by Deana Birch
Violet’s chuckle turned into a full laugh that I’d rarely heard her use. I frowned hard so I wouldn’t smile at her having fun. And the wide grin on Leo’s face? It could jump out of the window and keep going all the way to hell.
“Who the fuck are you?” My mom propped her hands on her hips and peered down at Leo, who was now on his back pretending that Violet had broken him.
He batted his eyes, a move that had probably gotten him into a lot of panties over the years. With Violet on her own two feet, Leo stood and dusted off his hands before stretching out the right one.
“Leo Ricci… Nice to meet you.”
My mother stared at his hand for a beat then cut her eyes to me. She lifted her nose and sniffed. “Why does it smell like…food in here?”
The flavored vapors rolling off Leo’s sauce were not only enticing, they were completely foreign to our apartment.
I stood to explain, but Leo answered before I could. “It’s my nanna’s secret recipe. Although, I’m pretty sure I just gave all the secrets to this little monkey.” He swept up Violet and propped her on his hip and the little one babbled her delight as Leo oversold his charm.
“This one, on the other hand?” With his free arm, he hooked around my shoulders and brought me close. Gross. Definitely gross. I absolutely hated the way he smelled. “She just sat on that gorgeous ass of hers and watched us work. Fi, go start the water for the pasta and set the table. Violet and I need a break.” He winked at me. Fucking winked. It was all I could do not to explode with laughter.
Vicki Thompson was many things—several of which should have gotten her kids taken away from her because they were so vile—but she was not blind or stupid. I could only imagine her sizing Leo up as I walked away.
She shimmied up to me and whispered, “When did you decide to date a dealer? Weren’t you under the impression you were too good for them?”
“I’m not dating that idiot.” I recoiled.
“Then what the hell is he doing in our apartment?” She raised a thin eyebrow and cocked her head.
“It’s complicated.” I grabbed our mismatched plates and took them to the table, all under the watchful, assessing eyes of my mother.
“Fiona,” she said, my name somehow a warning.
Since middle school, I’d played the role of friend or sister to my mother. She had been sixteen when I was born. I’d thought we’d stayed with her parents for a while but I had no memory of them. We’d always been more of a duo than parent and child. So for her to step toward me with concern and a sense of parental duty was like wearing a dress that was six sizes too small—suffocating, exposing and filling me with need for her to avert her gaze.
“It’s fine,” I lied. Time for a subject change. “Oh, I’m sorry, but I got fired again, so I need you to stay home tomorrow so I can try and find a new job.”
“Why did you get fired? We need that money.” And just like that, the glimpse of a mother disappeared into the much stronger hold of her disease. It hurt every bit as much then as it did the first time I’d recognized it for what it was. Because with recognition came deep understanding that it was stronger than us.
So instead of fighting or blaming or fucking screaming, I apologized again while I filled the second pot with water.
It was already past mid-day when the four of us were seated at the small wooden table and having lunch.
In another surprising act of parenthood, perhaps a show for Leo, my mom helped Violet eat. That was, if ‘helped Violet eat’ meant cut up the spaghetti and let the two-year-old shove fistfuls into her face, occasionally making it to her mouth.
After lunch, my mom showered as I did the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. I had no idea what to do with the rest of the sauce, so I just put the cover back on and let it sit on the stove. Once I’d finished, my mom had too, and we all met near the couch, where Violet’s head was doing slow bobs as she fought the beginnings of her afternoon nap next to Leo.
“Fiona, since you’re going out tomorrow, I’ll take advantage of today.” There it was, the angle had officially been worked.
“Leo, I’m so sorry to ask, but I don’t get my check for a couple more days. Can I borrow twenty bucks until then? With Fiona losing her job again, times are tight.”
Five years prior, I might have been shocked or even embarrassed. But the moment she’d seen Leo, even with her little warning to me, I’d known she’d hit him up for money.
Leo lifted a butt cheek off the couch and pulled out a wallet from his back pocket. He took out a hundred-dollar bill. Of all the things I’d thought of Leo, I’d never once imagined him a fool. He knew what she was. He knew what she’d do with the money. And that much? I sure as shit would not see her the next day.
Thanks, Asshole. Just one more reason to hate you.
My mom gushed her gratitude and my stomach churned our lunch a little harder. I went over to the couch and picked up Violet to take her to her crib in the back bedroom. The amount of money he’d given my mother was downright dangerous. The greedy disease in her would use it all. Once Violet had settled in, my anger rose to a boil. I fumed all the way back to Leo, who was still on the couch, but alone.
I pointed to the door. “Get out.”
Chapter Four
Leo
I had no idea how Fiona made gritted teeth sexy, but her little body hovering over me and her arm extended to complement her hilarious order was scrumptious.
“Not happening.” I interlaced my fingers behind my neck and sprawled out.
“I hate you.” Fiona gave a little head movement with the second word like she was adding bite.
Did that sting?
I closed an eye. “Let me get this straight. I saved you from certain rape, possible human trafficking, made you my nanna’s secret sauce, played all morning with your baby sister while you sat on the couch pouting and you hate me?”
Fiona shot me daggers with her eyes. “Do you know what she’ll do with all that money? Are you hoping to kill her? I’m not going to see her for days now. I needed her here for Violet.”
Okay, so yeah. That had been the wrong move. Fiona’s mom had asked for twenty and I’d given her way too much. It was entirely possible that I’d been showing off. I did that sometimes. Shit. But saying sorry? Not really my strong suit.
“Where do you need to go tomorrow, anyway?”
“To the corner of None-of-your-fucking-business and Go-to-hell.” Fiona crossed her arms and frowned. “I want you to leave.”
“Do you think I like spending my day in this shitty apartment babysitting your annoying, grumpy ass?” I kinda did, but I would never tell her that.
The grin that spread over Fiona’s face was that of an insane person. She waved her arm in a grand gesture. “The door awaits, asshole.”
I shrugged. “Already told you. Not happening.”
Fiona dropped her head back and groaned dramatically. Then she locked her eyes with mine and said, “You really are the biggest prick I’ve ever met.”
“Possibly.” Childish retort with innuendo? Absolutely. But dammit if I wasn’t having the time of my life watching her blow up at me.
Fiona studied me as she walked around and sat in her spot at the other end of the couch. With each step her anger dissipated and was replaced by something else that I couldn’t put my finger on.
“Nah,” she said. “Guys like you, all pretty and buff… You usually have nothing to back it up. You lift weights and get ripped because you have a small penis complex.”
I shook my head and ignored her. Besides, she was totally off base.
“Hmm-m…” Fiona examined her hands. “I wonder which one of my fingers is most like your baby dick.”
She was baiting me, reeling me in. But she was talking about my dick and her fingers were fucking tiny. I said, “You may want to move up your arm. It’s more like that.” I tapped the crook in my elbow.
“Doubt it. It’s probably more like my thumb, short and stubby.” Her eyes lit up
in the worst possible way while she examined her shortest digit. “Oh my God. I’m a genius. You just got your own nickname. Stubby.” She popped up and the crazy-ass grin on her face was frightening. “I’m going to take a bath. See you later, Stubby.”
She skipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. I didn’t hear a lock, just some muffled humming like she was happier than Mary Poppins, cleaning up a mess with snaps and songs. For the record, my dick was not small. It certainly wasn’t fucking ‘stubby’.
The more she hummed, the more I needed to prove her wrong and get back the upper hand. For fuck’s sake, I’d cooked for her and gotten into a tickle war with a toddler. Being around Fiona was not just bad for my persona. It was also murder for my ego.
There was only one thing to do—prove that little pixie wrong. I stood, knowing I was being a brute but giving zero shits, went to the bathroom and swung the door open. As a complete and total perk, I stole a glance of her soapy naked body before whipping out my dick above the toilet.
“Nice tits. I need to piss.” I tried to make the last bit sound like an apology.
“You’re going to pee? Right in front of me?” There was a bit of shock in her voice and I dared to think she was staring at my very un-stubby dick.
“Better than the kitchen sink, right? Shitty timing,” I lied.
“Wow,” she quipped. “A real-life dick pic. You’re a girl’s wet dream.”
I finished and washed my hands as she mumbled more insults under her breath, none of which had to do with my dick.
I took one more quick look at naked Fiona. With her hair up in a messy bun on the top of her head and a few wet strands clinging to her pale, flushed skin, she was the most naturally beautiful woman I’d ever seen—and I’d just whipped out my dick like a Neanderthal douchebag. My nanna was rolling over in her grave.
An apology was in order for sure, yet again, but I was more addicted to our fighting and now quite possibly her body. So instead of being the good boy I thought I might have been deep down inside, I let the gangster win and said nothing.
“Get out, asshole. You proved your stupid point.”
I left and went back to my spot on her beat-up sofa. A half hour later she joined me, smelling fresh and her hair still wet. Fiona wore little pajama shorts and a tank top without a bra. She was trying to kill me. Death by sex kitten.
She tucked a foot under her ass and sat down. “Can I ask you some questions about my—uh—payment?” Her voice was calm, smooth, soft.
Holy shit. She’d gained the upper hand yet again. Maybe talking business would put me back in control. I avoided looking at her any longer, instead staring at the blank TV. “Shoot.”
“So if I sleep with one of you, my debt is paid?”
As much as I relished that she’d included me in that option, she needed to know how things worked.
“Not exactly. His turf, his payment.”
Fiona hummed. “Let me get this straight. I have to sleep with him to pay off my debt for you saving me. But I have to want to do it.”
“Pretty much.” It was true that she would probably need ongoing protection and the ‘cost’ of that would only go up. But, honest to God, we’d never had a girl who didn’t want to ‘pay’ us.
After a small sigh, she turned and stared out of the window. I didn’t need to see her face to understand that the gears were grinding in her head. After a few minutes she asked, “How does he expect me to want him if I don’t know anything about him?”
An excellent question and, again, something we’d never come across—or at least I hadn’t in my short time in Covington. The whole ‘payment by sex’ thing had come up more as a joke than a proper plan. And it hadn’t been until Bradford Towers had started eying girls in our territory that we’d needed to figure out a way to make that an advantage for us somehow. Because that was what criminals did… We worked the angles and exploited people’s fears.
“Maybe Anton figures I’ll drive you so insane that fucking him will be a relief.” I winked at her.
“Well, in that case,” she said with big eyes, “it’s totally working. You know you can’t just show your dick to girls. We actually don’t appreciate that. Some might even call it sexual harassment.” She enunciated the last two words like they were foreign to me. “And don’t give my mom any more money.”
My soft side needed a vacation. Besides, Fiona wouldn’t be falling into my bed until the bossman had had his fill. I said, “There’s always Bradford.”
Any joking that she’d offered vanished. “Don’t do that. Don’t throw that shit in my face. Your choice is a fabrication.” Fiona stood, an uncomfortable resolve on her face. “You can go. Violet and I will stay in. I promise.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. It was that I couldn’t trust her. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and sent Scooter a text. Fiona had disappeared into the bedroom, so when the knock came an hour later, I answered the door.
Rafa—aka Golden Boy—handed me a phone and its charger. “All the bells and tracking whistles—linked to you, Anton and me.”
I slid the sleek metal and cord into my back pocket and stepped into the hallway. “How’s business?”
“Meh. The boys are pissed about the ‘no ladies‘ rule. But it’s the fucking projects.” He lifted a shoulder. “Drugs keep selling. You gonna stay up here all damn day? Everybody’s wondering what so special about Fiona. Plus, I wanted to spar and Jackson’s wingspan kills me every time.”
“I’ll be down in a bit. Get the peons to secure the doors and borders. I’ll meet you in the gym before I have to leave for the dice game downtown.” The idea of leaving Fiona didn’t appeal to me, but I needed to make our money. With Anton gone, I was in charge. And enforcing rules was hard to do while I made sauce and traded insults with the brown-haired firecracker. I hadn’t needed to stay with her the whole day. It had just kinda happened like that.
When I went back in, she was on the couch with a book. “I had hoped you were gone.” Her drab tone made me smile.
I reached for the phone and charger and handed it to her. “There’s a whole list of contacts in there, but the only one you need is mine. If you need or want to leave, text me first. If you run out of diapers or milk, just text and someone will bring them up.”
She shook her head. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? What is this? House arrest?”
“You are officially the most valuable item in Covington Heights and everyone knows it, because I spent my entire day up here. We’re not nice Boy Scouts who play by the rules. We have enemies…plural. It might not be tonight, but until something changes to make you less important, they’re coming for you. Keep your door locked.”
Her fallen face was a sobering goodbye.
I jogged down the four flights of stairs and changed into my workout gear in Anton’s and my apartment before heading to our private gym across the hall, where the elite crew members refined their bodies. Jackson, the former basketball star, was bench pressing in the corner, his loud exhales blasting out of his mouth with every repetition. Scooter, who was by far the weakest and hated all physical activity, was biking with headphones on. But in the center, on the huge dark blue mat, Golden Boy waited with a smug grin.
Sometimes I liked to warm up before fighting, jump a little rope or do twenty minutes on the treadmill. But as I stalked my way to Rafa, two things were clear. One, I was ready. Two, I was in no mood to play nice. I pulled off my shirt—the eventual sweat would work in my favor for slippery punches—and popped in my mouth guard. After a crack of my neck and a twist of my spine, I narrowed my eyes and Rafa must have seen the switch in my mood.
“Not the face.” He held up a finger before securing his own mouth guard.
I signaled for him to come at me, and when he did, I easily weaved out of his way. Usually, I let the boys blow out a little bit of their steam before I attacked. It gave them the illusion that they had a chance. But I was tired of hiding my skills�
�annoyed with being second in line, second son, second in charge. Fuck that. So when Rafa’s balance was off because he hadn’t landed his blow, instead of letting him get his footing back, I grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back and jabbed him twice in the gut. Hard.
He groaned and blinked several times as I let him go. Yeah, sorry, Goldie. I was a kiss on the cranky side. But bless him, he came at me right away, trying to swipe my legs for a takedown. I hopped and could have landed a perfect palm to his nose, but he’d asked me to save his face. It was a pity he found himself so precious. Once I landed, I immediately brought my knee back up then whacked his side with my shin.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Jackson had taken interest in our fight and was standing on the side with a towel draped over his lean shoulders. I slid away from all of Rafa’s advances and he peered at me, his amber eyes filled with determination. The problem wasn’t that they were shitty fighters. The problem was that I’d been sparring with Frankie under the critical eye of our father since I’d been three. Two years his junior and still a baby when our lessons had begun, I’d learned that defense wasn’t half of the fight. It was all of it. Twenty-seven years later, only Frankie could land a punch on me, and that was because he knew me as well as he knew himself.
Defense, as artful as it was, wasn’t going to work out my frustration. I went on the attack. My assault was quick. I flipped Rafa and had my knee in his back and his wrists bound before he could even imagine what was coming. He strained for breath beneath me, his cheek squished into the mat. I released him with a huff and stood.
Scooter, who was now standing next to Jackson, gaped at me.
Rafa scrambled to his feet and shook his head with a little wiggle. I took out my mouth guard and met Jackson’s stare.
He said, “You’ve been holding out on us.”
