by Soraya Naomi
I enter my grandmother’s room, decorated in brown colors. She’s awake, lying in bed and watching TV, but appears fragile with her grey-white hair tied up into a bun. She isn’t eating well and has been losing weight – old age is creeping up on her. She mutes the TV as I approach her slowly, not knowing if she’ll remember me since she’s been diagnosed with the middle stage of Alzheimer’s disease. Oftentimes, she has trouble recalling events or names, and she can be moody and withdrawn. Fortunately, not today.
“Logan,” she greets in an endearing tone that centers me. “I was hoping you’d come by.”
I visit her as often as I can, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Nana is the only constant in my life. The only parent and family I have. I never knew my father, and my mother abandoned Jenny and me when I was three. Several years later, Nana learned that she was arrested for a robbery and died in prison.
“Hey, Nana. I was delayed.” I would’ve been here earlier if not for Rosa. Kissing her forehead, I fish out a hazelnut chocolate bar from my back pocket and show it to her. “Don’t tell the nurses I got you this.”
“You always know what to bring me.” She takes my hand in hers and squeezes weakly before unfolding the wrapper and breaking off a chunk of chocolate. “Do you want some?”
“No, thanks. It’s all for you.”
“You look tired. Is everything all right?” she asks after chewing the piece.
“Yes, it was just a busy day,” I assure her.
“You should go home, sleep,” she advises.
“I think I’ll do that. I wanted to drop by and see you first.”
Her palm cradles my cheek affectionately. “Have I told you how I love it that you always visit?”
No, she hasn’t. This is the first time in weeks that she’s been herself. “Yeah,” I lie to make her feel better. “But it’s selfish. I like it too.”
“Silly boy. You’re anything but selfish. You’ll see that someday.”
“Maybe someday.” I press another kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight.”
“Night. I love you,” she comments as I clear out of the room to head to my apartment.
Until I’m home and lying in bed, Rosa keeps occupying my mind. I’ll protect her for the next couple of weeks while we dismantle the Ukrainian sex club and locate Dimitri and Mykhail. James guaranteed me that she hasn’t had any contact with Mykhail, so I haven’t asked her about it myself. It seems that she just wants to continue her life as it was. She’s a party girl.
But there’s more to her.
Shaking my head, I roll to my side. Yet Rosa wearing that thin dress is my last thought before sleep pulls at me. Evidently, bottled-up lust is an irrepressible emotion.
***
The next morning, I’m resolved to find Dimitri and Mykhail Medlov. The Syndicate is keeping me apprised of more mafia business – I’ve got one foot in the door and won’t let some desirous feelings for Rosa get in my way. As I’m getting out of the shower, my phone chimes in.
Henry: I might have a lead on Dimitri or Mykhail’s whereabouts. I’ve found an encrypted document with addresses of various Ukrainian safe places, I think; but I’m having trouble decrypting it. Maybe you can take a look? Or you can run it through CIA software to decode it for us?
This is good news. I decide to visit the CIA tech department to steal a new program they’re testing. It’s the latest decoding software, and Henry has taught me how to make a copy of it without the CIA technicians finding out.
Eventually, I arrive at Club 7 at eight p.m. to meet Henry, who said he’d be working in Adriano’s office on the second floor of the immense dance club that’s just opened its doors for the night. Lounge music is booming from the speakers, but it’s not crowded yet.
Apparently, Henry’s taking a break since he’s on the first floor, speaking to James and Luca as they pass him before ascending the black stairway at the far end of the club.
I make my way over to him, while he drinks a beer, and hold up the disc. “Henry, I’ve got it.”
“Perfect.” He adjusts his black-rimmed glasses and snatches it from me. “We can check it after I finish my drink. Want one too?”
“Sure.”
He flirts with a passing waitress, and she’s visibly enamored with Henry’s preppy style and the tattoos on both of his forearms, but she gives me a coy look too.
Oh, no. You’re way too young for me.
Henry smirks at her. “Can I have another beer for Wade here, babe?”
“Sure, Henry.”
He stores the disc in the back pocket of his slacks while gawking at her ass.
“Henry?” I repeat sarcastically. “You’re already on first name basis with the waitresses here? I’m impressed, man. But I think you’ll have trouble holding that one’s attention.”
He grins. “Even better. I don’t require her attention for long.” Dryly, he adds, “Although this one seemed to be a little distracted by you.”
I laugh as he takes a swig of his beer and scans the room. “Did you...” But he trails off as he looks over my shoulder and states, intrigued, “Well, who’s that with Fallon?” He points the top of his beer bottle behind me toward the bar. “You know her?”
Turning around, I’m confronted with the one person who keeps being thrust into my path, and it seems like she’s here more often lately. Rosa’s in tight, dark jeans and a scarlet top with several thin gold necklaces hanging around her neck. On her shirt, across her best feature – her cleavage – is written don’t touch, as if it’s directed at me.
Both Henry and I are captivated by her antics. She’s showing several people that are standing around her a dollar bill, which she pulls tight in her hands and holds up on display. Then she brings a cigarette lighter to the corner of it to light it on fire and shakes it out to extinguish the flame, presenting an unburned piece of paper. Well, isn’t Rosa just full of surprises. A few guys applaud her as she beams mischievously. She’s enthralling to watch, and there’s an alluring elegance to her movements.
“Do you know who she is?” Henry asks again.
I keep my sight on her. “You never met Rosa?”
“No.”
“Count yourself lucky,” I mutter while lustful images of her in that thin dress are etched into my mind.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I mumble. Thankfully, the waitress returns with the cold beer. I gulp it down to cool the fuck off. I’ve just been too busy with work and not enough play.
“So, who is she?” Henry persists.
“Rosalia Calderone, James’s daughter.”
“Ah...” he trails off while his stare is riveted on her. “Your lovely assignment. She’s beautiful.”
I grit my teeth but remain quiet. Then Rosa catches Henry’s gaze, and he smiles widely at her – she returns the favor.
Fallon says something to Rosa and her eyes widen a touch, as if she’s discovered interesting information. Nonchalantly, I take another swig of my beer, even though I’m irritated. I see the corner of her mouth twitch, and she expertly disregards me.
When Henry walks over in her direction, I join him, setting my beer on the bar counter next to Rosa and standing between Henry and her. As always, her smile fades when she realizes she can’t get around me. She’s talking to Fallon and another friend, and I overhear them, regrettably.
The friend whispers to Fallon and Rosa, “He’s so handsome,” as she peeks at Henry.
And Rosa utters to Fallon, “He is very good-looking.”
Christ, does everyone have to notice how handsome Henry is?
Leaning back with one elbow on the bar, I snatch the bill from her hand to inspect the perfectly unburned paper. “How did you do that?”
They all turn to me, and Rosa remarks mockingly, “Hey, Wade. Nice to see you—and yes, I mean it,” she adds when I open my mouth.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But I can see what you’re thinking by your annoying little smirk.”
�
��Little?” I echo, amused. “Nothing of mine has ever been called little...”
She sends me a bland stare, and I cock my head conceitedly.
Lifting a knowing brow, I show my teeth. “Nice to see me? That’s a first.”
“I was just going for the socially acceptable greeting. Clearly, your social skills need some fine-tuning.”
I chuckle. “Clearly. So, how did you do this?”
Before she can answer, we’re interrupted by Henry extending his arm to Rosa. “Hey, I’m Henry, by the way.”
Rosa accepts his offered hand and tells me, “See, lacking social skills.” Then she addresses Henry, “Hi, I’m Rosalia.”
I straighten, and since I was leaning back against the bar between these two, they’re forced to release hands. From the corner of my eye, I see Fallon observing Rosa and me with an inquisitive expression.
Rosa steals the bill back from my fingers. “It’s quite simple.” And she brings it up to my nose. “Smell it.”
I rear backward, suspicious, but she hovers it in front of my face. “Just smell it.”
Wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I hold her hand still. First, I get a whiff of her rose-scented perfume and am overly responsive to the softness of her skin. Yet I focus and also detect liquor. “Alcohol?”
“Yes.”
“I see...” I’m much too fascinated by Rosa.
Apparently, so is Henry. He asks her, “Do you know more tricks?”
“I do,” she replies with confidence and a tad bit of flirtatiousness.
“Where’d you learn them?” he probes.
“I study biological chemistry,” she answers and stashes the bill in her back pocket, exposing a sliver of her smooth stomach as the hem of her shirt tightens with the sensual movement.
Somehow, I’m more interested by the second. I didn’t know she studied chemistry.
Meanwhile, the club is becoming busier. Some girls come up to Rosa, who surreptitiously expels a frustrated sigh, and I swear, she glances at me with what seems like longing.
A redhead greets me, “Hi, Wade.”
“Hey...” She seems familiar. Isn’t this the redhead who was at the party? “...Meghan.”
Meghan sneers at Rosa and comments, “Is she showing her cute tricks again?”
That’s unnecessarily demeaning. Instantly, I understand Rosa’s frustration and like how she doesn’t take this girl’s bait.
When Meghan steps forward and touches my arm, I grab my beer and shake her off, noticing that Rosa seems upset, which troubles me. Taking the high road isn’t easy.
“Actually, yes,” I respond and look at Henry, “she was just about to show us how she did it.”
He pays no heed to Meghan, adding, “Yes, Rosalia, show us.”
Meghan’s lips turn down in an unattractive scowl, yet Henry and I ignore her and face Rosa.
She displays that eye-catching dimple and says to me, “Pay attention, you’re about to learn something.”
I give a doubtful laugh. “Learn, you say?”
Grinning, she seizes the dollar bill from her pocket, turns sideways toward the bar, and dunks it into a glass of clear liquid. “This is water mixed with vodka,” she explains as she nabs the cigarette lighter next to the glass and flicks it open in one sharp motion. Yet she doesn’t light it. Instead, she arcs her eyebrow in delight. “Do you want to do it?” She gives me the bill and the lighter. “Just try it. If you don’t extinguish it quickly, it’ll burn.”
I take both of the items from her. “That’s it? I can do that.” I click open the lighter and let the flame lick the edge of the money. Then I present it to her and Henry and shake it out.
Rosa grabs my wrist and inches closer, her thigh touching mine. I’m enjoying her forward behavior.
“Oh.” She shakes her head at me.
I prepare for a mocking observation.
“It’s a bit burned around the edge,” she complains playfully.
“Then maybe my teacher should’ve told me to snuff it out sooner, Rosa.”
Her lips flatten into a line when I still refuse to call her by her given name, but she replies huskily, “No. It’s all in the touch.”
Is that a double entendre in her statement? This has gone beyond a simple chat in a bar and has progressed to something bordering on flirtation.
The bartender drops a glass, bringing us back to reality, and we awkwardly break apart. Thank God, Fallon has already disappeared; she probably saw Luca. However, Meghan and Henry are still with us, and Meghan is desperately trying to engage Henry in conversation, making Rosa and me laugh.
“I think you lost Henry to Meghan, Rosa,” I tease.
She casts me questioning look. “I never wanted him.”
Silence ensues after her words linger between us.
She then adds, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. What’s with you two?”
“I don’t know. Meghan’s passive aggressive to everyone.”
Meghan is the kind of girl I thought Rosa was – entitled, privileged, and spoiled – but Rosa’s the exact opposite of Meghan.
“When she calls you pretty, she actually means ugly; that kind of girl,” she explains with an eye roll, causing me to chuckle at her refreshing honesty.
As she leans back against the bar, I follow, standing pressed next to her. “I wouldn’t call you pretty.”
She clutches her chest theatrically. “Oh, you don’t find me pretty. Well, color me shocked—”
“No,” I cut her off and dip my head. “I’d call you beautiful.”
Rosa turns her face to me and an endearing blush colors her cheeks. She’s astonishingly quiet at the compliment, and I feel the corner of my lip lifting up into a smirk, but we’re interrupted.
“Let’s go upstairs. We have safe places to check,” Henry says to me and winks at Rosa, much to my dismay.
Especially when she smiles back before mouthing to me, “Bye, Logan.”
By now, I’m getting used to her calling me Logan, so I grin. “Until next time.” And trail Henry toward the black staircase on the opposite side of the club.
“Well, that was interesting,” Henry puts in.
I don’t speak a word.
“Maybe I’ll ask Rosalia out?” he continues.
“Maybe you won’t,” I warn in a low voice,
He gives me a pleased look. “You can’t have it all, Wade. Isn’t she a bit young for your taste?”
I don’t even reply. Initially, I would’ve agreed. Nonetheless, as I’m learning more about Rosa, I’m beginning to understand that she’s not at all the young, reckless woman she depicts.
I’m filled with a mix of desire and decreasing antipathy for Rosa Calderone and that damn dimple I’m unable to forget. Over the years, I’ve seduced many women without a second thought. Yet in this case, I can’t as long as I’m still an associate. And that’s becoming even more challenging now that I’ve discovered that this developing attraction between us is mutual.
She’s kindling an emotion I’m unaccustomed to, and it’s absolutely unsettling while I’m in this uncertain position, because yearning can be a treacherous emotion in the mafia.
***
The next day, Henry and I are still going through all the Ukrainian safe place addresses in the decoded document in the office at Club 7 when I receive a call from Luca.
My phone vibrates on the desk. As soon as I tap answer, Luca orders, “Get Rosalia. Ukrainians have been spotted at the University of Chicago, probably searching for her.”
“Okay,” I confirm and cut the call.
Snatching my suit jacket off the desk, I shuck it on and tell Henry, who’s seated behind the computer, “Locate Rosa for me and text me the address.”
I dash out of the club and into my vehicle parked at the back entrance. Henry sends me a message within minutes.
Henry: She’s at a hospital, not with Cam at Northwestern but at 11 West Harrison Street.
After entering the address i
nto my GPS, I follow the directions as rain begins to splatter against my windshield. I reach the building within fifteen minutes, parking at the curb and jumping out just as she shuffles through the revolving doors and tightens the belt of her red trench coat.
When she looks up with moisture in her eyes, she stops, and I mirror the movement as thunder rumbles high in the sky.
“Please, not now. I’m not in the mood for you,” she murmurs and disappears around the corner.
I tense up, not knowing what to do, but then I trail her, examining her shaken state and the fact that she’s staring at the ground. Without thinking, I stay behind her to give her some time to get her composure, yet her stricken behavior is affecting me – something is very wrong.
CHAPTER 7
Rosalia
I’m waiting for Dr. Rydon in her sterile office, settled in a chair in front of her desk. During my last appointment, blood was drawn and she ran a series of tests to determine my ovarian function, and now I’m here to get the results.
While I wait, I’m daydreaming about one man. One man who has revealed that he isn’t such an assface after all. Logan’s the first guy who hasn’t discounted me to score points with lean Meghan. He came to my aid, which is something I cherished all last night and this morning. Usually, I feel plump and invisible – with my flared hips and generous bosom – compared to girls like Meghan. But Logan made me feel exceptionally good, and I never expected that from him.
I’m forced out of my reverie when Dr. Rydon steps inside with her immaculate white coat on. “Good afternoon, Rosalia.”
“Hey, doctor.”
She shakes my hand and claims her seat behind her desk. “Rosalia, I’m going to get right to the point. As you know, we’ve done several diagnostic tests, and unfortunately, we found that you’ve missed your period because you’re going through premature menopause.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“It means that you’re in early menopause because your ovaries have stopped functioning normally. One medical cause of this is premature ovarian failure.”
