“Back home in Chicago. I’m just out here for a bit of a working vacation.”
“Really? What do you do?” she asks, sliding into the seat next to me.
“Just running some errands for a family friend. Nothing exciting.” I grin. “What about you? Apart from making a mean coffee, that is.”
“That’s about it. I’m pretty boring.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” I laugh.
“Would you wanna hang out sometime?” she blurts out. My eyes widen. I hadn’t been expecting that. She blushes, averting her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually ask guys out but you seem nice.”
“No, it’s fine. I’d love to go out with you,” I say. Mostly I just feel bad for her, but I also know this thing with Lucy is getting out of hand. I need to get her out of my head.
“Really?” She grins. She pulls a pen out of her pocket and scrawls her number down on her notepad. Pushing it across the table to me, she stands up. “I better get back to work. But it was nice to see you again—”
“Pietro,” I say, and smile.
“Pietro,” she repeats. I try not to laugh. The girl looks like she’s going to faint. “I’m Stefanni.” We chat for a little bit longer until her boss calls her back to work. Just as she walks away, my phone rings.
“Sorry, I was in a meeting. How’s it going?” he asks. “The apartment has everything you need, right.”
“It’s great, thanks.”
“And how’s Lucia?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say. I’m new to the world of spying, and though I don’t want to admit it to Giovanni, I really have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. Does he expect me to follow her twenty-four hours a day? It seems a bit excessive, especially considering Lucy is probably the most responsible, hardworking woman I know.
“Just fine?” he says, hinting that he wants more.
“She goes to the studio, she goes home. I’m sorry to inform you, Giovanni, but your daughter doesn’t have much of a life.” I laugh.
“You haven’t even been there a week. How would you know that?” he asks suspiciously. I wince. I couldn’t exactly tell him I knew from talking and texting with her so much.
“She’s a good girl, Giovanni. You have nothing to worry about.”
“And that’s how I want it to stay,” he growls. “Any boys or trouble come on the scene, it’s your job to get rid of them, okay? You’re my eyes and ears, Pietro. Do not let me down.”
I groan as he ends the call. This is way too much. I can’t help but wonder if this is really about making sure she’s safe. For me, that’s all I want, but Giovanni is so damn overprotective I’m convinced there is more to it than that. Does he expect me to scare away boyfriends? The worst thing is that’s something I’m happy to do because the thought of her with anyone else makes me feel sick. This whole thing is messed up.
—
I’m impressed as the taxi pulls up outside Benito’s home, and consider that maybe I’m getting into the wrong business. I make my way up the path that separates the neatly manicured garden into two sections. I glance around the neighborhood. The houses look identical, all perfectly kept, not a thing out of place.
Knocking on the door, I’m surprised at how nervous I feel about seeing my old friend again. He lived a few houses down from mine in our small village in the north of Sicily. We used to do everything together. His father and mine were distant cousins—which made us only very distant relations—but in our culture related was related.
The afternoon my parents were killed I was with Benito. It was his idea to stop off and buy comics. Not that I’d needed much convincing, but I can understand why he hadn’t been sure if I’d want to see him when he came over here. A few years ago? Maybe things would’ve still been too raw then. Now, enough time has passed that I’m happy at the prospect of being able to reconnect with a part of my past.
Benito answers the door, enveloping me in a bear hug. He laughs as he pats my back, mumbling something about not believing I’m here. Grinning, I pull away.
“Plenty of time to catch up. Are you going to introduce me to this lovely wife of yours?” I ask, nodding at the pretty blonde standing behind him. He pulls her into his embrace and kisses her forehead.
“This is Carrie. Carrie, this is one of my oldest friends, Pietro.”
“Lovely to meet you, Pietro. Benito tells me that you grew up in the same village? How nice.”
“We lived a few doors down from each other and we did everything together.” I smile. “You’ve found yourself a great man.” I hold out the bottle of wine I’m carrying, which she accepts graciously. I watch as she disappears into the kitchen, leaving Benito and me alone.
“You did well.” I chuckle. “Not only beautiful, but friendly too. Though I’m a little shocked that Benito the heartbreaker is actually married and with kids.”
He laughs a low, gravelly laugh as he extends his arm behind me, leading me into the living room. I sit down on a plush charcoal armchair as he pours me a Scotch. I smile, the moment reminding me of us sneaking a bottle of expensive Scotch from my father’s prized liquor cabinet when we were only fourteen. We got so drunk, and we got grounded for a month—but it was worth it.
“To friendship,” he says, handing me a glass. I nod and take a sip. “So, tell me everything. What are you doing in New York? Last I heard you were in Chicago with the Spontagios?”
“Right. I’m here on business. Just a few errands that needed doing, and I wanted a change in scenery.”
“Good choice, my friend. And how is Giovanni these days?”
“He’s the same old Giovanni.” I laugh, noting the slight edge in Benito’s voice when he mentions his name. “Enough about me. Tell me about you. I still can’t believe you’ve ended up”—I wave my arm around—“here.”
“Not much to tell.” He laughs. “I work hard to provide for my family, and this is the reward. I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.”
I want to ask more about his business, but I refrain. As close as we once were, I can’t kid myself that the eight years apart and the different paths our lives have taken haven’t made an impact. Our conversation feels forced, and that upsets me. I had so many questions about my family that I was hoping he could answer.
His father and mine were close. They were both heavily involved in the Mafia, and I’m positive he would have some idea of what happened that afternoon. Benito would know something, especially now that he’s involved in the family business.
I’m all for fine Italian produce, but you don’t make this kind of money from owning a deli.
Carrie calls us to dinner, cutting our conversation short. In a way, I’m glad for the interruption because it allows me to observe the two of them together. We walk into the dining room where the table has been perfectly set up with the finest china and silverware. I examine photos hanging on the wall. Their children. A boy and a girl, they’re smiling or laughing in every image.
“Federico and Carolina.” Carrie smiles at me.
“They’re adorable,” I reply. “How old are they?”
“Just turned two, and they may look adorable, but I can assure you they are both little terrors.” She motions for me to sit as she finishes bringing the food over to the table. “Benito insists we hire a nanny to help with them, but I prefer to do it myself. It’s the best and worst part of motherhood. Why would I want to miss out on that?”
“So you can spend more time socializing with your friends and painting your nails,” Benito cuts in with a laugh.
“I see my friends enough, and since when do I care about my nails?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “Nails and toddlers are two words that should never be spoken together.”
We sit down to eat, and I listen to the two of them argue. I chuckle, because it’s obvious how in love they are. After we finish, I start helping to clear the table, when Benito asks me to join him for a drink.
We go back into the living room. I sit down as he pours me a
nother drink.
“So, do you work for Giovanni these days?” he asks me, handing me my drink.
“Yes and no. Not as much as I’d like to. I’m actually doing my master’s in economics.” I laugh at his surprised expression. “I know, it sounds like a weird choice, but I want to make sure I have my future secured.”
“And you don’t think Giovanni will do that for you?”
“I don’t rely on anyone but myself,” I reply.
“That’s a good thing.” He hesitates before adding, “You need to be careful who you trust in this world, Pietro. Sometimes those we think are our allies turn out to be the ones that hurt us the most.”
I want to ask him what he means, but he quickly changes the topic. I only half listen, my mind still stuck on the previous conversation.
Does he know something about Giovanni that I don’t?
Finishing my drink, I get to my feet. It’s getting late and I’m keen to get home and unwind.
“Well, I think it’s time for me to go. Thank you for a wonderful meal, Carrie. It was lovely to meet you,” I say, turning my attention to her. She smiles as I kiss her on the cheek.
“You’re welcome here anytime.”
Benito walks me to the door. I embrace him, then slip on my jacket.
“It was great seeing you,” I say. And I mean it. Though our relationship has changed, I’m still glad I came.
—
I catch a cab back home from Benito’s, spending the whole trip thinking about the past and my parents. I owe it to them to find out what happened. I owe it to myself. Sighing, I rest my head on the back of the seat as I watch the city creep by. It’s late, but the street is still congested with traffic and there are people everywhere. Do these people ever sleep? Like I can talk. I can’t remember the last time I had a decent night’s rest.
It takes nearly forty-five minutes to reach my apartment, and once I’m inside, I waste no time in making myself at home. Loosening my shirt, I shrug off my jacket and drape it over the back of an armchair.
I pour myself a Scotch and walk over to the window to gaze out. The skyline is stunning. My drink in hand, I open the balcony doors and step out. I have the perfect view of her bedroom from where I stand. I’m far enough away that in the dark there is no chance of her seeing me, but I still feel like a creep spying on her.
Tonight is the perfect example. As she sweeps across her room, peeling off her shirt I stand there unable to look away. Her hands grip the hem of her tank. Slowly, she lifts it up. My heart pounds as I watch it rise. But then she stops, turning around to face the window. It’s as if she senses someone is there, watching her. I slink away to the corner of the balcony as she lowers the drapes. With the light from her lamp I can still make out her shadow.
I swallow hard as she peels off her tank, letting it fall to the floor. Her body is amazing. Even though all I can see is her shadow I want her, more than ever.
Fuck. Snap out of it.
Angry at myself, I yank open the balcony door and go inside. My hands are clenched into fists beside me and I know I need to relax before I go crazy. I walk into the bathroom, run the shower. While the water heats, I strip out of my clothes and stare at myself in the mirror. My usual way of dealing with my pent-up sexual tension is to run. Back home, I’d run for hours, every night. Here I didn’t want to risk being seen.
Groaning, I lift my head back and let the water run down my face. It’s too hot, but I don’t care. I almost enjoy the pain of the hot water scalding my skin. At least I can feel something other than her.
I can’t get her out of my head. I imagine her in front of me, undressing for me. That long, willowy figure on display for my eyes only. God, the things I want to do to her would have me arrested in some countries.
My hand travels down south. I groan as I grab hold of my erect cock. Fuck, I’m so hard. Thinking about her always gets me hard. I move my palm up and down my length, using my other hand to prop myself against the glass of the shower. I can picture her, kneeling in front of me, her tongue teasing me. I imagine her lips closing around me, those stunning blue eyes staring right into my soul.
“Fuck,” I moan, my body convulsing as I release against the stream of the water. Shaking, I straighten my body. I feel exhausted, like I could sleep for hours, but I know it won’t come easy. Sleep never does. Without the aid of alcohol or prescription meds, I haven’t slept a full night since my parents died. I’m plagued by flashbacks and nightmares that my mind just can’t let go of.
I know I should talk to someone, but I’m too proud to admit I need help. Nobody knows how much I struggle—not even Lucy or Giovanni. As far as the world is concerned I’ve moved on from my tragedies, but that’s far from the truth.
Stepping out of the shower, I reach for a towel and dry myself off. I’m ashamed that yet again I’ve allowed myself to go where I know I shouldn’t. Why do I feel so damn guilty that I jacked off thinking about her?
Because it isn’t right. Because you’re obsessed with something you’ll never have.
The voice is right. I know that, but knowing and believing are two completely different things.
—
By the following evening, I’m exhausted from keeping an eye on Lucy. It’s amazing how tiring surveillance work can be. I spent nearly ten hours parked on my ass in the same seat in a café unsuccessfully trying to study. In the end, I gave up on the idea of getting any of my thesis done and did some research on my father.
I’m no closer to knowing what happened, nor did I uncover anything I didn’t already know. Not that I’m surprised. The kind of information I’m looking for isn’t going to be easy to find. All I need is one little piece of the puzzle to fall in my lap so I at least have a starting point.
In an effort to get somewhere with my plight, I contacted a private detective who works in a neighboring village to mine in Sicily. It’s a long shot as to whether he’ll even help me, but I need to try something.
I collapse on the sofa in front of the television, determined not to move for the rest of the night. Well, that was the plan until my stomach begins to rumble. I glance at the clock and see it’s after eight. I decide to order a pizza because I can’t deal with anything else. After ordering I fumble through my wallet for a twenty and see the scrap of paper with Stefanni’s number on it.
What the hell. It will do me good to have some female company.
Picking up my phone, I punch in the number.
“Hello?” she says. Her voice is sweet and innocent. I close my eyes and try to picture her face, but all I see is Lucy.
“Hey. This is Pietro. From the coffee shop?” I add. I cringe at how awkward I sound. She giggles and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad sign.
“Hey, you. I didn’t actually expect to hear from you. But I’m glad you called.”
“Me too,” I say. “So, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out.”
“Sure. I’m not working tomorrow night, if that’s good? I know a cool little bar where some great bands play.”
“That sounds great,” I say, relief flooding through me. She gives me the details and we agree to meet there at eight. I end the call and stare at my phone, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt, like I’m cheating on Lucy.
The knock on the door drags me out of my self-pity. I get up, and exchange my twenty for the pepperoni pizza the dude is holding out for me.
“Enjoy your night,” he says in a high-pitched voice that makes him sound no older than fourteen.
“You too,” I mutter. With my foot, I close the door so my hands are free to open the box. I lift a slice out and shove the end into my mouth, savoring the greasy taste.
I grab a Coke from the fridge and slump down onto the sofa, flicking on the television. It takes me no time at all to polish off the entire pizza. Satisfied, I stretch out, just as my phone pings, alerting me to an incoming email.
I sit upright and grab my laptop. It’s the private detective I’d emailed earlier in the day. I
wasn’t expecting a reply so fast. Frustrated, I wait for my laptop to load, wishing it wouldn’t take so damn long. I navigate to my email and open up the reply.
Pietro,
I’m willing to help you, but you need to understand my fee will be higher considering the nature of your inquiry. If you’re happy to proceed, please email me any and all information you might already have, including your father’s birth and death certificate.
Regards,
Lucca
Quickly, I tap back a reply. All the information I have is on my computer, so I attach it along with a short message indicating the little I know about my parents’ deaths. My hands are shaking when I press SEND. I stare at the computer screen, as if I’m expecting him to reply immediately. This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to potentially finding out what happened, and I can’t shake how anxious that makes me. What am I going to do with the information when I have it? The plan was always revenge, but do I have it in me to take things that far?
My heart jumps when my phone pings again. I pick it up and see a message from Lucy.
Lucy: This is getting easier. I only think about home five times a day now.
Me: I’m surprised you have time to think at all. I hope you’re looking after yourself. Are you eating properly?
Lucy: Um…if you call finishing off the food my father stocked for me “properly,” then, yes, I am.
Me: Not good enough. There are plenty of restaurants that can deliver something healthier than the crap you’re eating. Don’t make me fly over there.
Lucy: If that’s all it takes for you to fly out here I should’ve started on the frozen meals a long time ago.
I pick up the phone and punch in her number.
“Luce, don’t test me,” I growl. As I stare at the empty pizza box, I see the irony in my picking on her food choices.
“What? I’m sorry. I don’t have a cook to prepare me ten meals a day. Maybe my father should’ve thought of that,” she grumbles.
Code of Honor Page 6
