Lacey Luzzi: Sparkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 2)

by Gina LaManna

  Or perhaps the most obvious reason was Anthony, who appeared to be a deadly cross between an Armani ad and an assassin. With as much time as we spent together, I still wasn’t sure I could rule either option out. Well, maybe the Armani model part—he’d probably shoot anyone who told him to strip to his underwear and pose for a camera with a pout on his lips.

  Surprisingly, he endured all of the examinations and security tests without so much as a word of objection, except when a male TSA agent with questionable intentions tried to pat down his crotch. With a sharp lash of Anthony’s tongue, the poor guy backed off quickly and sprinted in the opposite direction, though not without a parting wink and smack of the lips—once he was safely behind glass doors, of course.

  After the machine beeped with the last palm swabbed tablet, we boarded the plane. With only small carry-on items, we had no need to store anything on the rack above our heads. We’d managed to book two sets of two seats together and one single.

  Anthony volunteered to take the single, but when he found out it was next to a brand new mother and father of baby twin girls, he grunted and said he’d take the window seat with Alfonso. I sat next to the new family while Meg and Clay took the two grouped together near the back.

  “I’ll sit real close to Anthony,” Meg offered.

  Anthony grunted. “I’m sitting next to the kid.”

  Oh, now Anthony didn’t mind helping to guard the kid, I thought sarcastically. Now that there was no possible way Alfonso could escape from a metal trap a million miles in the air. Plus, the child wasn’t even the bad guy after all. Kind of an angsty teenager, but not a bad person.

  I opened my mouth to say so, but closed it at the first sign of Anthony’s glare.

  “Fine then,” Meg said. “Come on Clay-dawg, we’ll take the back.”

  I waved at Clay’s pink cheeks and flinched as Meg swung an accidental elbow and popped an unsuspecting businessman’s headphones right off his head. Amidst a spattering of “sorry” and “excuse yourself,” the two graceful elephants made it to their seats without too many more serious injuries.

  Anthony and Alfonso sat next to each other like an extremely awkward father/son duo going on a vacation that had been forced upon them after months of nagging. Alfonso leaned over Anthony to peer out the window and Anthony put his pointer finger directly on the center of the kid’s forehead and pushed him backwards.

  Alfonso crossed his arms and pushed back his shock of red hair, glaring at the clouds outside as the plane took off. I was a row in front of them, thankfully on an aisle seat. I couldn’t stop glancing at those two bundles of pink skin next to me.

  “What are their names?” I asked.

  “Marie and Liv,” the mom said.

  “Even though I’m going to call her Olivia,” the dad said, a cheese ball grin gracing his face. “I think it’s beautiful.”

  The mother lightly slapped his arm and winked at me, as if we shared a secret. “But she’ll want to be called Liv, of course. All little girls love having nicknames.”

  “Right.” I nodded, overwhelmed by the response to my measly little, close-ended question.

  What I wanted to say just then was: No, not all little girls want nicknames. Especially if they have mean friends, and a name easily made fun of.

  Like the one time I’d cricked my neck in a car accident, thanks to Meg insisting we take a joyride in my mother’s car at the age of twelve. I had to wear the neck cast to school for a week, and the stupid thing became known as the Lace Brace. Or the time I’d spilled water all over my white T-shirt with nothing to wear for the rest of the day—except a wet white T-shirt. That year I’d earned the name Racy Lacey.

  “Do you have children?” the mother asked sweetly.

  What I should have said was a simple no. Instead, what I did say was, “Do I look like I have children?”

  With no good answer to that question, the mother looked awkwardly at her husband.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I guess I’m just a little sensitive. All my friends are married with kids already, and I’m coming from a wedding that probably won’t really work out. It’s just confusing.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” The mom handed off Marie or Liv, I’m not sure how she kept track of who was who, and she leaned over and enveloped me in a cloud of perfume with the bonus of a hug. “Come here, let it out, it’s okay.”

  I patted her on the back, embarrassed to admit that the hug felt nice. It had just been one of those days. I straightened up to thank her for making me feel better, but she was already speaking.

  “It’s okay, we got started late ourselves. We’ve only been married for a year. Our parents have been bothering us for grandkids forever. I mean, then again, we have been dating for nearly a decade.” She giggled and cuddled up to her husband, his arms completely full, in a sickeningly cute fashion.

  “Oh, wow.” I smiled politely. “I would’ve never guessed. You guys seem so young.”

  “No, no, don’t even start. You’re a dear.” The girl rested her hand on my wrist, where I noticed a fat, sparkling diamond. She whispered conspiratorially, “We’re twenty-five already, can you believe it? My birthday was last week. Life just goes by so fast.”

  “I need to use the bathroom.” I stood up, regardless of the red lit seat belt sign.

  I scurried back a few rows to where Anthony and Alfonso sat like two stone statues, one giant and one particularly small and skinny.

  “‘Scuse me,” I said as I leaned over an older women attempting to play solitaire on her Blackberry.

  “Psstt.” I snapped my fingers at Anthony. “You need to change seats with me. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “They’re not crying,” he said.

  “That’s not the problem,” I said.

  “What is it then?”

  “Excuse me, here,” the woman on the edge said. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Alfonso, change seats with me. You’re now sitting by the perfect family two rows up. Move it.” I backed up so the woman could stand and let Alfonso out.

  The kid looked quite relieved to be escaping the confines of his middle seat. I could hear his happy sigh even as I squeezed in and took a huffy seat next to Anthony. We each looked at each other, neither of our stares being all too friendly, and then I looked away and crossed my arms.

  It was a solid ten minutes before either one of us spoke. During that time, the woman next to us had kept us under her hawk-eye gaze as if waiting for an argument to explode right there on Flight 1665.

  “What?” I asked finally, as Anthony’s eyes roved my face. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I spat. “Nothing at all.”

  I hesitated. “I’m just sitting on a plane with a perfect family, with a perfectly thin woman with a honking wedding ring and two beautiful children, and you know what? She probably has a friggin’ Masters degree, all at the ripe old age of twenty-five. And guess what else? I’m twenty-eight.”

  Anthony cleared his throat.

  “Come on,” I said. “What does it matter if I lie about my age? Even so, at twenty-eight (ish), I still don’t have a degree, and I definitely don’t have a child. My resume lists…” I glanced at the woman next to me, and lowered my voice, “Stripping and Mafia work. Plus, I have zip, zero, zilch prospects for any sort of a normal romantic relationship.”

  Anthony raised his eyebrows.

  “I said normal,” I reiterated.

  The woman next to me was gawking at the statement.

  “Uh, scusi,” I said.

  She hurriedly jumped back to her blackberry and shoved earplugs into her ears. However, from my vantage point, I could see that her screen was locked and the end of her headphones dangled next to my ankle.

  “What am I doing with my life?” I turned back to Anthony. “Do you ever have these feelings?”

  “No.” His face was a mask of blandness.

/>   “Right, well you don’t have any feelings. But honestly, Anthony, tell me the truth. Am I wasting my life working for the Family?”

  “If you are, then so am I.”

  “You’re no help.” I flopped facing forward. “Fine, be an asswipe.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched up, a movement I could barely catch out of the corner of my eye. Mostly because I refused to turn and face him. If he wouldn’t open up to me, I wouldn’t open up to him. Not even if I wanted to.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked.

  “Get a drink, I guess. Nothing better than drowning my sorrows.” I signaled for the flight attendant, but of course she ignored me.

  One of those days.

  Anthony, however, flagged her over in a second and ordered two straight shots of tequila.

  “Wow, I’m impressed. I didn’t know you drank.” I cast a quick glance in his direction.

  “I thought you might want two.”

  I grimaced. “Am I that obvious?”

  Anthony shrugged.

  “Do you know why I work for Carlos?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t know.” Anthony spoke so softly I had to lean close to hear him. “I have an idea, but that’s all. A theory.”

  I took a deep breath. Then I leaned over and picked up the woman’s dangling headphone cord and handed it to her. “I know, these are really tricky to work.”

  The woman looked incredibly flustered and jammed the cord into her phone.

  I felt a hand brush my knee, and Anthony leaned over, his wonderful scent giving me a sense of security. His breath brushed across my cheek as his words slipped out in a husky tone, aimed at the misdirected headphones woman. “Are you sure you don’t need to use the bathroom for a few minutes?”

  The woman leapt up, forgetting too late that she’d been pretending to listen to music, and hustled to the back of the plane, glancing over her shoulder the entire way.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re sweet.”

  “Why do you work for Carlos?”

  I blew out all the air I had in my lungs. “I’d never had any family at all. Let alone a big, powerful one.”

  I looked down. “There was nobody at my mom’s funeral, Anthony. She was the sweetest woman… she really earned her name.” I smiled wryly at the thought of my mother’s yellow hair falling in soft curls halfway down her back. The way she’d kiss my forehead late at night after closing down TANGO, one of the least classy strip clubs in Minneapolis.

  I tried to smile at Anthony, but my mouth didn’t quirk up quite right. “The only people who showed up at her funeral had names like Autumn, Luscious and Cinnamon. They’re dear friends, but still. My mom deserved more. Her family should’ve been there.”

  Anthony reached a hand over and rested his palm on my knee.

  I shuddered before continuing. “So Meg and I tracked down the parents that I thought had abandoned my mother. I figured she may have run away, but I also guessed she had a good reason.”

  I smiled wryly. “And I was right.”

  Anthony’s fingers clenched my knee, and I don’t think he knew he was doing it. I laid my palm lightly on the back of his hand so he relaxed.

  “When I found Carlos, I was broke, alone and utterly unsuccessful.”

  I shrugged and sat back in the seat.

  “And that’s it?” Anthony asked lightly.

  “Yeah, pretty much,” I said. “Carlos offered me a crappy Kia, and I was desperate enough to sign over my soul.”

  There was a long silence, but not one with hard, angular edges. This particular silence had a comforting, soft vibe.

  “What about now?” Anthony asked.

  I hesitated. “I like my family. They’re loyal. I know their morals don’t always line up with the law, but…” I looked up at him, lightly resting my fingers on his chest. “I think a lot of their actions come from a good place.”

  Anthony nodded slowly, and I nodded back.

  We sat in silence some more.

  “It’s really fine,” I said. “Carlos and Nora are great.”

  There was more silence.

  Anthony’s thumb rubbed my knee a little bit.

  “It’s just an odd story, you know? I’m a weirdo. It’s sometimes hard to see perfect families and not be upset. Especially when they’re so young and happy, and they have life so… figured out. I feel like a lost sheep.”

  “There’s no such thing as ‘figured out,’” Anthony said.

  “Well, yeah, but there’s a sliding scale of what’s normal. My Family kinda slid right off that scale and into the Grand Canyon. I’m not even sure I qualify for the scale. And I especially don’t qualify as ‘having my shit together.’”

  Anthony’s lips broke into a very appealing grin, distracting me from my thoughts for a moment.

  “You turned out all right,” he said.

  “That’s debatable.” I smiled and leaned my head on his shoulder. “My poor mom. I was a tough kid to raise. I still have guilt.”

  “I never would have guessed,” he deadpanned.

  I slapped his arm. “Cute.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “What roped you into the Luzzi Family?”

  The loudspeaker crackled and the Blackberry woman hesitantly approached her seat.

  “It’s fine,” I told her. “Pop a squat.”

  “Bummer, no time for my story,” Anthony whispered in my ear.

  “This is why you’re an asswipe,” I whispered back.

  We descended in a smooth silence, my heart a little bit lighter than when I’d first gotten on the plane. And as we hit the tarmac with a slight bump, I put my hand on Anthony’s arm reflexively.

  To my surprise, he leaned over and whispered in my ear. “We’re not as different as you think, that’s all I’m going to say.”

  I took a long look at him, but by the time I’d processed his words, we were being ushered to disembark.

  “What do you mean—” I started to ask.

  “Not now. Time to catch your Family.” Anthony nodded, as work mode flicked on in full force.

  ** **

  The second our phones regained service on the runway, Anthony began texting away. I stole a glance over his shoulder, surprised to see the message was written in Italian. In fact, it looked like his phone settings were also all in Italian. I wondered, was that for security reasons? Most Americans didn’t speak Italian, and even most people in the Family had only a basic understanding at best.

  Or was it something different? Had Anthony’s first language been Italian? I assumed he’d been born there… but that theory had never been confirmed. And of course now was not the time to ask.

  Instead, I waited patiently, until Anthony put his hand on my leg as a sign to calm my jitters. I didn’t tell him, but his touch gave me goose bumps. Maybe he guessed, because he raised an eyebrow as an involuntary shiver shook my shoulders.

  “They’re about an hour ahead of us,” Anthony said. “They deplaned and immediately got in a limo. They’re sitting in traffic on the strip now, but my men haven’t been able to pin down where they’re going. It doesn’t look like they’ve made reservations at any of the major hotels, they’re not making any calls from their phones… right now the best we can do is tail them and see where they end up.”

  “Did you check the Golden Nugget? That’s Joey’s favorite. Cheap things, like ninety-nine cent shrimp cocktails, three dollar beers and girls dancing topless for free.” It was totally Joey.

  “We’ve done a thorough check of the vicinity.” Anthony stood, awkwardly craning his neck under the overhead luggage rack, shooing me out into the aisle after Blackberry woman.

  “Alfonso, wait up,” I called ahead.

  We trundled slowly through the plane, moving slower than an asthmatic grandpa on a walker. At one point, we paused for a small Asian man to try and retrieve an incredibly large bag from the overhead bin. How he’d gotten it up there in the first place, I had no idea, since he looked like he might no
t be able to see over the dashboard of a clown car.

  There was a sudden stoppage in the de-boarding process. I bumped into Ms. Blackberry, muttered an apology, and cricked my neck to see the hold up. It was Alfonso’s row this time. The row with the perfect family that had very nearly caused me to have a meltdown two hours before.

  I tried to take a step backwards, but there wasn’t any wiggle room between the passengers who continued to crowd forward. Anthony was right behind me, however, and I wasn’t completely unhappy with the forced togetherness caused by the blockage.

  My back pressed against his chest, his muscles long and lean, taut with the weight of the bag he was carrying for a mother with her hands full. The backs of my arms brushed against his chiseled abs, so defined I could wash clothes on them. If I was a different girl, I might have swooned.

  Not to mention, my butt kept rubbing against the crotch of his suit—even when I tried to stand still I’d get bumped or jostled, causing me to accidentally sway a bit. My face started to flush and feel warm, and there seemed to be a little fire crackling away in my belly. A part of me wanted to turn around and kiss him, just go to town on him and disregard anyone watching.

  Another part of me wanted to run far, far away and disappear until I cooled down and behaved myself like the adult I should be in a professional situation such as this.

  We took another step forward, and I was distracted from my naughty thoughts by the moving traffic… until he dropped one hand from the suitcase’s handle and squeezed my butt.

  I gave the smallest of yelps and turned around to glare at him, but he was staring straight forward as if he had no idea even who I was.

  Fine, I thought. He wants to play this game?

  I very casually leaned forward as if I was about to pick lint off Ms. Blackberry’s shoulder. In doing so, I arched my back, tossed my hair over my shoulder and pressed my derriere firmly against his crotch. I reached towards the floor as if I’d dropped something, and though I couldn’t hear anything audible, it was as if I could sense him groaning.