at keeping my eyes open.
Glancing at my phone, noting that thankfully only twenty minutes had passed since Meg had handed over my drink, I waved a hand over my friend’s face. She was out. Utterly, completely zonked, her mouth open so wide in a snore that I could’ve placed a baseball down her throat with minimal effort.
Restless again, I paced for a few more minutes, taking another couple of sips from Meg’s drink. I told myself it was only because I was too lazy to go inside and grab a glass of cold ice water when really, it tasted quite good. I paced a few more laps around Meg’s hammock, the motion making me hyper-aware of the pleasant buzzing sensation in my head. I set the cool drink on the table. I couldn’t afford to be drunk – I needed a hundred and sixty-eight percent of my mental capacities firing in order to figure out the twisted tangle of events that had descended upon the Luzzi cabin. Dealing with a murder, diamond smugglers, and a boyfriend who may or may not be out retrieving wet wipes at this very minute required all of my brain power.
I set out on a brief walk, leaving the quiet house behind me. Quiet except for Meg’s thundering snores, that is. My feet carried me down the dusty road where usually the Fiat and the Lambo were parked, their spaces now empty. I continued down the winding street at the end of the driveway, a true rural backroad with narrow curves and minimal traffic.
I didn’t have a destination in mind when I’d set out, just an anxious energy I needed to burn off. As much as I attempted to focus on the mysterious happenings at the cabin, my mind kept drifting back to what Laurelei had told me about my mother. Had there been a man involved, one who’d caused my mother to run away from the family? If so, who was he? And could he be my dad?
As I walked, I imagined my mother as a little girl, running down the road ahead of me, her pretty pigtails bobbing in the wind. I’d never seen a picture of my mother as a child until I found Nora and Carlos. My mom hadn’t wanted me to find my family, and she’d never given me any hints as to who they might be.
But there were pictures on Nora’s wall of her kids when they were young – clustered together on a baseball field, candid photos at family reunions, school pictures – in which my mother’s hair had glowed golden and her eyes had sparkled. Lost in my reverie, I barely realized I’d wound through more than a few curves in the road. The scenery all started to blur together – mosquitos buzzing on their search for blood, tall, luscious greenery lining either side of the street, and the midafternoon air damp with humidity.
Suddenly the road opened up and turned into a spacious park. Anxious to escape the heat of the beat-up, asphalt road, I shuffled my feet through the dry, crisp grass and made my way towards the abandoned swing set in the middle of the playground. But what caught my attention wasn’t the rugged soccer field outlined with splotchy paint, or the old tire swing that looked as if it’d been around since my mom had come here. It wasn’t the wide-open space, free for children to run through for hours, or the benches and picnic table under the shade of the ancient oak trees.
What caught my eye was the water tower. Tucked away in the far side of the park, slightly hidden behind a small cluster of trees, stood a tall fixture bearing the name TONKA scrawled in thick block letters. I’d wondered if my mom had spent time in this park, walked down this road, swung on those swings. But I knew she’d been up there. In fact, I now knew she’d tried to lead a cow up there. Which meant there had to be stairs...
I couldn’t help myself. Heading in the direction of the water tower, I picked up my pace until I was jogging. Deciding immediately that was a bad idea, I slowed right back to a walk. The water tower wasn’t going anywhere, and it was hot as heck out here. Plus, I still had a bit of alcohol running through my veins, and at the first few jogs it had sloshed uncomfortably.
The base of the water tower was far more unexciting than I’d hoped. Plain and white, decorated with black marks and weather-beaten notches on the exterior, it didn’t look like a magical place. I rested my hand on the outside, and though I knew it was silly, I hoped to feel something. Some kinship with my mom, some excitement she might’ve felt years ago. I wondered if my mother had come here with her mystery man.
The only thing I felt, however, was a slight rumble in my stomach from its contents settling, and the heat of the sun burning my neck. I glanced upward, watching where the top of the water tower pierced the cloudless blue sky. Which left me with one option.
Climbing up.
A quick lap around the base led me to the rickety old staircase, one so creaky I wondered if it’d even been updated since my mother’s days. A chain hung across the entryway, but it wasn’t enough to keep anyone out who wanted to get in. I heaved one leg over the chain and took a few steps up.
I noticed a handful of signs plastered to the wall at the first turn, as I ascended the staircase. The typical “warnings” not to climb were the main focus, but next to them were a few peculiar posters, one in particular that made me smile – a crude picture of a cow climbing the stairs with a huge X through it, and a No Livestock warning.
I pressed my hand to the words, unable to keep the grin from my lips. Pressing onward, I made it to the top with no small amount of sweating and heavy breathing, and I was suddenly happy that I’d come here alone. When I got back to the cabin, a jump in the lake and a shower were in order, stat.
The view from the top was more spectacular than I’d imagined. The water in the distance glistened, shimmering and alive just beyond the green stretch of trees and grass and park. The small road I’d taken here cut through the lush foliage like a black ribbon, snaking its way down to the waterfront, where the lake glimmered large and deep and soothingly quiet.
It was beautiful. I could understand why my mom would’ve snuck up here to get away from everything. I couldn’t quite understand the cow, however; I was more than okay keeping the space to myself and not sharing it with livestock. I dangled my feet off the edge, resting my arms on the thin rail that encircled the water tower. When I looked straight down, my stomach churned. A fall from this height would not be good for any of my bones, and I scooted back a few inches.
My phone still in my pocket, I retrieved it, intending to take a picture of the scenery, but pausing before I opened the camera. A lens wouldn’t do this place justice; it was best I left it a memory, something to savor, to hold onto – a piece of the puzzle from my mother’s childhood sliding into place.
Setting the phone down next to me, I was
surprised to see I had a message. Flicking it open, I was even more surprised to see that I still had service up here. I opened the message, smiling as I read Anthony’s name. But as I read the text, my smile faded to confusion.
His message was simple: Sorry, busy. Can’t talk.
I’d never asked him a question. I set the phone on the ledge next to me wondering if he’d meant to send it to someone else. And if so, who? I tried to push the thought from my mind, but something didn’t sit well. Sending a wrong text was the type of mistake I would make – an error of clumsiness, thoughtlessness. It wasn’t the type of slip-up Anthony usually made. Flipping through my text messages, I noted that the last message I’d sent him had been hours ago, and completely unrelated. I checked my call log to be sure, and...whoops.
Three butt dials. All within the last five minutes.
I dropped the phone next to me, half hoping it would fall off the water tower and shatter into pieces on the ground below. Nothing made a new girlfriend seem more desperate than three unreturned phone calls in a row, and no messages left.
I sighed, considering sending a quick text back to explain, but decided that was probably unnecessary, as well. If Anthony was busy, he probably wasn’t checking his phone – except to make sure his annoying girlfriend was okay. My face flamed. What was wrong with me? Normally I wouldn’t have thought twice about calling Anthony, but now here I sat analyzing every tiny, miniscule detail. It was happening; I was turning into a thirteen-year-old girl. This relationship business was tough.
Needing a distraction, I debated giving Clay a quick call, but I wasn’t sure what I could tell him. I didn’t have any names, no additional information. It’d be pointless. Just then my phone vibrated next to me, and I glanced down, expecting to see Anthony’s name across the screen, calling to make sure I hadn’t gotten myself into trouble. But instead, the screen read NORA.
I picked up. “Hey Nora, how are you?”