by Bethany-Kris
Lucia’s gaze hardened.
Renzo didn’t know what else to say.
Well, no, he did.
“Is this still where you want to be?” he asked quietly.
Her stare darted back up to his to hold on tight. Unquestioningly, she came closer to him until she could fist the collar of his shirt, and pull him down closer to her. In a breath, her lips pressed to his. Not hungry, rough, and demanding, but soft, sure, and sweet. Everything that Lucia Marcello was, really. All the things that made her most amazing to him.
“I will always want to be with you,” she whispered.
That was all he needed to know, then.
“I think we’re okay,” he said, glancing at the phone. “They didn’t get what they needed.”
But just to be sure …
He turned on the screen of the phone, and made one of the last calls he planned on making with the device. The call rang twice before Rose picked up. Her cheery voice relaxed him almost instantly. No, he hadn’t thought the Marcellos would go as far as approaching his sister or doing something to her to get to him. Lucia’s family weren’t entirely good people, but they didn’t seem like fucking monsters, either.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Rose,” Renzo said, giving Lucia a small smile and stroking her cheek at the same time. “Just wanted to check in on you.”
There was no need to worry his sister with the details. She didn’t need to be freaked out over the fact someone had hacked into her phone, or whatever, not when they weren’t after her.
“Hey, everything is good,” Rose returned. “But I am just heading to—”
“That’s okay. I’ll let you get back to … whatever.”
“All right.”
“Love you, Rose.”
His sister laughter. “Love you, too, Ren.”
The relief Renzo felt as he hung up the phone seemed traitorous, really. Still, he enjoyed the feeling while it lasted. Which wasn’t very fucking long before it was gone. He headed for the bathroom with that goddamn phone in his hands—Lucia was close on his heels the entire way. Diego didn’t seem to mind them leaving him behind at the small kitchenette table to eat his pizza alone. He had what he wanted, after all.
In the bathroom, Renzo turned the sink on, stuck in the small plug, and waited for it to fill up with water. Once the water level in the sink was high enough to reach the overflow, he dropped the phone in without hesitation. He watched the screen flicker, and then black out. He left the phone in the water for a good minute, all the while, he said nothing. Neither did Lucia.
Once he was satisfied that the phone was ruined, he pulled it out, dried it off with a towel, pulled off the back, ripped out the battery, SIM card, and small board, and threw it all to the floor. He crushed the items under his boot before bending down, sweeping it all up, and throwing it all in the trash can.
Wasted money.
That’s what he saw there. A fucking phone they paid for and couldn’t use—even if grabbing another one would be easy and cheap—it was still money they couldn’t afford to lose at the moment. Not that it mattered.
The phone was tainted.
It had to go.
The silence felt heavier after Renzo finished, but Lucia was there to break it as he felt her hands slide up his back overtop his shirt. Her lips touched down on the back of his neck, and instantly, he relaxed all over again.
“Everything is good,” she told him.
Yeah, he hoped so.
• • •
Renzo stuffed his hands in his pockets, and glared at the sight ahead of him. The barber shop looked old as fuck—certainly not anything modern, or whatever. It also looked, guessing by the chipped paint on the sign and the old curtain in the large front window, like it was on its last legs.
And this was the job from Tuck, apparently.
Or rather, the twenty-six-year-old man who ran the place. Renzo had been told by Tuck when the guy finally called—after figuring out the phone he’d been trying to call was no longer working—not to ask any questions about the place, the guy who ran it, or anything else that might come to his mind while he was in there getting the job done.
Just get my fucking money, Tuck had snapped.
That should have been easy enough, and it wouldn’t be the first time Renzo had taken a job like this. Although, it had once been Vito who occasionally threw something like this at Renzo. Never Tuck back in New York. But now, as Renzo was standing there looking at the business in front of him, he couldn’t help but wonder why a barber who owned a shop that looked like it was about to be closed down would owe a guy like Tuck money in the first place.
Maybe the shop is exactly why, his mind said.
Yeah.
Because that’s exactly how people like Tuck worked. They picked on the weakest chain. The struggling and the needy. Those who could use a hand up because all they knew was how to fall over time and time again. People who could easily be kicked while they were already down because that was fucking life in the grand scheme of things.
Nobody was out to help anybody else.
Renzo figured, since Tuck wasn’t willing to talk, the barber probably owed him money he’d taken to keep this place afloat. Likely one of Tuck’s sharks since the fucker wasn’t one to have his own hand in too many pots, but he didn’t mind having many different hands in several pots.
As much as that bothered Renzo—this was exactly why he didn’t like these kinds of jobs, because he got stuck in his fucking feelings—he shook off the heavy feeling that was keeping him standing on the edge of the street instead of inside that barber shop. Get the job done. Get the fucking money, and go back to Lucia and Diego. It was as simple as that. The quicker he was done here, the faster he could deal with Tuck, and go back to where he wanted to be the most.
Renzo read the business hours on the door as he stepped closer—another five minutes, and the business was closing up for the evening. Through the window, he could see a man in his black apron sweeping a checkered floor around swivel chairs. Pushing the door open, a bell rang up above, but Renzo didn’t pay it any mind.
Now, he had to focus on the guy who was looking at him.
“Sorry, we’re just about ready to close,” the guy—Connie, according to Tuck—said.
Renzo nodded. “Yeah, I saw the hours on the door.”
Connie frowned. “I don’t have time to cut anybody’s hair tonight, man.”
He wanted to ask why not—if the guy was struggling for money, then it would make sense to Renzo that Connie accepted someone even if the place was closing just to get a bit of extra cash. It couldn’t hurt. And then as quickly as he thought that, Renzo had to remind himself that this was not why he was here. He couldn’t fucking sympathize. He couldn’t let his fucking life of hard lessons and constant struggle affect the way he did a job. Or rather, the fact that he had a job to do.
No way.
Reaching back while still keeping one eye on Connie, Renzo flipped the lock on the barber shop door. The gun he never let get too far away from him was tucked into the back of his jeans, and he swore he’d never been more aware of that metal against his skin than he was in those moments. Maybe it was the way Connie’s eyes widened like he realized no, Renzo wasn’t there for a fucking haircut. Or it could have been the way the man’s hand twitched to his left like he was thinking about grabbing the closest thing he could use for a weapon.
What would it be?
The shaving razor on the vanity?
The broom in his grasp?
Nothing that would help him, really.
“I’m not here for a haircut,” Renzo said, shrugging. “I came to get Tuck’s money. I’m sure you don’t need me to explain who that is, considering he’s sent at least three guys around here to pass along the message that you’re late in repaying your debt. Three weeks late. Says you’re lucky he even let you go that long, Connie.”
“I-I don’t have—”
“Here’s the thing,” Renzo continu
ed, not able to listen to the guy yammer or beg. As it was, he was already having enough difficulty with this whole fucking thing. He was not going to add to it by letting the man go on and on. He’d sleep with his guilt tonight, and maybe by the morning when he woke up, it wouldn’t be as bad. A useless hope, but one he had nonetheless. “… I’m gonna take whatever money you have in here, and whatever you might think is worth something to sell to get more money, and then I’m going to have to teach you a little lesson.”
The man’s face paled.
Yeah, fuck, get it together, Ren.
“Nothing that’ll hurt your hands, or arms,” Renzo said, keeping a close eye on Connie’s hands just in case, “as you’re still gonna have to work, right? But no worries, it’ll be enough that you’ll understand how this is going to work from here on out, Connie. That’s all Tuck wants—just for you to understand who is in control.”
More so that Ren understood …
Tuck didn’t just want the barber to realize who had control, but Renzo, too.
Fucking prick.
As Renzo expected Connie would do—they always did this same thing in these situations, never failed—he started rambling. It was simply a way to get more time. A way to try and figure something else out. Bargaining, if you will. Not that it was going to work. It never fucking worked.
“I don’t have any money here,” Connie said quickly, his voice cracking a bit. “A couple of hundred, nothing more. The safe in the back is empty. I can go to the bank, and grab some—”
“How about you show me the safe?” Renzo interjected calmly.
The man blinked.
Renzo knew then that he was lying.
Buying time.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
The safe might not have the full five-thousand plus interest that Connie owed, but it certainly had something. Renzo would get around to checking that in due time. He had a crow bar in the trunk of his car to pry it open because he seriously doubted a man who owed five G’s plus had a safe that was worth any kind of good money. Likely something from Walmart that would make due. Probably screwed to the fucking floor, too.
“Y-yeah, okay,” Connie mumbled. “Just … this way.”
The guy turned to set his broom aside, and then moved for the doorway that led into what looked like a back hallway or a small room. Renzo couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t all that interested in the space back there. He was more concerned with the way Connie leaned down as he entered the doorway like he was grabbing something just around the corner.
Tuck was a fucking idiot, Renzo thought. If Tuck honestly believed he could send three people here before sending Renzo without Connie deciding to do something to protect himself, he was a fucking fool.
Because that’s exactly what Connie had done.
Clearly.
The man spun around with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands, pointed right at Renzo. The problem was—this wasn’t the first job like this that Renzo had done. Sadly, it wasn’t going to be the last. His life had taught him not to get too comfortable where he could refuse a paying job, even if he didn’t like the details of said job.
He expected a fight.
He expected Connie to fight.
Renzo already had his gun pulled out from his back, racked the weapon, and his finger pulled tight on the trigger before Connie had properly gotten the threat in his sights. The bullet from Renzo’s gun plugged into the man’s forehead—a perfect shot, really. The body hit the tiled floor with a morbid thump.
He kept staring at the doorway where Connie had just been standing instead of the body on the floor. He didn’t look at the body when he needed to step over it to go in search of money, either.
It was easier this way.
• • •
Tuck pushed off the edge of a beat-up desk as the man who had walked Renzo into the warehouse stepped out of the way to showcase him standing just behind him in the doorway. “You got what I wanted, or what?”
Renzo pulled out the wad of cash he’d taken from the barber’s shitty safe, and handed it over when Tuck came close enough to grab it. Tuck counted the cash, and didn’t even bother to hide the scowl that skipped over his lips when there was only a little over three thousand in his hands.
“Where’s the rest?”
Renzo pulled out the few items he’d taken off Connie, and out of the man’s small office at his barber shop. A watch, and a wedding ring. Nothing that was going to make up the rest of that two-thousand, anyway.
What could Renzo do?
Nothing.
Money didn’t fucking magically appear, after all.
“That’s what I’ve got for you there,” Renzo said.
Tuck grumbled under his breath, but took all the items anyway before shoving it on the desk behind him. Folding his arms over his chest, he faced Renzo once more. “No problems, then? He got the point? Because I can always go back for the rest in a couple of weeks when he’s … feeling a little better, I suppose.”
Yeah, that was the thing …
“There’s nothing to go back for,” Renzo replied, shrugging. “He tried to come at me with a sawed-off shotgun. He’s dead.”
Tuck’s face hardened.
Renzo kept quiet.
“Shit happens sometimes,” the guy in the chair next to the desk muttered out of the corner of his mouth where a lit joint bounced on his lips. “You know how it is, Tuck.”
Tuck sucked in air through his tight lips, and his gaze turned on Renzo again. “Yeah, I know how it fucking is. Guess we’re gonna call that even, then, Ren. You and me, I mean. You still want some work, or what? I’ve got a few things coming up.”
Renzo wanted to say sure, as long as it wasn’t another job like the one he just did. But frankly, at the moment, he couldn’t afford to be very picky about what work he did or didn’t take. “Yeah, Tuck. Whatever, I’m up for it. Good for it, you know.”
The man nodded. “Good, be on call. I’ll let you know. By the way …”
He’d already turned to leave the warehouse because he really just wanted to get back to Lucia and Diego, now. This whole night had been a little too much for him. He was ready for it to be over.
Staring at Tuck over his shoulder, Renzo asked, “Yeah, what?”
“Nothing else you wanna tell me, right? You’re good and all, yeah? No shit is gonna come my way because of you, right, Ren?”
It was a strange question.
And it wasn’t at the same time.
Renzo couldn’t give an honest answer either way. He was trying not to bring trouble here, but who fucking knew if it would come nonetheless?
“No, I’m good. It’s all good,” Renzo echoed.
Tuck nodded. “All right. I’ll be seeing you, man.”
Yeah.
Probably too soon for comfort.
NINE
One day in Vegas melted into two, and then three. Before Lucia had blinked, they’d been there for almost a week. It felt like they were getting into something akin to a rhythm here. Between taking care of Diego, Renzo heading out to work at all hours of the day and night, and Lucia waiting for when he would have to leave … days melted into one another.
That wasn’t a bad thing.
Lucia just didn’t know how much longer it was going to keep on like this before something changed. She’d not gotten another call from her family since that one. While she felt like she had to look over her shoulder when she did leave the hotel, she never found that there was a reason to do so. No one was ever following behind, after all.
Everything seemed fine.
Quiet, even.
It felt like the calm before the storm.
Wasn’t that how life worked lately?
Diego kept a tight hold on Lucia’s hand as they headed into an upscale apartment complex. She glanced up at the high ceiling of the entry, and noted the crystal chandelier hanging low and glittering from the lights. The walls, a soft cream color, felt like it was meant to be warm an
d welcoming.
She didn’t feel warm or welcomed here at all.
Lucia waited to speak until they were standing next to the bank of elevators, asking, “Why did Tuck call you in again?”
Renzo shrugged. “Not sure.”
He tried to sound unbothered by that fact, but Lucia could hear the anxiety lingering at the edges of his voice. Sure, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it, but that was the thing about the two of them …. Lucia always heard it. She could see it, too. In the way his gaze had hardened as they drove across the city after Tuck called, and how Renzo made an effort to keep his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, so she wouldn’t see how often he was clenching them into tight balls.
The three of them stepped into the elevator when the door for the middle one opened, and quieted again. Even Diego, but he was always good like that. Probably one of the most well-behaved kids Lucia had ever had the privilege of meeting in her life. Plus, he was more interested in staring at all the new things and trying to take it all in at once instead of causing problems. Not that he ever made an issue for them, really.
“So, this is where Tuck lives, then?” Lucia asked.
Renzo nodded. “Guess so. Little uppity for him, as even when he was making decent cash, he preferred something less … obvious about it, I guess you could say.”
Huh.
Lucia didn’t know how to respond to that, so instead, she stayed quiet. She had been to the warehouse where Renzo usually went in to get his details for a job—only once, though. She knew the address of the place and the numbers to call if she needed to get ahold of Renzo for any reason. Tuck didn’t like to see her tagging along whenever Renzo had to do a job for the guy. Apparently, he thought she was a problem, or that she might cause one. Despite how much that kind of pissed her off, Lucia could see his point.
But … it was always Renzo who brought her and Diego along. She never really asked to go—she was fine with staying at the hotel, and looking after Diego until Renzo got back from wherever. However, if he thought she was fine to come along because he wouldn’t be doing anything that he didn’t want her to see or know, then he brought her along.
