“Fourteen! She told me she was a substitute teacher here. I thought she was a lot more than eighteen! I didn’t know she was that young. I’m sorry, man,” he fearfully threw his hands in the air as a sign of retreat. “Don’t worry, I won’t go near her, ever again. I’m not about to go to jail or get killed because of some teenybopper chick.”
Carlo released him and turned on Bella. His look was enough to make her retreat from any words she thought she might want to say. She cried, immediately surrendering to her brother as he grabbed her arm and dragged her to his car. While Carlo locked Bella’s arm in the grip of one hand, he pulled out his cellular phone in the other.
“Frankie, do me a favor, and run a search on a man by the name of Mitch . . .” he looked at Bella for the last name.
“Gordon,” she sobbed.
“Mitch Gordon. I need to know if he’s a sex offender. See if this truck is registered to him, as well.” Carlo gave him the plate number. “Get back to me as soon as possible. Thanks.”
On the drive home, Carlo refused to talk. He had to work on calming his boiling blood before he could verbally address her. When they arrived at his mother’s house, he took a deep breath before he walked into the three-bedroom home where he had grown up. He was there to make a serious point to his sister; let his actions speak louder than his words.
Carlo opened the screen door and greeted his mother. He kissed her on the cheek before he started down the hall toward Bella’s bedroom. Without detouring or stopping, he went straight to her room.
Bella chased after him, crying for him to stop. “Carlo, what are you going to do? There is nothing in my room, I promise.”
Isabelle followed behind both of her children, trying to understand what was going on. Aldabella wore Carlo’s oversized jacket and held tissues in her hand, dabbing at her tears while she begged her brother to stay out of her bedroom. Isabelle could not help but think that this was not a good situation.
Bella grabbed Carlo’s arm and tried to stop him from going through her drawers. He pushed her back and narrowed his eyes at her, warning her, with his look, that she had better stop acting out. He dug in to her dresser drawers, pulling out anything that looked inappropriate for a fourteen-year-old girl. He threw midriff shirts, miniskirts, short shorts, halter-tops, and low-cut blouses in a pile on her bed. “Mama, get me a trash bag,” he demanded.
Isabelle ran from the doorway of Bella’s room to the kitchen. She pulled out a large trash bag for Carlo. When her husband died, Carlo stepped in to a father-like role to his younger siblings, a role he took seriously. Isabelle respected that quality in her son. She came back with a trash bag and watched, holding her crying daughter, as Carlo took all the inappropriate clothing and stuffed them in the bag. He grabbed Bella’s arm and brought her and the clothes out to the living room.
“Ti siedi (You sit).” He pointed to the couch.
Bella immediately sat down, tears streaking down her face. Carlo paced back and forth, still holding the bag of clothes. He took deep breaths, knowing he had to choose his words carefully.
“Bella, you are a beautiful girl. I can’t stand by and watch you destroy your life. Your brothers and I only protect you because we love you.”
Aldabella nodded while she tried to stifle her sobs. She closed his jacket tighter around her body.
“These clothes are inappropriate for you. As a cop, I’ve arrested prostitutes on the streets who were wearing more than this.”
“I have nothing to wear now,” she cried, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder. Isabelle listened to Carlo’s lecture. She realized that Carlo had said the same things his father would have said if he were alive.
“Listen, Bella, you’ll have something to wear.” He pulled out his wallet and laid five hundred dollars on the table in front of his mother. “Mama, take Bella to the store and buy her new clothes, something that Papa won’t roll over in his grave if he sees her wearing them.”
Isabelle nodded. “Go wash your face, Bella. We will leave now to get you clothes,” she said in a light Italian accent.
Bella stood, but Carlo stopped her. “Here is the packet of work that the school needs you to complete. I expect it to be done by the weekend. I’ll be at your school once a week to make sure that you’re doing what you should be doing.”
She nodded at her brother, wiping the tears from her wet face.
“And Bella, don’t let me catch Mitch anywhere near you. You can start dating when you are seventeen and not before. Terrible things could have happened to you. Capisce? (Understand?)”
“Yes, Carlo,” she whispered as she walked past him toward her room.
He was still angry, but composed. “Mama, you have to tell me if she is misbehaving. We can’t let her get this far before we do something about it.”
“You’re right, son.” Isabelle rubbed her son’s cheek. “Don’t be too hard on her, Carlo. She’s a good girl.”
Carlo nodded.
“Will you be at dinner this Sunday?” Isabelle asked.
“Of course, why would I miss our family dinner?”
“Antonio called and said he couldn’t make it.” She hung her head low. Sunday was the one day she looked forward to ,because her family came together on that day.
Irritation flashed across Carlo’s eyes. Antonio sometimes needed a tug on his foot to bring him back down to earth. He had recently landed a part in a Broadway play, which put his ego high in the clouds. At twenty-four years old, Antonio thought the world revolved around him. There was one thing Carlo would never let happen: allowing his brothers to put anything before their family. “Don’t worry Mama, he will be at dinner.”
“Grazie, Carlo. Ti amo, figlio, (Thank you, Carlo. I love you, son),” she said, giving her son a lingering hug.
“I love you, too, Mama. Well, I should get going, it’s been a long day, and I need to get home.” Carlo hugged his mother one more time.
They both looked toward the front door when they heard it open. Emilio walked in with his backpack on his back and a basketball in his hands. His serious look lightened up when he saw Carlo standing in the living room.
“Carlo, what happened after school today with Bella? I heard some of the kids talking after practice.”
“It is nothing for you to be concerned about. How was school?” He gave him a handshake, and leaned in for a hug.
“Good, of course,” Emilio punched Carlo in the arm, and then dodged Carlo’s attempt to punch him back. “Are you leaving?
“Yeah, I have to get home.” Carlo grabbed the bag of clothes, and walked outside to put the bag in his car. Emilio followed close behind him.
“I will see you at dinner on Sunday. Maybe we can play that game of basketball that you think you can win.”
Emilio chuckled. “Bring it, ole man.”
“Yeah, I’ll show you ole man.” Carlo laughed as he got into his car.
“See you Sunday,” Emilio said, bouncing the basketball toward the front porch.
Carlo put his head down on the steering wheel. “Lord, I don’t ever want a daughter.”
Chapter Five
Mia sauntered into the restaurant swaying her hips. The black, fitted dress and four-inch pumps she chose to wear accentuated not only her figure, but also her height. Her five-foot, five-inch stature stood four inches taller with her sandal-style pump.
She enjoyed the once-a-week gathering with her friends; it always ended up being the highlight of her week. Miesha, Tania, and Fredrick were not only her best friends, but also her family away from the cult.
She glanced past the hostess, searching for Miesha. At their usual table, she spotted Miesha sipping a drink. Mia made her way through the crowd, squeezing between high-back bar stools and ducking around servers with trays of food held high over their heads.
“Hey, where’s the rest of the group?” Mia asked, leaning in to give her best friend a hug.
“Not sure, I thought they might be with you.”
“Wai
tress,” Mia flagged down a busy server passing their table. “Can I please get an apple martini?” she graciously asked. Turning back to Miesha, she whispered, “So, you heard about Denise?”
“Yeah, I got your message. How did you find out?”
“The other night, I was reading a letter from Kyle, and out of the blue, someone banged on my door. I thought it might be James or one of his goons.”
“Of course, you must be very careful.”
“I know. So anyway, there was a police detective at my door.” Mia hesitated, looking around the restaurant.
“What happened?” Miesha motioned for her to continue.
“Denise had my name and phone number in her pocket from earlier that morning. Apparently, she was either murdered or committed suicide.”
The server stopped at the table and took an apple martini from her serving tray. The two women waited until she had left before they continued their conversation.
Miesha leaned in to Mia, careful not to raise her voice, “Denise would not commit suicide; she fought with everything she had to get away from James. Did he tell you anything else?”
“No, he was vague, searching for clues. From me. Of course, I can’t say anything besides that I met her once and gave her my name and number for her job hunt.”
“You didn’t say anything about your situation or what we do on the side with the non-profit organization, right?”
“No, of course not.” Mia’s eyebrows furrowed, feeling frustrated that Miesha would even ask her that.
Miesha Bell was the founder of PHOFF, a nonprofit organization known as People Helping Others Find Freedom. Together, they helped those who wanted themselves out of a controlling environment, but were unable to leave on their own.
Mia noticed Fredrick and Tania walk into the restaurant. She threw her arm up in the air and waved them over to the table. Once the group had sat down, and they’d ordered drinks, Tania was anxious to share her latest news.
“Okay, ladies,” she said to the group including their flamboyant, proud, gay friend, Fredrick. He smiled adoringly at her. “I have some exciting news—I’m in love.”
Fredrick clapped his hands. “Oh, do tell, precious,” he said resting his chin on his clasped fingers while batting his eyelashes.
The girls laughed at Fredrick’s overdramatized reaction. Then all attention went back to Tania; they all patiently waited for the details.
“Well, don’t get negative on me until I tell you the entire story. He’s one of my clients, but . . .”
“Come on Tania, you’re a wedding planner. Is he the getting-married-kind-of-client?” Mia questioned.
“Well, yes, and no.”
“Honey, it’s either yes or no. It can’t be both,” Fredrick said, throwing his napkin at her.
Tania picked up the napkin and threw it back at him. “He’s engaged, but he’s not happy. He’s not going to marry her.”
“Pumpkin, you seriously have some screws loose. Didn’t I teach you better than this?” Fredrick asked, rubbing his hand down the back of her hair. Tania pushed his hand away.
Mia shook her head. “Seriously, Tania, you can’t be that dumb to think that this man is going to leave his fiancée for you.”
“Don’t be jealous, Mia. Just because a man wants me and you haven’t had a man in how long, oh, that’s right, never.”
Mia went to retaliate but Miesha interjected. She looked at Tania seriously. “Do you remember what happened with the guy you dated from New Jersey? You fell in love, and he tore your heart out. We need you to think before you start falling. Because, Tania, at the end of the day, it will be the three of us, picking up the broken pieces and spending months trying to put you back together again.”
Fredrick raised his glass in the air for a toast. “Here’s to the speech of all speeches!” He smiled. When he noticed Tania pouting, he clanked her glass, sitting on the table, and directed his attention to her. “Oh biscuit, you are my best friend. You know what we’re saying is the truth, and we aren’t trying to hurt you. Come on, give me some sugar,” he pointed to his cheek. Tania laughed before she leaned in and gave him a wet kiss on the side of his face.
Mia scanned the restaurant. People had packed in the room like sardines, hardly able to walk through the crowd. The noise of the band and happy-hour partygoers made it next to impossible to hear her friends. She searched for the server, hoping to order another drink.
Suddenly, at the bar, she spotted Detective Mancini, sitting alone. Was he following her? He was twirling a beer mug while he stared down at his cellular phone. Mia’s hand froze with her martini glass in midair. “Miesha, there’s that detective that came over the other night.”
Fredrick glanced over at the man at the bar before he shrieked, “Good God, sister! That swollen man with muscles busting out of his delicious skin went to your apartment?”
“Yep, he’s the one,” Mia laughed.
“Oh Mia, he is—well, there are no words for him. He’s pure beauty. Go talk to him,” Tania said in a husky voice.
“No, I don’t need my focus diverted from my family. He is nothing more than a distraction.” She downed the last of her martini, grabbed her evening jacket, gave out hugs to her friends, and quickly started for the restaurant door. The group hardly had time to protest.
Mia maneuvered through the crowd, aiming for the restaurant door several feet in front of her. Her heart raced out of control. She felt the claustrophobic feeling of not being able to breathe. Pushing her way through the crowd, Mia could feel the fresh air from the opening and closing door.
Almost outside, she felt a grip around her arm. She swung around to tell her friends that she would not stay. Instead, she came face to face with Carlo; his lips scowled, and eyebrows drawn together. She glanced down at his possessive grip on her arm and then back into his dark, hazel eyes.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” His voice rumbled deep and hoarse. She could feel his warm breath against the side of her face when he leaned in to her ear.
“Home, I had a long day. Are you following me?”
“No. I swear, I’m not. It’s pure coincidence that we ended up in the same gin joint.”
She smiled at his Humphrey Bogart-ish impression. Something began to melt the shell that was her daily protection against getting close to people.
“I’ll prove I’m off duty. Join me for a drink?” His grip loosened, but his hand remained wrapped around her arm. He intended on keeping her close until she agreed to join him for a drink. Mia wanted to tell him yes. She felt an odd attraction to him. Not just an attraction to his stunning looks, but there was something else drawing her to him. Her heart pounded hard against her chest while butterflies in her stomach fluttered. She leaned into him, feeling his strong arms against her side. “I can’t, I should get home.”
“Mia, it’s just one drink.”
Mia’s head tilted up while she gazed into his warm, inviting eyes. An unexpected tingle started at her scalp and worked its way down her spine. His warm hand, wrapped gently around her arm, was almost medicinal. She swallowed hard, “One drink.”
Carlo guided her through the swarm of gathering people, pulling her close to him, protecting her from drunken adults. She felt an odd safeness in his arms. When they reached the bar, he pulled out the bar stool next to his. On the counter, next to his beer, was an untouched apple martini. She gasped and turned her head to glare at him. “How’d you know? Were you watching me the whole time?”
Carlo laughed at her quick reaction. He grabbed his beer and reached over to clank her glass sitting on the bar. She crossed her arms over her chest and demanded an answer.
“No sense in getting upset about it. Look,” he pointed to her group of friends sitting at the same table where she had sat, only minutes before.
Mia laughed when she saw Fredrick standing in front of his chair, clapping at her. Tania was rapidly fanning herself with a napkin and Miesha had a worried look on her face. Mia realized that Ca
rlo had a front-row seat to their party. From the table, the bar seemed farther away than it actually was.
Mia’s eyes focused on Carlo. She smiled at him. “Did you follow me here?”
“Of course not, I was on my way home and decided to stop and have a drink. Did you follow me here?” he quickly retorted.
“As if,” she barked at him. They both laughed. “My friends and I get together here once a week to catch up.”
The Mancini Saga (Book #1) I.O.U. Page 5
