by Harley Stone
Bones's primary job was to ensure my security, but like all my father's employees, he was also an earner. We all were. I made weapons, and Bones was an upper management dealer. That's the way things worked.
"Yeah. Or at least he was before the asshole stiffed me. Now I'm gonna have to make an example out of him."
I wasn't worried about Matt being made an example of. I looked back at the door, worried about the girl who was suffering through whatever he gave her. It wasn't any of my business, and the smart thing would be to drive away. Only my brain couldn't seem to settle on the smart decision.
"What's she on?" I asked.
Bones shrugged. "Sounds like she got some bad shit."
I eyed him.
He held up his hands. "Don't look at me. You damn well know everything I touch is pure. We don't sell shit, Angel."
He was right. My old man would never allow it. Like all other illegal activities, Father ran the drug trade in Vegas to make money and keep it in check. He controlled the quality and quantity of everything he ran, increasing profits and keeping the authorities out of our business.
My attention drifted back to the apartment door and stayed fixed there while I tried to force myself to put the key in the ignition, but couldn't. My memory kept flashing through images of a dead cop, schematics of a bomb, my father's armory, all the shit I couldn't do anything about. But Markie's sister... I could help her. I needed that, needed to feel like something other than a useless pawn in my family's ongoing battle to stay on top.
"If we're gonna save her, we need to do it soon," Bones said.
"Explain."
"Someone's been offloading this shit. I've heard rumors... It's not good, Angel. She needs a doctor."
That settled it. I hurried back to the apartment with Bones right behind me. I beat on the door until Markie answered.
"You're back? Matt's still not here and my sister is--"
"--the reason we're here," I said, cutting her off as I pushed past her. "We need to come in, Markie. She needs help."
"But--" Markie stood in my way, as if she could block me. The girl was fierce, I had to give her that. "She didn't do anything wrong. She's sick. You can't just march in here and harass her without a warrant."
Bones barged in, somehow squeezing between us and the wall, and marched into the living room and down the hall.
"Hey!" Markie shouted, chasing him. "You have no right to do this!"
Bones ignored her and kept walking.
Markie looked to me, her expression defeated and hopeless.
I snaked her arm over my shoulders and looked into her gorgeous blue eyes. "We're gonna help her. She needs to get to the hospital or she's gonna die."
"Angel, get in here!" Bones shouted.
I pulled away from Markie and followed his voice to a small, dark bedroom. The place was a wreck. Clothes were bursting out of the closet on the left-hand side, and more were folded and stacked on a chest of drawers in the corner. Bones stood beside the bed, tugging back the pile of blankets to reveal a waif of a girl. Sweat glistened over every inch of skin that her shorts and T-shirt revealed.
"She looks even worse," Markie said, hurrying to her sister's side. "Ari, honey, what's going on? Talk to me."
Ariana's eyes popped open. She looked up at us and her bloodshot eyes widened. Sitting up, she reached for the blankets, tugging them with her as she scooted away from Bones.
"What did you do, Markie? Fucking cops? Get them out of here. Get out of my house!" Then she winced and grabbed at her lower back. A stream of obscenities shot out of her mouth like a spray gun, drenching us in vulgarity. Midtirade she fell over, passing out cold.
Bones sprang into action. He checked her pulse, her arms, and her eyes. Then he looked around the room. "Do you know what she used?" he asked Markie.
She shook her head. "I just got here!"
He ripped open the drawer of Ariana's nightstand, riffling through the contents.
"Hey! I don't think you should be going through her stuff," Markie objected.
He pulled out a small plastic bag, halting her protests. Pocketing the baggie, he said, "We're taking her to the hospital. Now."
"Yeah." I leaned forward and sniffed Markie. "Change into something that doesn't smell like pot, okay? You have some of that fruity-smelling stuff to spray in your hair?"
Eyes wide, Markie nodded at me.
"Good. Do that. Hurry."
Ariana's condition would bring enough drama down on them. Markie didn't seem like a pot head, so her contact high would clear up shortly after we left the apartment.
She rushed out of the bedroom.
Bones scooped Ariana up and carried her out of the room. Markie followed us out of the apartment, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, carrying a pair of sandals, and smelling fruity.
I sped the whole way to the hospital, but not fast enough to draw legitimate police attention. When I pulled up in front of the emergency room entrance, Bones jumped out and carried Ariana in with Markie hot on their heels. I parked the Hummer and hurried to join them, arriving in time to watch Bones lower Ariana onto a gurney. Nurses surrounded them.
Markie gave my arm a light squeeze, her gentle touch sending shivers up my spine. She smiled at me, revealing her heart-stopping dimples once again. "Just realized you're not cops. It's... It's Halloween. Thank you for helping us. Thank you both."
Then she took a deep breath and followed the gurney as it was wheeled past the admittance doors.
I watched her go, somehow both grateful and grieved to see her walk away a second time.
"You're doing that thing again," Bones said.
"What thing?" I asked.
"Tugging at your collar. You did it in the pizzeria, then when Markie answered the door, and now you're doing it again."
I looked down, shocked to find that my fingers were--in fact--tugging at the dark T-shirt under my SWAT jacket. "The T-shirt's too tight. Feels like it's strangling me," I said, forcing my hand to let go. We turned and walked back toward the emergency room doors. Real cops would show up soon, and we needed to be gone before they did.
"You sure? Looks to me like you have a tell."
"A tell?" I snorted. I lived in the gambling capital of the world and had a lifestyle where predictability led to certain death. If I had a tell, I would have damn well known about it years ago. "No, I don't."
"You know I always shoot straight with you, Angel, and because I have your back, let me assure you, you fuckin' do."
I climbed into the Hummer and started it up. "You're being ridiculous. I just met her."
Bones shrugged. "Yeah, and now you need to stay the hell away from her."
He was right, but his words made me bristle. "Oh? Why's that?"
I merged into traffic and toward the strip, feeling his gaze boring into the side of my head.
"Because broads like Markie are more interested in picking out rings than condoms."
"And you got that from meeting her twice?" I asked.
He chuckled. "You know how good I am at reading people. Tell me I'm wrong, Angel."
I couldn't and he knew it. "Is that really a bad thing? I am getting a little tired of shopping for condoms."
"Dangerous words, my friend. You remember One Nut Brizio, right?" Bones asked.
I groaned. A few years ago, a son of the Porta family named Brizio had a hardon for a chick from out of town. As expected, Brizio's father ran a background check on the girl, but she came out clean. Squeaky clean, in fact. The girl didn't have so much as a speeding ticket on her record. Since nobody was that clean, Brizio's father pegged her for a cop or worse. He told Brizio to stay away from the girl, but Brizio chose to marry her instead. Turned out the girl was working for one of the other families. She was sent in to get intel, but ended up catching a goddamn feeling and blowing off her own family. She disappeared. Then Brizio's father took a hit out on his own son's testicles, declaring that his kid was too stupid to procreate. Losing one of his balls and his new wi
fe sent Brizio over the edge. A couple of days later he put a gun in his mouth and joined her in the great dirt nap.
"Some real Romeo and Juliet shit, there," I said. "Didn't know you were such a romantic, Bones."
He flipped me off. "I knew Brizio. Before that broad appeared and started fuckin' with his head, he was a good guy. A stand-up guy. I can tell you're interested in this broad, so let me do my job and run a full background check on her. I'll dig until I hit bedrock under her dirt, and then we can make sure it's all shit you can live with."
A woman had caught my interest, so my best friend wanted to search her closet for skeletons. And they say romance is dead.
"You know, normal people get to know each other organically. They don't start out the relationship knowing whether or not the other person cheated on their senior project or was molested by their uncle."
I didn't even know the girl, and delving into her secrets seemed like a shitty way to start. Where's the fun in getting to know someone when you've already read up on their history?
"Yeah, well you're a Mariani."
I tensed. "No shit?"
Bones glared at me.
"I know who the fuck I am, Bones. Why do you think I didn't ask for her number? She's perfect and innocent and I'm not gonna screw her up by dragging her into my life."
"Dammit, Angel. Maybe she'd be good for you. You could use a distraction. Let me check into her and make sure she's as innocent as you think and--"
"No background check. Forget about it."
Bones looked down. "Look, I--"
"You have to do your job. I get it. It's fine. I need some sleep." My life wasn't his fault, and he didn't deserve my anger. Bones was doing what he always did, trying to protect me. Softening my tone, I held out an olive branch. "I'm done for the night, but why don't you drop me off and take the Hummer?"
Bones had a car; a dark blue jeep which, for the most part, stayed parked in the apartment garage, since he stayed by my side and I drove a bullet-resistant monstrosity with run-flat tires and twenty-four-seven access to Tech. I offered him the use of the Hummer because I knew if he came upstairs to get his keys, he'd probably end up calling it a night as well. I wanted my friend to go out and enjoy himself, not be trapped in the condo with me.
"You sure?" he asked.
"Yes. Don't make me order you to go out and have a good time."
When I pulled up in front of our condo building, Bones pointed beneath my seat and said, "Take it."
I pressed my index finger in the center of a hidden panel beneath my seat. It read my fingerprint and popped open, revealing the Desert Eagle .50 caliber pistol inside. Bones handed me a windbreaker from the backseat that I slid over my flack vest. I slipped the pistol into the jacket pocket and climbed out. Bones circled around and got behind the wheel. I felt him watching me as I entered the building and greeted the dark-skinned, six-foot security guard who often pulled night duty on the weekends. Despite the security, I kept one hand wrapped around the pistol in my pocket until I checked the apartment. Once I verified I was alone, I stored the pistol in the nightstand beside my bed and hung up the windbreaker.
My mind wouldn't stop spinning, so I opened a bottle of wine and clicked on the television. I watched old comedy show reruns and drank until the knot between my shoulders became a dull ache. I tried to drink until I stopped thinking about Markie, but finished off the bottle of wine with her goddamn dimples still running through my mind. Tipsy and exhausted, I crawled into bed.
That night I dreamed of a beautiful blonde waving good-bye as she walked away from me, and when I woke up the next morning, I had convinced myself I was happy to see her go.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Angel
SUNDAYS HAVE ALWAYS been a big deal for my family. Mamma and Nonna (my grandmother) are so desperate to save our souls--despite what we do--that they drag us to mass every week, under threat of guilt trips and possible disowning. After mass, we all go out for gelato, and then have a big dinner with family, extended family, and friends. The women crowd the kitchen, gossiping while they craft homemade pasta and simmer sauces, and the men watch football in the den or help father work the grill in the backyard.
As a child, I used to follow the old man around with a tray full of seasonings and a pair of heavy metal grilling tongs, beaming with pride at the chance to help him. Looking back, I see that even then, he was grooming me to follow in his footsteps. When I aged out of that phase, my now nineteen-year-old brother, Dante, took my place. Today it was Georgio's turn following Father around like a puppy waiting for a pat on his head.
"He's growing up," Bones observed, following my gaze.
I frowned, saddened by the truth of it. "Yeah, he is."
My old man had his usual entourage of ass-kissers huddled around him. I didn't feel like joining in, so I headed for the swimming pool while Bones drifted off to go look menacing alongside the other security guards. Although he was more family than employee, he liked to shoot the shit with them and catch up on all the latest news.
I swear sometimes the security guards gossip more than the women.
Hidden from view by the gate around the pool, I kicked back in a lawn chair and tried to relax. The setting sun had dropped the temperature down to the mid-eighties, and I fought the urge to tug off my loafers and socks, roll up my slacks, and dip my toes into the cool water. Instead, I blocked out the conversations from the deck, closed my eyes, and reveled in the peaceful solitude of the moment.
Thoughts of Markie crept into my mind. I had an excellent memory, but even better technology, and when Markie had passed us her ID to verify her age at the pizzeria, I'd snapped a picture of it with my smart watch. I was my father's son, after all, and it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Bones had most likely done the same. Pulling up the image, I slipped my phone out and googled "Markie Lynn Davis, age twenty-three, from Boise, Idaho." I got a couple of hits, started clicking them, and then felt someone behind me. I dropped my phone face down on my lap, and turned.
"What are you doing?" Bones asked, eyeing me.
I shrugged, knowing I'd been caught, but still trying to save face. "Checking some shit out."
Bones sat on the chair beside me, and leaned forward. "Some 'shit' or 'someone'?" he asked.
I shrugged again.
Bones grumbled a warning about having my nuts removed and took off.
Ignoring the temptation of my Internet search, I closed my eyes again. It wasn't too long before I felt the presence of company once again. Through half-lidded eyes, I spied my baby sister tip-toeing toward the shallow end of the swimming pool, watching me as she went. She wore a green satin dress, and her long dark curls had been confined in a braid and secured by a matching ribbon. She kicked off shiny black shoes, hiked up her dress so she wouldn't sit on it, and plopped down on the side of the pool. Then she gently lowered her feet into the water, sighing deeply.
"Better be careful," I said.
Luciana jumped, letting out a little squeak. "Angel! You scared me half to death. I thought you were asleep."
"That was the goal. I was waiting to see if you were going to jump in."
"I wish. Stupid Sunday dinners," she groaned.
"I thought you liked Sunday dinners."
"Yeah, well Mamma says I have to help in the kitchen. I tried, but all the women want to do is talk, and whenever I say something, they get mad and tell me I shouldn't gossip."
I swallowed back a laugh, but Luciana cast me a sideways glare to let me know she'd heard it.
"Why don't you have to help the guys--," she glanced over her shoulder at the men on the patio, "--with whatever they do?"
I shrugged. "When you move out of the house, you get a little more latitude."
"Yeah? Well, I can't wait to move out. Then I can swim whenever I come home and won't have to act like a lady." She crossed her arms and stared longingly at the pool.
I didn't have the heart to tell her she wouldn't get that much latitude.
My baby sister laid a finger to her lips to hush me and ducked down, hidden from view by the knee-high cobblestone divider that separated the pool from the lawn. Then she looked over her shoulder at the bushes surrounding the yard. I could almost see the wheels spinning in her head as she calculated whether or not she could make it into hiding before our mom spotted her.
"The bushes will tear your dress," I warned. "Then you'll really be in trouble."
Her shoulders drooped. Head tilted to the side, she asked, "Angel, what's ee's dropping?"
"Eavesdropping?" I asked.
She flung up her hands in a gesture way too dramatic for a seven-year-old. "Whatever."
"Why do you ask?"
"Because Mom and Aunt Mona were talking to Sonia about a boy and I tried to tell Sonia that boys were stupid. Then Mom got mad and shushed me, saying I shouldn't eeeeevees drop, but I didn't drop anything."
Fighting to keep from laughing, I stood and collected her shoes. Then I walked over and offered her a hand. "Eavesdropping, Luci. It means listening in on a conversation you shouldn't be."
"Well that's stupid," she replied. "Why would they talk right in front of me, if they don't want me to listen?"
From the mouths of babes.
"I don't know. Doesn't make sense to me either. But you better go help Mamma before you get in trouble. You don't want to end up spending the evening in your room."
"Maybe I do. It's a lot more fun in my room than it is in the kitchen," she argued.
I kissed her on the forehead. "Yeah, but I barely get to see you anymore. Dinner's gotta be almost ready, and I want to sit by my beautiful little sister."
"Fine." She trudged toward the house like a captured inmate heading back to her prison cell. She was almost to the door when she paused and called over her shoulder, "But it's a good thing I love you, Angel."
Laughing, I straightened my suit and went to see what the men were up to. Cousin Alberto stood in the corner, talking politics with the neighbor. I stayed well away from that conversation and made a beeline for the grill. Uncle Michael wheeled his chair onto the deck and joined me. As Father's older brother, Michael should have been the family boss, but a bullet had left him paralyzed the same day my grandfather had been murdered. Now Michael was one of my old man's many advisors.
