My Dirty Detour: An Alpha Male Mafia Comedy Romance

by Grace Risata

  I walked over to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. Although the front entry door was now open, the exterior glass door was still locked, which gave me a small sense of security. I wanted something in between us in case he decided to get nasty again.

  Before he opened his mouth to say anything, I figured I would set the tone of this visit. “What the fuck are you doing here and how do you know where I live?” Bold and confident. Fake it til you make it. Good girl, Violet.

  Rocky cautiously replied, “You are one of my employees, so of course I know where you live. When you showed up for work Monday and I told you that I did a background check on you, I wasn’t lying. The first day you set foot into my factory I didn’t walk you out to be a gentleman, I did it to get your license plates. Sergio has a lady friend at the DMV that got your name and address. A google search of your name led me to the Sprozy Cabinet place where you work. You’re in the employee photo on their website. Sergio has another lady friend who happens to be a cop and she ran your name in a criminal records search. You passed with flying colors, not even a speeding ticket.”

  “I guess you’re lucky that Sergio has this gigantic harem of useful women to do your dirty work. Who do YOU have? A lady friend at the FBI?” I guessed. “Or maybe even the mayor?”

  Rocky broke into a grin and informed me, “The mayor is a guy, and I don’t swing that way.” He got serious and said, “But I don’t have anyone in my harem, as you call it. Sergio is the Casanova, where I tend to be a bit more anti-social.” What a fucking surprise there. Maybe if you don’t call women ‘idiots’ then they might like you better, dick. This thought renewed my anger and reminded me that he had no business on my front porch.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “You didn’t show up for work today, Violet. I came to find out why.”

  Seriously? He had no clue why I wasn’t there? “Because I quit. That’s why.”

  Rocky frowned and said, “Funny, I don’t remember hearing you quit. I’m sure I would have noticed that. When exactly did that happen?” Really? Now I need to give two weeks written notice for a fake job that I didn’t actually have in the first place?

  “That happened the moment you called me an idiot and slammed your hand down on the desk inches from me. Does that ring a bell at all? That’s when I quit. I’m done. Find someone else to berate and scare the shit out of.” My bravery was at a higher level due to the locked door separating us.

  “I had a feeling it might have had something to do with that,” Rocky sighed. “Can we talk about the situation and what I can do to make it right? I can’t have you quitting as my bookkeeper.”

  “Why not? You were getting by fine without me. I was only there two days. Get someone else. What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is that you organized more in two days then I could have done in two weeks. I don’t have the skills for book work and record keeping. I don’t have the time because I’m busting my ass trying to make sure every bottle turns out perfect. And I can’t hire anyone else to replace you because I don’t have the money.” He looked down and said, “I can’t afford it.”

  I took a moment to look him over. He was wearing black boots, a t shirt under a black leather jacket, and designer jeans that had the kind of fade that you paid for instead of the one that came from being old and well-worn. He had no jewelry but his watch looked like it cost several thousand dollars. I was betting the diamonds on the numbers were not cubic zirconia. “Your watch looks like it cost more than my car,” I observed, “Just how exactly is it that you can’t afford a part time bookkeeper?”

  He gave me a sad smile and ran his hand through his short hair. “My watch is used. I won it in a poker game about eight months ago. I’m lucky if it works half the time. It’s only for show. If I want to know the time, I look at my phone.”

  That’s interesting. “Then why wear it if it’s broken?” I asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “A lot of things don’t make sense sometimes, Violet. Where I come from, it’s all about appearances and keeping up with everyone else and being part of the charade. To earn respect, you have to act and look as though you deserve it. You command respect. To seem unimportant and weak gets you killed. That’s the way I was raised.”

  “Really? That sounds horrible. I was raised with no expectations. It was awesome. I just did my own thing and was free to take whatever path I chose.”

  “Then you honestly have no idea how lucky you are.” Rocky got a far off look on his face as though he was remembering another time and place. “Do you have a big family?” he asked, “and would you mind opening the door and coming out here to talk to me? I don’t like talking through the door. It feels like I’m in prison or something.”

  That wasn’t something that had even entered my mind. HAD he been to prison? By the looks of him, the odds were pretty good that he had. That’s another reason not to open the damn door.

  “Were you in prison?” I asked.

  “Only as a visitor,” he admitted. “Not that it’s any of your business.” That’s one point for him at least.

  “Well…still...I’m fine talking with a door between us. I would rather not come out.”

  “Are you really afraid of me, Violet? I know there is no excuse for the way I acted, but maybe I can explain why I freaked out about you doing stuff to my computer. The process for distilling my Olde Devil Gin is on there. It’s my grandfather’s secret recipe. I went nuts thinking you would delete it or find it and put it out there for everyone to see. I know I acted like a jack ass. What would it take to ease your fears? Come outside and sit on your front porch. You can get some fresh air, clear your head, and we can talk.”

  I did have a really great porch. That was one of the things that convinced me to buy the house. It was a small two bedroom, one bath ranch house with a long wraparound porch. I had some chairs and a table out front. They were primarily used for chats with Frankie and Stella and NOT for conversations with potential nut-jobs who were currently on my shit list.

  “I don’t feel comfortable coming outside with you,” I explained.

  Rocky looked deep in thought for a moment and then shared, “I know. I knew I fucked up yesterday when I saw the expression on your face right before you left. It was a look of complete panic. I tried to call you ‘Honey’ to get a rise out of you, but you didn’t take the bait. You don’t seem like one who backs down easily, so I knew I pushed you too far. What will it take to fix this, Violet? Tell me.”

  “I don’t know. How can I feel comfortable around you again when I’m worried I’m going to say or do something to set you off? I don’t want to feel like I’m walking on eggshells. I’m not some moron who goes back for more and doesn’t learn her lesson the first time. Fool me once and shame on me, fool me twice and then I really am a fucking idiot.”

  Rocky smiled and said, “Since you’re still talking to me and haven’t slammed the door in my face, then it means I haven’t pissed you off beyond hope. What if I give you my word that I will not fly off the handle and direct my anger at you ever again?”

  “Wow, your word? That and a buck will get me a ride on the bus.” I was pleased with myself because that was actually a phrase that Stella loved to throw into conversation. If she were here, she would appreciate my use of it.

  Rocky shook his head, frustrated that I wasn’t understanding. “Where I come from, your word MEANS something. If you break your word, you’re nothing. It means you can’t be trusted, people will not do business with you, you have no respect, and you’re a weasel. Once you give your word, you do not break a promise. I’ve witnessed unspeakable acts taken as revenge against liars and that taught me at an early age never to go back on my word. It’s like an ‘honor among thieves’ kind of thing. We still practice the old ways. It keeps everything in balance.”

  I was learning a lot tonight. It sure sounded like he was involved in organized crime. I had a major weakness for mafia shows, so this was all thoro
ughly holding my attention.

  “If I give you my word,” Rocky went on, “you can guarantee I’ll keep it. I would like to sincerely apologize for my actions yesterday and give you my word that I will not lose control and direct my anger at you like that ever again. Will you trust my word and come back to work?”

  Fuck. He sounded genuinely sincere. I’m at a crossroads here. If I go back and he breaks his promise, I will have only myself to blame.

  “I have to be able to look myself in the mirror and not be ashamed at who I see,” I told him, “If you break your word, then I’ll hate myself for having believed you.”

  He seemed taken aback by my honest answer, as though he wasn’t expecting something so heartfelt to come from me.

  Rocky, clearly giving the impression that this was not a conversation he wanted to have, took a shaky breath and said, “I have a hard time trusting people due to certain events from my past, Violet. I’ve been deceived by people that had no right to betray me. More than once. You don’t easily move on from that.”

  How ironic. If he only knew how much he was preaching to the choir. He wasn’t the only one with a past full of heartache. I could relate. Maybe I should give him a second chance. If he just wanted to yell at me again, why would he open up to me like this? He seemed to be torn up inside over whatever incidents had caused him to be so distrustful of others.

  “Fine,” I said grudgingly, “I’ll accept your apology and take your word that you will never EVER under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES treat me like a piece of shit again. And you better not call me an idiot either. Swear to that one too.”

  He looked relieved as he put his hand to his heart and said, “I solemnly give you my word not to treat you in any violent way ever again.” He put his hand down and said, “Now open the door so we can shake on it. To make it official, you should shake on it.”

  Something told me this was a ploy to get me to come outside and that I really didn’t need to do that. But what if I was wrong and there was some stupid rule that said your word didn’t count if you didn’t shake on it and then he had an ‘out’? I wasn’t taking any chances. So I unlocked the door, stepped outside, and held out my hand. He started to give it a quick shake, but ended up holding on a moment longer than necessary. I wasn’t ready to let go of his hand, either. The feel of his skin comforted me in some unexplainable way. If one small handshake affected me like this, it made me wonder how it would feel to have him touch me in other places. Damn it. How did I go from mad to horny in the space of five minutes?

  I must have been giving him a weird look because he cleared his throat and took a few steps back. He sat down in one of my patio chairs and motioned for me to sit in the other. “Where were we? I think I asked about your family?” he questioned.

  “I don’t have a big family at all. It’s just me and my mom. I have no brothers or sisters and my dad passed away when I was only twenty-one. He had cancer. He was sick for about two years before he died. He saw me graduate high school, but that was the last milestone he got to witness. He was a good man and it pains me to think of all the special occasions he missed in my life.” I don’t know why I suddenly developed a case of verbal diarrhea and shared all these personal things. Maybe it was because I get nostalgic when I talk about my dad. Maybe it was the look on Rocky’s face when I started talking. He was following my every word and really paying attention. Sometimes when you talk to people, or at least in my case I’ve noticed this, they don’t seem to really listen. I get the impression that people look through me. I feel like I’m wasting their time, they have somewhere else they’d rather be, or they have someone more important they’d prefer to be with. I guess you could say I feel insignificant. To be honest, I don’t like most people and that just makes the ones that I do get along with seem all the more precious to me.

  Since I felt like he gave a shit about the conversation, I went on. “My mom is great though. We’re super close. I talk to her on the phone at least once a day. That’s because she has to know everything that’s going on with me. It’s also due in part to the fact that she lives alone and tells me that no one will find her body for days if she dies, so I have to check on her to make sure she’s still among the living. I can’t begin to describe how overprotective she is. Why do you think I’m addicted to hand sanitizer and deathly afraid of germs? She made sure to alert her only child to all the dangers of the world. ‘Don’t touch the magazines in hospital waiting rooms…sick people touch them. Don’t eat popcorn…you’re going to choke and die. There’s a storm outside…don’t be on the phone or lightening will strike it and you’ll go deaf.’ Don’t even get me started on Salmonella and eating a hamburger that might be undercooked. I think she demanded all my food be ‘well-done’ at a restaurant until I was at least twenty-five. To this day I can’t eat a burger with even a hint of pink in it.”

  I paused in my tirade to catch my breath and I ventured a glance over at Rocky to see if he might perhaps not want me to come back to work for him, seeing as how I sounded certifiably insane.

  He actually had an intense look on his face and motioned for me to continue. “Why did you stop talking? Your stories are entertaining. Go on.”

  “It’s not a story, dude. It’s the God’s honest truth. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried!” I hoped he realized I wasn’t kidding. I was just legitimately this neurotic.

  I’d never seen Rocky look so relaxed, like my words were hypnotizing him or something. “Fascinating,” he said, “What else should I know about you? What do you like to do?”

  “Um… I love to read books with apocalyptic scenarios, if I don’t eat chocolate once a day then I go through withdrawal, I like animals more than people, and I shop primarily at thrift stores.” That about sums me up, I think.

  Rocky sat up and looked a bit confused by that last part. “Thrift stores? Shop for what? Do you mean antiques?”

  Oh, here we go. Another princess that thinks the idea of wearing someone else’s used clothes is totally gross. “No. I don’t care one bit about antiques. I shop for clothes at thrift stores. I buy jeans, dressy work pants, skirts, shoes, shirts, coats, and sweaters. Not undergarments though, that would be gross,” I explained.

  Rocky held up his hand in a STOP gesture and said, “Wait, let me get this straight. The person deathly afraid of germs is wearing used clothes that other people probably shit in? Explain this to me because I can’t process it. If you’re that bad off, then I feel guilty having you work for me for nothing.”

  Ugh. So frustrating. “I do not have money problems,” I explained, “I just like the selection and variety that thrift stores have. I have no financial issues. I’m CHEAP and thrifty. There’s a difference between shopping there because you have to, and shopping there because you choose to. Why the hell should I pay forty dollars for a new pair of jeans, when I can pay five dollars for a pre-owned pair that make my ass look just as good? It’s all about common sense.”

  Rocky seemed to ponder this for a while and then abruptly changed the subject. “Why did you get divorced?” he asked. Whoa. How do you go from discussing clothes to discussing my divorce? That question was unacceptable and none of his business. I immediately stood up and turned to go into the house.

  “I suppose you got that little bit of info from your cop friend, too. Why don’t you ask her, seeing as how your connections seem to know all about me? This conversation is OVER. Good night.”

  “Violet, wait,” Rocky protested.

  He must have realized I was not stopping because he managed to tell me, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow or I WILL come back again. Remember I gave you my word,” before the front door slammed in his face.

  I went to bed feeling infinitely more confident than I had the night before. The big monster had apologized, gave me his word on no more violence, and didn’t seem nearly as threatening as he had just one day ago. I was making progress.

  Thursday

  I was a bit apprehensive to go back to the brewery despite th
e fact that Rocky gave his word he wouldn’t do anything violent. I still had to work with Sergio and Vasily, and I was ashamed to face them. I didn’t want anyone to think I was a shrinking Violet (pun intended) who let people walk all over her. I made up my mind that I would just go in with my head held high.

  I was actually in a really good mood because it had been a great day at my other job. Dottie brought everyone at work loaves of her home made zucchini bread, which tasted great with the grilled cheese I had for supper. I was wearing a new red button down shirt with a pair of khaki pants and some comfy black open toe wedges. The weather was still warm for September and hadn’t started turning cool yet.

  Strangely enough, there was no one around as I entered the front door. In the past there had always been at least one person when I walked in. I went around the reception desk and took a seat in the chair. To my surprise, there was a box of brand new file folders and a stack of fruit-scented glitter gel pens. I burst out laughing. Hilarious! He actually remembered my complaints on Monday about the lack of office supplies. Maybe it was his way of apologizing for being a prick. Well, it was a good start.

  At that point Rocky came out of his office and said, “I see you’ve found my goodwill offering? The pens are for you to take home and not to actually use here. If I see pink glitter writing on any piece of paper in any way, shape, or form, I’m going to go ape shit,” and then he winked at me. Let me tell you, that man could wink. It was a panty dropping, sexy as all hell, stop me in my tracks wink.

  “Ok…yeah...no pink. Got it,” I stammered. I didn’t want him to think I was stuttering because I was still afraid of him, so I asked, “What job am I doing today?”

  He brought out another box filled with papers. He explained that the contents held all the Olde Devil Gin customer information. There were stacks of sheets with contact listings for bars, grocery stores, liquor stores, and wholesale distributors. I was supposed to put that in some sort of organized manner and type it out in a simple spreadsheet.