Suckered

by Gina LaManna

  “Uh, yeah, because her multi-million dollar necklace was stolen.”

  “I was going to return it,” Clay said. “I didn’t really add anything, anyway. Just some extra shine and a thicker clasp.”

  I gaped, speechless.

  Anthony stuck his hand out. He and Clay shook on it.

  “Good thing your nuts are safe,” Meg said. “That was a close one.”

  I finally recovered, stepping close enough to kiss Clay and Meg good night on the cheek.

  “You’re picking up those Italian habits lickety split,” Meg said. “I like this kissing business.” Then she leaned forward and kissed Anthony four times on each cheek. Then she topped it off with a smooch on the lips. “That’s how you do it.”

  Anthony looked shell-shocked. Even after Clay and Meg disappeared inside their apartment and shut the door, it took all of my strength to drag Anthony inside our place.

  “Come on, big guy,” I said. Meg had shoved Baby Arnold into my arms, so I dragged the doll behind me. “Let’s go.”

  “What was that?” Anthony said in a weak voice. “She kissed me.”

  “Don’t read into it,” I said. “It happens to everyone.”

  “That was no accident.”

  “Consider it flattering,” I said. “She doesn’t kiss just anyone.”

  “Yes, she does,” he said. “I’ve seen her in action.”

  “True,” I said. “Well, there’s a travel pack of Listerine in the suitcase.”

  “How about rubbing alcohol?”

  “I can make that happen.”

  He leaned in for a kiss. I rested my hand on his chest and backed away. “Ew, Meg germs. Listerine, remember?”

  Anthony’s eyes glimmered, and then the darkness turned devilish as he threw me over his shoulder and carried me into the apartment. Arnold came along too, bouncing along behind us.

  “Hey!” I said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He threw me on the bed. Not too hard, just hard enough to make me laugh as I boinged against the springs like a trampoline.

  “I don’t feel like talking right now,” he said. “I’d prefer to show you.”

  ** **

  About an hour later, I grabbed a towel from the floor, scarfed a snack, and pulled myself toward the shower. Anthony was still snoozing on the bed.

  I stood in the doorway of the bedroom for a long second, examining his figure for a somewhat embarrassing amount of time. When he slept, he turned innocent. The body of a god and the face of an angel, he dozed in peace, bare chest rising and falling, the tattoo over his neck now so familiar I could draw it with my eyes closed.

  “Are you done staring?” Anthony asked.

  His voice startled me, and I muttered something about daydreaming. Then I walked into the wall as I attempted to leave the room.

  “It doesn’t have to be a daydream,” he called, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I’ll make all your dreams come true, sugar. Again.”

  I opened and shut my mouth a few times, but the sight of him in nothing but a bedsheet, just the right amount of stubble, a sleepy smile—it was too much. If I stayed, I’d lose my control. Again. So I left the room, jumping in the shower underneath frigid cold water.

  I hunched down, the height of the shower nowhere near satisfactory. I was halfway through conditioning my hair, thinking those very deep thoughts that only happen in the shower, when someone ripped the shower curtain back.

  I shrieked. My shriek echoed loud enough for Meg to hear. She pounded on the wall and shouted to ask whether I was okay or if I needed medical attention.

  “I’m fine!” I hollered back. I crossed my arms over my chest and glowered at Anthony. “What are you doing?”

  “Just looking.” He looked. And looked. And he didn’t stop until I waved at him.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said. “If you wanna stand here, you’ve gotta earn your keep.”

  “Happy to do that.” Anthony grinned.

  “No, I mean you have to answer some questions.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Do you think Beckett will get the job with The Violet Society?”

  Distracted, Anthony nodded. “He’s got it.”

  The answer made me blink. “What?”

  “What?” he said, looking up, as if surprised by his own answer. “What did I say?”

  I rinsed my hair and shut the shower off in record time. When I wrapped a towel around my body, Anthony groaned in disappointment.

  “How are you so sure he’ll have the job?” I asked.

  “That’s not important right now.” Anthony reached out, his fingers grasping my hips through the towel. “It’s over…”

  “No, answer me now,” I said. “You just got uninterrupted viewing time for three minutes. You can answer me this one question.”

  “It’s a story for tomorrow, Lacey,” Anthony looked up, his gaze even. “I’m going to tell you, show you everything. I promise.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Because I have other plans for now.” He looked hungry, but I suspected it wasn’t food on his brain.

  “Where’s Baby Arnold?” I asked. “I think he needs to eat.”

  “In the freezer.”

  I stopped brushing my hair for a second. “Who is in the freezer?”

  “Arnold.”

  “Anthony!”

  “Lacey, he’s plastic; he can wait for ten minutes. Or an hour.”

  “But—”

  “He can wait.” Anthony stepped forward and slowly, deliciously spun me out of the towel. “I can’t.”

  Epilogue

  “Don’t expect much,” Anthony said for the ninetieth time. “It’s nothing.”

  I slipped my hand in his, my feet kicking up dirt on the ancient streets of Bari. Squeezing tight, I remained silent. I’d never seen Anthony so nervous, and my continual reassurances hadn’t seemed to do much to ease his stress.

  “It’s just around the corner here—” Anthony’s fingers trembled in mine.

  I sucked in a breath and pulled him tighter, exchanging our intertwined fingers for an arm around his waist and a head on his shoulder.

  “Thank you for bringing me down here,” I said. “It means a lot.”

  Meg, Clay, and the rest of the Luzzi crew had come down to Bari for the weekend, too. Arnold was also with us, off on a special adventure with Grandma Nora for his first trip to the beach before the big dinner this evening. We were all going to an old spot, a favorite of Carlos and Nora.

  Anthony and I had slipped away for some alone time, strolling hand in hand and following the curve of the ocean. The beautiful blue water tossed with greens and blacks, making for a gorgeous backdrop to the decades-untouched architecture, the pathways nothing but stone and dust.

  This was how I’d pictured Italy; old buildings without doors, stone steps leading into cool, dark homes. Crumbling churches and pillars lining the piazzas around every corner, men and women of all ages sitting in shady alleyways. Delicious scents drifted from the open windows, the streets smelling like heaven.

  “This looks like a beautiful place to grow up,” I said. “Sun, sea, history…I don’t know why you wanted to leave.”

  “It’s small,” he said finally. “Outgrew it, I suppose.”

  I couldn’t imagine outgrowing a place so beautiful, but my experience was limited. My home state was beautiful too, just in different ways. “I thought you said you were running from something.”

  “I was,” he said, winding to a stop. “Memories.”

  I could tell he didn’t want to explain, so for now, I accepted his answer.

  “This is it.” Anthony had guided me through the winding city—through unmarked streets that would confuse the best of navigators.

  I let go of Anthony and stepped forward, running my finger over the bricks, wondering how long ago this stone structure had been built. A door stood in the wall, light blue on the outside, colorful and cracked and quaint in a way that Pier One tried to imitate, but
could never quite achieve.

  An open window was next to the door, and it led to a kitchen, judging by the sounds of clanking pans, shouting voices, and mouth-watering aromas of tomato and fresh fruit. Only beads covered the window.

  “You lived here?” I turned to Anthony. “When?”

  He stared through the window, not answering.

  I brought my hand up to his neck, my arms, my legs, my feet layered with the dust of this place. It was simple, perfect. I could imagine a smaller version of Anthony running around, casting open the pastel blue door on the way to join his friends.

  We stood still for a while, neither of us speaking. I moved behind him, sliding my hands around his waist and resting my chin against his shoulder. I wasn’t even sure Anthony realized I was still next to him.

  A woman appeared in the doorway. She was old, so old her tanned face cracked in wrinkles, her hair knotted in a wispy bun on top of her head. Her skirts brushed the floor in sync with her broom as she swept off the dusty steps.

  She looked up at us, her gaze finally startling Anthony into life. He slipped his hand into mine and pulled me away, back from where we’d come.

  Behind us, the grandmotherly figure began shouting at someone. At first I thought she was talking to us, but then I recognized the word for soccer, and I realized she was shouting to some kids behind us.

  I watched as three dark-haired boys, their skin brightened by the sun, faces streaked with mud, ignored their grandmother and slammed a dirty ball at each other.

  The grandmother’s threats seemingly got more severe as the boys continued to ignore her, and only when she hobbled out waving her broom at the kids did they pick up the ball and saunter back toward home, chattering the whole while.

  My gaze fell on Anthony, who watched the boys with an expression I’d never seen him wear. Almost nostalgic. I wondered if he could see himself in those boys, over twenty-odd years before.

  His eyes followed the kids as they wrestled each other into the doorway, and even after they’d disappeared into their home, the sounds of clinking silverware drifting out to us, he continued to sit still.

  I reached over, resting my hand on his. We’d migrated over to a low wall where we sat in silence. For whatever reason, I understood that he wasn’t ready to leave yet. He also wasn’t ready to talk. Therefore, we waited, our legs dangling over the far side of the ledge.

  “Do you know them?” I asked finally.

  He shook his head, the nostalgia in his eyes melting briefly to a longing sadness. Pushing it away in typical Anthony fashion, he shook his head. “No, it’s a new family. Well, not new anymore. They’ve been here for years, but I don’t know them.”

  “Is that what you were looking into earlier this week?”

  Anthony took a breath so deep his chest expanded, his shoulders straightened. When he blew it out, the sigh was so weighty I scooched a few inches over and hoped my presence would be enough to ward off whatever he was fighting alone.

  “Yes and no,” he said. “I was born here, grew up here for the first years of my life.”

  Waves crashed to shore, the sound soothing and threatening in one mix.

  “Until everything changed,” he said. “My father—he disobeyed one of the politicians who ran this town. He didn’t pay a bribe that was due. Even as a child I knew my father was in trouble…a man, a bad man, visited our home three times asking for money. Every time that man left, my father and my mother would argue. They never fought, except for this.”

  I made a noise of sympathy in my throat, but Anthony was too lost in his own world to notice.

  “My mother wanted him to pay the money,” he said. “For our safety. But my father was…well, he disagreed. He believed in honor, so he refused to pay a fee to a corrupt politician.”

  “What did your father do?” I asked.

  “He ran a restaurant. One of the most well loved pizza places in this region.” Anthony stopped to remember with a fond smile. “Bari’s soccer team would come by after every game. My father knew how to run a good business, draw a good crowd. He had charisma.”

  “Sounds like you inherited all of his best traits.” I kissed Anthony on the cheek.

  “It all changed one night. The restaurant was closed for the evening. I was there with…I was there, playing in the front room while my parents cleaned up the back. The next thing I remember…”

  He fell silent, and I swallowed a lump in my throat. I had no clue what was coming next, but anything that made Anthony speechless did the same to me.

  “Flames,” he said. “A boom, and then flames burst from the kitchen. I ran toward my parents, to the kitchen, but I couldn’t get close enough to do anything.” His hand sweated in my grasp, but I didn’t let go. “I watched as it burned. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move, couldn’t run. Nothing. If it hadn’t been for him, we would’ve burned too.”

  “Him? Who came to help?”

  “A man named Barroni,” Anthony said. “He happened to have dined with us that night. He’d gone for a nightcap next door, saw the flames, and rushed back.”

  I looked down. “I’m glad he was there, and that he came to help.”

  “Me too,” Anthony said. “If it weren’t for him, we would all have died that night. He grabbed me, and then he grabbed my sister.”

  My jaw dropped. “You have a sister?”

  “Had.” He cleared his throat. “She was only a few months old. I had been tasked to babysit her in the front room while my parents cleaned up in the back. Then, the fire started. The official report says it was an accident, but it wasn’t. I heard the explosion—it was him.”

  “The politician?”

  Anthony nodded. “If only I’d grabbed my sister and run…”

  “Your sister was saved?”

  “Barroni grabbed us both.” Anthony nodded, and then paused. “But there’s more.”

  “More?”

  “I’m explaining to you how I ended up in my…position today. Lacey, Barroni was a member of The Violet Society,” Anthony said. “He was Italy’s representative.”

  I blinked. “No.”

  “He lived in Bari between jobs. Barroni didn’t tell many people, and I only learned about it years later. That’s what I was looking into the other day. When The Violet Society came up, I realized I had to find Barroni and figure out what was going on. For you.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Anthony said. “But that is the night I realized a terrible truth.”

  An old man leaning on a cane scuttled close to us, and Anthony paused to let him pass.

  When the gentleman was well out of earshot, Anthony spoke in a voice like smoke. “Sometimes, the ones who are supposed to stand for good fail us completely. Sometimes, it’s the people we least expect who are there when we need help the most.”

  I listened, trying to memorize every word. Examples flashed through my mind—Angelica, utterly destroyed by the person she assumed loved her back. The fallen look on her face when The Chad pretended not to know her would stick with me for a long time. Then, there were the others. Alessandra, Meg, Clay…Anthony. They had always been there for me.

  “It was that night I decided I wanted to be Barroni when I grew up,” Anthony said. “So when I learned he was a thief, I set my sights on becoming the best thief I could be. Because if it weren’t for Barroni, I wouldn’t have been alive. And neither would my sister.”

  “I understand,” I said. “And I don’t think that’s crazy at all. You were so young.”

  “It’s why I work for your grandfather. Why I trust him. He has never let me down, and he won’t—ever. It doesn’t matter what it says on his resume, he’ll be there for me, and I for him.”

  I took Anthony’s hand in mine. “You’ve never let me down.”

  Anthony bit his lip. “I don’t know, if I’d been there earlier, before the show—”

  “Hey,” I whispered. “Stop it. I wouldn’t m
arry you if I didn’t believe you’d take care of me or…our family.”

  His eyes were deep pools of black, a sorrow I couldn’t know, a piece of him gone that I couldn’t understand. To lose both parents at such a young age, to have been there, seen things firsthand.

  I cried the tears that Anthony couldn’t. Resting my head against his chest, hot, salty drops stained his shirt, and my shoulders shook as he held me tight, rocking back and forth. If people walked by, I didn’t notice. If someone asked whether we were okay, I didn’t hear. I knew only Anthony’s touch, his arms, his strength.

  “I didn’t want to make you cry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “You should have,” I said, trying my best to not be a gross bundle of sniffles. Anthony pulled a tissue out of somewhere and handed it over. I blew my nose. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m a mess.”

  “Yes, but you’re my mess,” he said, pulling me onto his lap. “My beautiful mess.”

  We sat there for a long while, the sun beaming bright in direct opposition to the darkness of the shadows behind us. The jumping, leaping waves had me wondering if Anthony had seen these same patterns as a kid. If he got lost staring into the whitecaps then, just as we did now.

  I cleared my throat during a lull on the beach. “Do you know about your…”

  “Barroni saved my sister, or so I thought,” Anthony said. “But I never saw her again. That night is nothing in my memory—it’s black, full of flames. I heard screams, and that’s all. Barroni’s arms picked me up, carried me away. I don’t remember anything after that, except that I begged for my sister. He said she was fine, safe, but that I couldn’t see her yet.”

  “Where did you go?” I asked.

  “Barroni took me in.” Anthony smiled. “For a while, at least. Taught me everything I know.”

  “It all makes sense now.” I laughed softly. “I understand you so much better now. Raised by The Violet Society—who would’ve guessed?”

  He smiled. “I lived with Barroni for a long time. Well, it felt like a long time, but it couldn’t have been more than three or four years. Then he was called away for a big job when I was around fourteen or so—”