“Nah, unfortunately this is the class with that weird lady who looks like Danny Devito’s cousin or something,” Rafaela is saying through the speakerphone. With a shaking hand, I quickly snatch up the phone and turn off the speaker, pressing the receiver to my face.
“Rafaela, um, I gotta go, babe. I-I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I manage to mumble, staring at the front door with my heart hammering away in my chest.
“Wait, what? What’s wrong? You sound weird. Is everything okay, Serena?”
“Uh, y-yeah. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just—I gotta go. Love you. Bye,” I reply quickly, ending the call before she can even respond. I glance down at the phone and shakily type in 9-1-1 before tucking the phone into my pocket. I want to have that number ready to go just in case things go sour. Of course, I realize with a sinking feeling, involving the police would probably only make the situation worse when it comes to the mafia. They’ve got cops on the take. I know what it’s like. I learned just enough from eavesdropping on my dad’s conversations years ago to know that I have to tread carefully here. One misstep, and I could lose everything. Hell, I could lose my life.
Just as expected, three skulking figures come through the front door a moment later, led by the same asshole who threatened me before: Lorenzo. And this time, there’s no attempt at disarming me with charm or subtlety. The three of them come marching toward me with glowering expressions. I look around quickly, wondering if there’s any way I can get out of this, any escape route I can take. But I know it’s pointless. These guys are smarter than they look, I’m sure, and they’re faster and stronger by far. No. The only thing I can do is stand my ground and take my beating.
I gulp back my fear and try not to let my eyes fill with tears as I face the wrath of the mob.
“Miss De Laurentis, you’ve been warned,” Lorenzo snarls, cornering me behind the counter just like he did the other day. This time, he doesn’t mince words. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough the last time we spoke, but you better cough up the money. Now. This isn’t a negotiation, sweetheart, this is a shakedown. Do you wanna fuckin’ die?”
“I-I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Business has been slow. I’m barely breaking even as it is.”
Lorenzo’s eyebrows perk upward and he glances back over his shoulder at the two goons behind him. “You hear that, boys? Hmm, sounds like an excuse to me. And a shitty one, too. Don’t you lie to me, you little bitch. We know what kinda money is sunk into this place. Your daddy bankrolled you good, didn’t he? You think you can hide that shit from us?”
“No, I swear. That money—it’s all run out. I’m not lying. If I-I had the money I would pay you, I promise. It’s just… it’s not there anymore,” I blurt out, feeling my whole body shake. Lorenzo glares at me so hard I wonder if he might be able to bore a hole in my face.
“Nice try,” he scoffs. “But the thing is, I don’t give a shit what your sob story is. Hard times, whatever. Everybody’s gotta pay the rent somehow, and if you’re not makin’ ends meet sellin’ soap to rich bitches, then it looks like you’re gonna have to make up the deficit some other way.”
He looks me up and down, stepping closer. The smell of his cheap cologne is so overbearing it almost makes my eyes water. I know what he’s implying, and that’s all it takes to send my thoughts hurtling back in time.
I’m shivering. It’s not even cold, but my body won’t stop convulsing. I feel sick to my stomach, but I know if I throw up they’ll just hurt me more. What am I going to do? How am I going to survive…?
“Listen, you spoiled little brat. I know Daddy’s not around to spank you anymore, but if you need someone else to step in and whip your sweet little ass into shape, I’m your man,” Lorenzo growls, the faint hint of a lascivious smile playing on his filthy lips.
Just then, there’s the jingle from the front door, and all four of us whip around at the sound to see another man in the doorway. My stomach does a somersault. It’s the guy from a few days ago! My mystery man. But what the hell is he doing here? I feel guilty instantly, knowing that now this man is in danger, too, because he’s unwittingly interrupted mafia business. He’s a witness now. And it’s all my fault. I want to call out to him, tell him to leave, but my voice is caught in my throat.
“Who’s this?” Lorenzo growls under his breath. Then, he shouts, “Who the fuck are you? Get out of here. This is private. Shop’s closed.”
The mystery guy pushes back the hood of his jacket to reveal a scruffy, handsome face with a coarse black beard, framed by long, gently curling black hair. There’s a wildness to his face that thrills me, even in the tense danger of the moment.
“Shit, that’s one of the Costa boys,” says one of Lorenzo’s goons.
Costa? My heart skips a beat. Another mafia guy. I should have known.
“Leave. Now. Before anyone has to get hurt,” commands the mystery guy. His voice is like crushed velvet, deep and rumbling. It thrums through my body down to my core, and I shiver.
Lorenzo lets out a cruel laugh. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Have us just walk outta here before we get a chance to break that pretty-boy face of yours. You think that beard can hide you? I know who the hell you are. And this is no business of yours. Get out.”
The Costa guy approaches slowly, shaking his head. “You really don’t wanna mess with me.”
All three of the others guffaw at his threat. “Right, sure, there are three of us and one of you. I’m sure we should all be scared right now, huh? You don’t fuckin’ scare me, man. But if you wanna go, we’ll go. No sweat off my back. In fact, my boys have been itchin’ for some target practice, right, boys?”
The two goons nod, grinning as they saunter toward Mystery Guy, squaring up for a fight.
“No,” I breathe, terrified. But within the next few seconds, a flash of violent movement breaks out right in front of me, as the two goons move to swing at my Mystery Guy.
To my surprise, he manages to dodge them both, and there’s a series of sickening crunches as his fist collides with one face and the other hand strikes a neck. They both swivel around, lumbering clumsily like two enraged bulls, only to be manhandled to the ground as Mystery Guy uses their own weight against him. He takes out a pistol, and with a flash of fluorescent light on silver metal, bashes them both upside the head. I scream at the sight of the gun, instinctively ducking down behind the counter. Lorenzo abandons me to take on the Mystery Guy, and even though I can’t see what’s going on, I can hear them.
“You wanna take me on, too?” growls Mystery Guy.
“You little fuckin’ bitch!” yelps Lorenzo. There is a brief tussle and then I hear the telltale slam of knuckles against jawbone, and there’s a stomach-turning cracking noise as Lorenzo cries out in agony. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit is getting real!
I hear the scramble of heavy, faltering footsteps and the jingle of the front door. Lorenzo sneers, “I’ll remember this, you Costa piece of shit! This is just the beginning, motherfucker. You’re gonna regret interfering with the Cleaners!”
“Yeah, you’ll remember me when I mail your teeth back to you, asshole!” shouts back Mystery Guy, and the door slams shut. I stay cowering behind the counter, my knees pulled to my chest, while my heart races along at a stammering rhythm.
I hear footsteps approaching and I steel myself for whatever harm is due to come my way. After all, three mafia guys may be gone, but there’s still one more left: Mystery Guy. He might hail from a different gang, but he’s still a dangerous man, and I have no reason to believe that he’s really here to help me. For all I know, that could have just been a tussle over territory, over who gets to terrorize me next.
So when Mystery Guy comes around behind the counter and offers me a hand to help me up, I hesitate for a long moment before taking it. I slowly look up at him to meet his gaze. I take in his dark clothing, the sleeves pushed to his elbows to reveal blood smeared along his hands and forearms, remnants of the battle. I stare at his face, that strangely f
amiliar expression hidden behind a tangle of scraggly hair and beard. As soon as my eyes lock with his, it’s like I’m hypnotized. His eyes peer down into my very being, to stroke the depths of my wounded soul.
It’s almost overwhelming, that stare. Too much to take in.
But why? And how?
“I won’t hurt you,” he says softly, and that familiar thrum shakes through me. Stiffly, as though in a trance, I hold out my hand and take his. He pulls me to my feet, then places both hands on my shoulders, his eyes peering into my face with genuine concern.
“Are you okay? Did they hurt you before I got here?” he asks. I manage to shake my head. I somehow tear my eyes away from his and notice that some of the blood on his hands and arms seems to be his own, and that he’s injured.
“I-I’m okay,” I murmur, “but you’re hurt.”
He takes his hands off of me and curls them into fists hanging at his sides. “No, I’m alright. It’s nothing at all. As long as you’re okay… I’ll go.”
As he turns to leave, some kind of strange impulse takes hold of my body and I reach out to stop him, my hands falling at his chest. He stops and looks down at me, eyes flashing. For a moment, I’m almost frightened by the wildness of that expression, but then he softens.
“Let me clean you up before you go, at least,” I offer, biting my lip. “I mean, you can’t go out all bloody and injured like that. It’s unsanitary. And if there’s one thing I do have here in abundance, it’s soap. Just let me clean your wounds. Please. It’s the least I can do.”
He hesitates, clearly fighting some kind of internal battle as he looks at me, considering my strange request. Finally, he gives in, and I gently lead him to a sink, pulling up a stool for him to sit on while I grab the least-feminine-scented soap I can find and start lathering up his fists and forearms. Even as he sits on the stool, he’s nearly eye-to-eye with me, he’s so tall. And I consider myself to be relatively tall for a woman, too, at five-foot-seven, so it’s unusual for a man to tower over me in such a way.
He doesn’t even wince at the sting of soap on his cut-up, bruised knuckles, and from the number of scars I feel underneath my fingers as I wash them, he seems to have seen his fair share of fights. I wonder what kind of life he leads, how many times he has done this. Is this his job? Really? To go around protecting women he doesn’t even know?
But Lorenzo and his goons called him a Costa guy. If he’s a mafia associate, then why did he help me? Sure, when I was young and Dad was still alive, things were good. My folks and the mafia were more than just simpatico, they were family. But things have changed drastically since then, and as far as I know, the Costa family certainly don’t make my safety and wellbeing a priority these days. I’m nothing to them. In fact, they probably hate me after everything that happened.
So why in the world did this rough-and-tough Costa enforcer come to my rescue?
As I make my way up his arm, scrubbing gently at the bloody lacerations and dark bruises, I come across a familiar sight. A tattoo. One I have not seen with my own two eyes in many years. The sight of it instantly throws me back, and a tidal wave of confused emotions overtake me. I freeze up, staring at the intricate lines of the tattoo, suddenly remembering all the things I have tried so hard to forget, dark things that time has buried.
And with it, an overwhelming sense of urgency to ask, to know for certain that this man is who my heart wills him to be. By chance, by fate, by magic. By whatever means necessary for him to have walked back into my world again, albeit beaten down and roughened up and subdued.
I look up from the tattoo to meet his gaze, and the answer to my question is there in his pale green eyes long before the words even leave my lips. It’s him. I know it is. But I still can’t stop myself from asking, just to be sure.
“Luca? Is… is that you?”
Luca
For a few long, sweet moments, we stare into each other’s eyes, frozen. Her hands are still holding my forearm, her soft fingers on my rough, hardened hands warm even as the water starts to get cold. Her touch is one of the things I’ve missed most from my old life. I never want it to end.
But as strong as my arm is, as powerful as the body sitting before her in the little shop may be, those eyes of hers hold me still. Her gaze searches mine. Those eyes are feasting themselves, staring right into my soul, making me want to let her know everything they want to know even as my own eyes hold her paralyzed.
Finally, I let myself give her the smile I’ve been waiting years to give her.
“Ciao, bella.”
And just like that, we’re teenagers again.
Tears swell up like springwater in those endless eyes, and her lip quivers for half a second as a tidal wave of emotion crashes through her system.
“Luca!” she squeals, and before I can open my mouth, she flings herself at me, little arms wrapping around my torso as she buries her face in my chest. My chest is rippling with muscle, but even I can feel how tight she’s trying to squeeze me, and I couldn’t keep the grin off my face if my life depended on it.
My thick arms wrap around her, practically covering her in me as I hold her warmth against my body, and I hear her start to sob before I can put my lips to the top of her golden head. My large hand strokes her back, and I feel my own heart swelling as I give her a gentle squeeze back.
“Serena,” I say, and it feels so good, so free to feel her name roll of my tongue. I’ve held myself back from this moment for so long. I still don’t know if it was the right choice. But right now, in this moment, I let myself just be with her as we hold each other tight.
I’m a hardened man, but I can still feel. And Serena is the sweetest feeling in the world.
After what feels like forever, she turns her head up to look at me. Those wet, reddened eyes don’t dampen the smile on her face. “Oh my god, it really is you! I...I can’t…”
“Shush, shush, you’ve been through a lot today,” I say, giving her a reassuring squeeze, my huge arms holding her protectively. I feel her take a breath and let it out slowly.
She bites her lip, trying desperately to bring her emotions back in line, but it’s useless. And I can’t believe the joy I feel in my own heart—the relief.
She isn’t afraid of me? After everything. After how we parted ways last time?
Not only that, she’s overjoyed to see me. To be with me.
“I just...I never thought I’d see you again,” she confesses, half-laughing, half-sobbing. She sniffs, wiggling an arm free to wipe her eyes and laugh at herself all over again. “Oh my god, I’m such a mess, don’t look at me!”
It’s my turn to laugh as I hug her tight to me as she tries to get away, and she gives a little squeal of delight as I give her a bear hug that lifts her feet off the ground for a moment. It’s like no time has passed between us at all.
I set her down and release her. She immediately grabs a paper towel from the counter and dabs her eyes, checking in the mirror to see what the damage is. She could have raccoon eyes streaming down her whole face, and she’d still be irresistible to me.
After another sniff, she takes a step back and looks at me with a gaze that really see me for the first time. “Oh my god, and you were in here yesterday! I... I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!”
I give a cocky smile. “That was the plan. Besides the glasses, though, I’ve changed a lot, Serena.”
“No you haven’t,” she says in a laughing sob, looking over my face as more and more recognition crashes through her. “If it weren’t for that beard... but I’d know those eyes anywhere,” she says, dreamily, and I can tell she only half-realizes the words are coming from her mouth. Catching herself, she blushes and runs her fingers through her hair, getting a stray lock out of her face. Another sniff.
“You’re one to talk,” I say, a warm smile on my face as I take her in, looking her up and down. Her face reddens at my gaze, but she doesn’t turn away, either. She always was like that—she liked to play shy, but my gaze exci
ted her. It always had, and it still does, I see. “Serena, you look... incredible.”
A moment passes between us in silence as we just stare at each other, smiling stupidly. Teenagers all over again.
But her smile fades, and I see concern on her face. “Luca... my god, where have you been all these years? Have you been safe? Do... do you know those guys that were here earlier? How are you even still in town, I--”
“Serena,” I cut her off gently, putting two hands on her shoulders. I feel her instinctively melt in my hands, shoulders relaxing immediately. I never believed her when she told me I have a calming presence, but it’s true for her, at least. “Serena, you’ve had a terrible day thanks to some terrible men. You don’t need more things to trouble yourself. Not today, at least.” I return her smile as those doe-eyes look up at me. “But I do think you could stand to get out of here and get a drink. Why don’t we go get something?”
A smile slowly creeps back over her pretty face. After a moment’s hesitation, she says, “I think I’d like that. Yeah.”
“Nice ride,” she says as she climbs into the passenger’s seat of my black company sedan. “Nicer than that beat-up old pickup I remember.”
I smile as she shuts the door and I pull out onto the road.
A lot of baggage comes with this car, Serena.
Still, it feels good to make her happy. I shift up through the gears and start tearing down the roads we’ve both grown up around.
“So,” she says after a moment, “got anywhere in mind?”
“Well,” I half-laugh, “the places I usually go, I don’t think you’d find the most relaxing.”
She smiles. “Still running with the old crowd, huh?”
“Something like that,” I say. The only place that comes to mind is a dive that some of the rougher Italian crowd haunts. It’s dingy, falling apart, and doesn’t have anything you could call service, but it’s been my place for a while. It’s got a homey feel to it. But just because it’s homey doesn’t mean it’s the place I’d take someone shaken-up to calm down.
[Killer 01.0] Killer for Hire Page 4
