by Sam Mariano
I already feel like I’m fucking up, but I feel just as strongly that I need to do it. I need to do it, and I need to stick to it. It’s not fair to jerk her around. She doesn’t deserve that.
I can’t help expressing it though, even if it might give her more to cling to. Securing my arms around her waist, I tug her close and meet her gaze. “I’m gonna miss you, you know.”
She stares at me for a moment. Her eyes glisten, but she blinks it away before tears can form. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promises me. Trying for lightness, she adds, “You know where to find me six days a week.”
Nodding at her bed, I tell her, “I know where to find you the seventh, too.”
“You do, but you’re not allowed to come to my house. Not for a long time, at least. It’ll be too hard to keep all our clothes on. Let me get over you first, then maybe we can spend more time together as friends.”
I don’t like hearing I’m one more asshole she has to get over. “Shit. I’m sorry, Virginia.”
“It’s fine,” she assures me, raking her hands through my hair one last time. “But you need to get out of my bed and leave. I have to work in a little bit, and… I am not in the head space I need to be for that.”
I understand, so I give her one last kiss and climb out of her bed. She watches me right my clothes, but she doesn’t move. That’s all right. Perfect, actually. I get one last look at her, naked and satisfied.
“Take the money,” she tells me.
I ignore her, reach down and caress her face one more time, then I leave her bedroom and walk straight out of the best chance at a real relationship I’ll probably ever have again.
22
Virginia
I lack the eagerness I usually feel when I’m clocking in on a night I know Rafe will be in for dinner. I find myself going through the motions on autopilot. Fighting off memories of naked Rafe is my real full-time job right now; waitressing is just how I’ll pay my rent.
Not that I should struggle after that pay-off Rafe gave me. I know he insisted it wasn’t a pay-off, but it most certainly was. I didn’t even know what to do with $35,000 in mob money sitting in my apartment. I don’t think the lock on my front door is sufficient, knowing how much cash is inside it now. I had a mild panic attack just having it in my house. I don’t know if I’m more afraid someone will break in and rob me, or of somehow being found with that in my apartment. Talk about instant disqualification from ever joining the FBI.
Not that I’m going to. Drunk Virginia may have had some ideas about fleeing this whole lousy town and leaving the miscreants who live here behind. I don’t have to take down Rafe and his family. I could compromise on my dreams, move somewhere else, where the bad guys aren’t tied to the one I’m hopelessly in love with. I could still join the FBI and help people, which is what I originally wanted to do anyway. The Morellis became my hobby, my area of special interest, but it’s not like the feds know that. They can interview me, but they can’t see inside my brain. I never applied for their program, so I never talked to anyone in an official capacity, never had to admit to knowing anything. Really, I could make a clean break without hurting Rafe, and still pursue my old dream.
Unless they are looking into Rafe already. If they look at my prior life in Vegas and see how close I got, how close I am, it’s hard to imagine they wouldn’t want to use me. That was my whole plan to begin with—it’s just that my allegiance shifted once I actually got to know Rafe. They wouldn’t care about my misguided feelings, though. They would likely see my potential value and decide to assign me to it. I know they can do that. I’ve had the idea before of joining the FBI as planned, but just not working on anything related to Rafe or his family. You can’t do that. There’s no picking and choosing. If you turn down an assignment you’re too close to, you’re out of a job.
I would also have to watch myself if I alerted them to my nearness to Rafe. I’ve crossed some ethical lines helping Sin. Obviously, I haven’t been caught, and I don’t consider it likely I would, but considering my position in Rafe’s life, my brain is a weapon in and of itself. If the feds knew how much information I’ve collected about the Morelli family over the years and they had something to came after me for, they would, just to try to get me to talk.
At least, they would if they had any damn sense. That’s what I would do. I was careful when I helped Sin, but there is one man out there somewhere who could pick me out of a line-up. I don’t know if he would, of course, or if it would ever even come up, but he could, that’s the point. If he did, it would look like I work for the Morellis, and I would go to jail. Plain and simple, I would go to jail, because I certainly wouldn’t turn witness on Sin or Rafe. I know stuff about guys I don’t care about who work for Rafe now, but I couldn’t talk about them, either. Any of that could potentially lead back to him. It could be a domino effect. Any of them could talk, and God knows what they would say. There are enough missing persons related to the Morellis right now, they could form their own village. I wouldn’t chance it.
But after entertaining those passing thoughts of a clean break that would get her life back on track, drunk Virginia had dirty sex with Rafe Morelli. Today, sober Virginia realizes that there’s no way she will move away and move on with her life, because that would mean never seeing Rafe again.
Maybe when he starts bringing booth girls through again that will start to look more appealing, but as for right now, I am staying in Vegas, I am keeping my damned job, and I am going to do my best to get us back to where we were before I let Rafe talk me into spreading my legs for him.
Currently, that means slicing lemons and restocking olives at the bar. I’ve already done all my own work and I don’t have enough tables to keep my brain occupied. Lucinda is slower than Felix anyway, so she could use the help over here.
The waitress who spotted me here last night is working, and when she sees me over at the bar, she takes the opportunity to cruise over. She plants her arms on the counter and leans in, clearly in gossip mode.
“So, I noticed you hanging out with Felix last night.”
Stifling a sigh, I put the lid on the olives and push it back into place. “So? I was having a drink on a night off.”
“I was just wondering…” She hesitates, looking over her shoulder, then looking back at me. “I thought maybe you had the inside scoop on what happened.”
Thumb prints on the wine glasses. That’s sloppy. I grab the glass and a cloth and begin polishing. “Inside scoop?”
“Didn’t you hear what happened to Felix?”
My blood freezes, and my hand stops mid-polish. Horrifying mental images flash to mind—last night, Rafe’s gun against Felix’s temple. My ID-controlled inner drunk girl provoking Rafe with how I could fuck Felix if I wanted to. It was the truth, but I said it to piss him off, and it worked.
“Oh, God, no. No. No, no, no. What happened?”
Her eyes widen. “I can’t believe you don’t know.”
“Just spit it out, would you?”
“He got fired.”
Oh, thank God. My shoulders sag with relief. I mean, that’s terrible, but I was picturing a bullet hole in his head, and I couldn’t fix that. “What do you mean, he got fired? What did he do?”
“No call, no show. I guess he was supposed to bartend tonight.”
“No, he wasn’t,” I reply immediately. “Lucinda was supposed to bartend tonight.”
She shrugs. “I thought so, too. I usually remember the nights I work with Felix, but I must have messed up when I looked at the schedule and got my nights mixed up. It’s right on the schedule, you can look. Felix was supposed to come, and he didn’t. Thankfully Lucinda was available, so she’s filling in.”
Bullshit. Bull fucking shit. I finish polishing the glass I’m working on, put the cloth away, and head to the employee area to check the schedule. I already have it pulled up in my head and it’s very clearly Lucinda’s name—and written in blue ink, so it couldn’t have been erased.
&
nbsp; Sure enough, when I pull down the schedule clipboard, it is not the same schedule. For one thing, Trent wrote this one in black ink—fucking sloppy. He can’t even pull off corruption; he should have at least used the same color ink. If anyone took a picture of their schedule on their phones—which we often do—it would be immediately clear the schedule was changed, since it’s not even the same color ink. The bar is in a different spot on the schedule, so it’s possible no one would have included Felix’s hours in their own picture, but this is sloppy work regardless. If he wanted to fight this wrongful termination, I could win the case, and I’m barely a lawyer.
Anyway, Rafe clearly wanted Felix fired, because everyone else’s hours are copied from the real schedule, but Felix is written in as working the bar tonight since they knew he wouldn’t show up—because he wasn’t scheduled to. But Trent has this abhorrent schedule as “proof” that he had all the reason he needed to fire him, if Felix objects. This is a set-up. A clumsy, bullshit set-up, but a set-up. Rafe probably knows Felix won’t fight it, since he knows who Rafe is. Much easier to get another job than to start a beef with a mob boss.
I cannot believe this shit.
Clipboard in hand, I storm to Trent’s office and find him sitting on his ass in front of the computer. “What the hell is this?”
He turns to see what I’m holding. “That is a schedule. It’s how employees know when to come to work.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t be a smartass. Felix was not scheduled to work tonight. You manipulated the schedule to fire him. Felix has never had so much as a single write-up; you can’t do this.”
His tone is bored as he clicks his mouse. “Take it up with your boyfriend.”
Growling low in my throat, I mutter, “Oh, I will. Did you already call Felix and tell him he was fired?”
“I’ve been informed that he knows,” Trent replies.
“Bullshit.”
Trent shrugs.
“You’re a terrible manager.”
“Hey, if you want to tell Rafe Morelli no when he tells you to do something, be my guest. He won’t think it’s cute coming from me,” Trent assures me.
Rafe doesn’t answer my phone call, so it’s hours later before I can resolve this problem. I don’t have Felix’s number in my phone, so I can’t call him and beg him not to get a new job. Now I’m worried he won’t come back, and he’s one of our better employees, so this pisses me off on a professional level as well as a personal one.
At least when Rafe arrives at the restaurant tonight, I don’t have to struggle with my post break-up feelings. The only emotion I have to deal with is anger. I’ve put myself in his shoes, and sure, I can understand if he was jealous. Felix is an appealing man. But after four years of watching him parade other women around in front of me, he’ll have to forgive me for not having much sympathy for his sudden bout of jealousy.
When I show up at his table, I do not bring a drink. Normally when he shows up alone, I start him off with a drink. He glances at my empty hands, then my face. He sees me scowling and frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“You fired Felix.”
Understanding dawns and his expression clears. Casually grasping at innocence, he says, “I believe Trent fired Felix. He’s the manager, after all.”
“He’s a weasel. Felix was not scheduled to work tonight. I just looked at the schedule last night. You had Trent change it so Felix couldn’t come back at you saying it was wrongful termination—but it was. This is bullshit. He’s the best bartender we have, and I’m not going to let you fire him because I’m an asshole when I’m drunk. Felix didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Felix took you back to his house,” Rafe says, simply.
My eyes widen. “So? He’s allowed to take single women back to his house, and I was single, wasn’t I?”
Leaning forward and grabbing a menu he doesn’t even need, Rafe keeps his eyes on that to avoid looking at me. “We’ve already discussed this, Virginia. This is my restaurant. I want to be comfortable here. I’m not going to tolerate you fucking someone else right under my nose.”
I barely keep my jaw from hitting the ground. “Are you kidding me right now? I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”
His dark gaze slides up to meet mine. “I brought women in here before I fucked you, not after.”
“You just said this morning you were going to bring them in after—before you fucked me again, in case your hypocritical memory is failing you.”
“And when that day comes, then you may sleep with anyone you like, but today is not that day. I don’t want Felix around if you’re going to be flirting with him.”
“You’re… you’re an asshole,” I inform him.
“I’m aware,” he says.
“This isn’t right, and I don’t accept it. I’m shredding his termination paperwork and I’m putting him back on the schedule—the real schedule, the one that was up yesterday. If you don’t like it, you can fire me.”
Rafe keeps his tone low, but it carries a hint of menace. “I would be very careful about defying me, Virginia. I can fire him much more permanently if you push me.”
“If you hurt him, I will never forgive you,” I tell him. “Felix has done nothing to you. He has done nothing to me. He was a friend, a shoulder to cry on when you hurt me, and nothing more. I do not flirt with him. I have no intention of sleeping with him. I just think he’s a good worker, that’s all.”
Rafe unravels his cloth napkin full of silverware. “Well, I hope that’s true. Feel free to rehire him if it is, but if I find out it isn’t, he’ll be fired again—and you won’t have much luck finding him to give him his job back, if you take my meaning.”
I glare at him. “You’re being a real jerk tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I’m in a bad mood, and my favorite waitress is yelling at me. How ‘bout you bring me a drink and see if it makes me happier?”
I roll my eyes at him, but I head back to the bar to get him a drink anyway.
23
Virginia
I take my time getting Rafe his drink. I don’t even make it right away; I help Lucinda first, since she’s overrun at the bar with a bachelorette party we didn’t know was coming. I make drinks for the bevy of smiling girls and serve them first, then I make Rafe’s drink.
Jerk. He can wait for his damn drink.
I still have an attitude as I make my way back to his booth, but then his words play back in my mind—not all the jerky words, but him saying he’s in a bad mood. There’s nothing I hate more than Rafe being in a bad mood. The few times he has been in one when he stopped by the restaurant, I caught his bad mood like a cold and took it home with me.
Is his bad mood because we broke up? Or is it something else? I don’t know, and by the time I make it to his table, I’m curious. Damn my heart.
Rafe doesn’t look up as I slide his drink across the table, so I drop into the seat next to him and scoot in. That catches his attention.
“Why are you in a bad mood?” I ask, despite myself.
Cocking an eyebrow, he says, “Bad break-up. Want to bring me some cheesecake?”
I roll my eyes. “No. I’d like to put on sharp heels and stomp on your foot. You’re the one who dumped me.”
“I’m still allowed to be sad,” he states.
His words stab me right in the heart. He says it casually, but the idea of Rafe sad—and the accompanying mental image of him lying on the floor of his sex room, coked up with a crackwhore—closes around my throat like a fist.
“I don’t want you to be sad,” I tell him, softly.
“It’ll pass,” he assures me, smiling faintly.
This is a weird time to be his friend. I’m partially insulted at the idea of sadness over losing me being a “passing” thing, but also I don’t want him to be sad. I’m rooting for him and for me, but we’re on opposite sides this time.
Well, maybe we’re not. I guess we can both be on the same side—the si
de of both of us ending up happy, even if that doesn’t mean us being together. I am sad that it didn’t work out, but it was a long shot, anyway. From the standpoint of my ego—and also how much he means to me—I don’t want to be easy to get over. It’s flattering and a little vindicating to think I meant something to him, too.
I’m not ruled by my ego, though, and putting that away, I don’t want Rafe to be sad. I want him to be happy. I want his handsome smile and light-hearted jokes. I can still love him forever, even if he’ll never really be mine. At least I’ll have my memories. They may be torture sometimes, but other times it will be nice to pull out the best times and relive them.
I don’t want to be mad. I don’t want to stay hurt. I want to get back to having everything I’ve always valued with Rafe, and that means letting go of any bitterness and negativity, and embracing the positive. Embracing everything we still have.
“I’ll bring you cheesecake,” I tell him. “Just promise me you won’t bring home any crackwhores. It would be super weird if I had to clear one out of your house now.”
Rafe cracks a smile. “No crackwhores, I promise.”
“None of that stuff,” I add, more firmly. “Nothing like the Cassandra break-up. That was bad. Please don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t do anything stupid,” he assures me. “I’m being an adult this time. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m sober. Want to check my pupils? I’m just not in a great mood, that’s all.”
I nod my head. “All right.”
I don’t know exactly how to say what I want to say. I don’t know exactly how to tell him that even though we muddied the waters, the mud will eventually settle once we’re not stomping in it anymore, and the water will be clear again. That if he needs me, even now, even if I’m the one he’s getting over, I’m here. I don’t even know how that would work, but I don’t care. I just want him to know he can turn to me, if he needs to. I want him to know nothing has been ruined just because we took a chance on something that didn’t pan out.
