Burned: A Mafia Menage Romance (Blood Brothers Book 2)

by Meg Watson

  “It’s cool. Forget about it,” I say, hoping she gets the drift. I mean, it is cool, but she really shouldn’t do that. The wrong guy could get pretty upset about too many questions.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she says quickly, waving her fingers in front of her face like she’s pushing that memory into the past as fast as it will go. “You want to know what we call you?”

  I feel my eyebrows knot and my jaw goes hard. Maybe she’s not getting the hint after all? “Um, what? What who calls me?”

  “You know, the girls in the bar.”

  Part of me is relieved that I don’t really have to worry about this, but part of me is irritated that these birds have been chirping about me behind my back. Then again, I’m sort of excited to hear about it. So I guess there’s another part of me that’s pretty keen on the matter. “I didn't know anybody called me anything except Tek.”

  She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh, yeah. We do,” she giggles.

  “We?” I tease, watching her blush deepen as she realizes she just admitted she’s been doing it too. It is cute to watch her giggle. I figure her for about ten years older than me, but she still has a sort of youthful attitude that I like. A spray of freckles crosses the bridge of her nose and sometimes I can imagine her when she was maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. It just shines through all of a sudden at random moments, and Lisa is like a teenager in a woman’s body.

  But I can’t really think that way. I need to keep Lisa and me in a good relationship, seeing how she runs the only bar where I’m welcome in the whole county. If I actually hit that ass, I’d have nowhere to drink but my living room.

  “Okay, lay it on me,” I finally agree. “What do you chatty birds call me when I’m not around? But if I don't like it, you gotta tell me who to pop.”

  She stares at the ceiling dramatically, like it’s a joke. “Manwhore,” she finally says.

  I rock back in my seat. “What? You girls call me that?”

  She nods tightly, her lips pressed together and her eyes bright and gleaming.

  “Seriously?”

  She nods again.

  “Jesus... you guys really suck at giving nicknames.”

  “What? No we don't!” she objects, perching her fist on her hip.

  “Yeah, you do. It’s supposed to be something that's fun to say, like Brainy or Jimmy One-Time or Dougie Sandwich. You know? Like, something that makes everybody think of a funny story about that guy or something.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe you don't know how funny our stories are about you.”

  I shift in my seat. Now this line of conversation is starting to get on my nerves. Naturally, I don't like to think about people talking about me behind my back, not even if I brought it on myself. I expect a certain amount of discretion or whatever.

  “You should probably keep funny stories to yourself,” I say slowly.

  Lisa purses her lips in exasperation and pouts. Clearly irritated or embarrassed, she looks around for something distracting and doesn’t seem to come up with anything. Then she pours me another stingy shot and backs away like she has something else to do.

  I know she didn't need a lecture from me. Still, I had to say something.

  Across the bar, I can see Nico and Knuckles still hashing something out. I lean slightly in that direction to check on them and then flinch back when Nico catches my eye. Nico jerks his hand in midair as if to say what the fuck. Then he slides back off his barstool and claps Knuckles dismissively on the shoulder.

  With a groan, I scrub my hand over my face and stare into the bottom of my glass. I curse under my breath a couple of times as he comes over.

  “You don't answer your texts?” is the first thing that Nico says.

  I yawn extravagantly.

  “Oh that's nice,” he continues. “You need a nap, there, old man? You want me to get you a blanket so you can slide in next to Loverboy?”

  “Oh hey, Nico. I didn’t see you there. Why don’t you have a seat?”

  Nico shakes his head in disgust and purses his lips. He takes the barstool next to me anyway, leaning on one elbow on the bar so he can face me. For a few seconds, we don’t say anything. I just wait, watching the bottom of my glass like it’s suddenly going to start magically refilling itself. He’ll start talking soon enough.

  “I have a job for you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Sure do.”

  “How do you have a job for me? I'm retired,” I explain, though I don’t have to. “Nobody is supposed to give me a job.”

  Nico shrugs. “And yet, there it is.”

  I glance over at the long end of the bar and spot Knuckles peering at us intently. He is working his lips back and forward between his teeth.

  “It looks like Knuckles wants the job. Give it to him.”

  “I want to give it to you,” he says.

  “Who asked for me?”

  Nico sighs impatiently. “Nobody asked for you, Tek. I'm your Capo. I decided.”

  “Not interested.”

  Nico sucks his tongue. “But don’t you even want to know what it is?”

  “Sure. What is it?” I ask in a monotone.

  “Simple escort job. Safe house of your choice.”

  I cut my eyes toward Nico. “Escort job? Seriously? Who's the cargo?”

  “The Widow Capelli,” Nico says slowly. We pause for a beat, probably both remembering her. Nice old lady who still managed to cook like a pro, even with her fancy manicures and heavy necklaces. She always wore shoes dyed to match her dresses.

  “Holy shit,” I say, whistling low. “Something happened to Nero?”

  “Kicked it last weekend,” Nico confirms, nodding somberly.

  “Well, shit. That sucks. Nero was a helluva guy.”

  “Yeah, that he was. Everybody's already busted up about it, not to mention that everybody's got to get moved around now. New business and whatnot.”

  I nod slowly. If Nero is gone, that means a whole gumball machine full of Capos will be trying to roll into that empty slot. It is going to be mayhem. This is about the only time that guys in the same family really get ugly anymore.

  “So you gonna do it?”

  “What?” I ask like I’ve already forgotten, just to fuck with him.

  Nico slaps his open palm on the bar. “Tek, just do it. Job pays fifty G.”

  “Then I definitely don't want it,” I snarl back. Nico glares at me and I shrug one shoulder and shake my head. “If it is paying fifty G, it’s because somebody else wants her ass on a platter. I don't need that. Look at me, I'm living the good life here. This place is fucking paradise, and I do not feel like getting bullet holes in my new cargo pants.”

  Nico blows his breath out between puffed cheeks. He sits silently with his eyes glued to the TV over my head. It isn't the Mets or anything, just some kind of random sports event and that is good enough.

  I want him to leave. This is the most we’ve talked in months and I’m already over it. I want him to take his pretty hair and his shiny shirt and walk to the other side of this goddamn bar.

  But $50,000 really is quite a bit. I check my mental calendar for appointments and find myself without a lot on my schedule for the next few decades or so.

  “Paid in advance?”

  Nico cracks a smile without tearing his eyes away from the television. “You bet.”

  “When's the drop?”

  Nico turns his head slowly to look at me. He smiles a sideways grin and pushes his hand through his slicked, jet black hair.

  “How about right now?”

  ***

  The sun is almost down when we get to the motel on the interstate. Nico's directions were sparse, as usual, but I find the place easily enough. I pull into the gravel lot and stop the Mustang in a space about forty feet back from the entrance of the attached diner.

  Jesus, what a shit hole. Can't believe they're letting Nero Cappelli’s widow travel like this. I mean, being discreet is one thing, making an old lady slum it
this way is just degrading. She must have pissed somebody off but good.

  “Why don’t you pull up a little bit? We can wait for her in the diner.”

  “We’re fine right here,” I say through clenched teeth. As if I need his advice. Watching from a distance seems like the smart play at this point anyway.

  Nico shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. I hear him sucking his teeth.

  “Just relax. There’s probably a flask in the glove compartment,” I say, gesturing. “Help yourself.”

  “Just don’t fuck this up, Tek.”

  “Fuck what up? I'm just watching to see how things unfold here. There’s nothing to even fuck up yet.”

  “I told you we should be in the diner,” he reminds me. “You always think you can get away with just disobeying any order you don't like, don't you?”

  I close my eyes. I really don’t want to be hearing this shit. “You're not my Capo.”

  “Hate to break it to you, brother, but I am your Capo. Closest you got, anyway. You should learn how to —”

  “— I should learn how to what?” I growl, twisting in my seat. Nico doesn't look at me but I feel him stiffen. At least he has the good sense to be afraid.

  He takes a slow, deep breath. “You should learn how to think ahead,” he finally says. “With Nero gone, everything's up in the air now, Tek. That means there is room… Maybe they need us, did you ever think of that?”

  “I like being retired.”

  Nico barks out a laugh that doesn't sound like it has any humor in it at all. “You fucking hate being retired, Tek. You look at the mirror every day and see the ghost of your future self staring back at you. Probably check your balls for gray hairs.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I shift back around and stare out the windshield. There is a group of three teenagers clustered around the side of the building, smoking. Their parents are probably sitting in the diner eating country fried steak or open faced sandwiches or something. I don't see anybody that looks like a Cappelli walking around. I really don't want to be showing my face in the diner either.

  “Yeah, right, you like being retired," Nico repeats again sarcastically. He really doesn't know how close he is to getting the back of my fist across his pursed lips. One of these days Nico's going to learn how to shut up, and it's not going to be pretty. “All I'm saying is, if you do this for the Don's widow, it'll probably look favorably on you.”

  “I really couldn't care less about that,” I inform him.

  “Well, then think about somebody other than yourself, can you? Because I care. The last thing I wanted was to be the Don of this collection of old farts. Do you think I like this? Maybe I want back in, okay? So why don’t you just do me a favor and not fuck this up?”

  “You love being the Don of these old farts, Nico, please. Don't pretend it's any other way. You always wanted to be a boss, and now you are. Like some kind of cosmic joke, right?”

  And now I’ve said too much. I twist in my seat again to deliver my mean little joke and he's instantly meeting my eyes, which is exactly what I wanted to avoid. I do not want to see Nico, and I do not want to talk to Nico. I do not want to be anywhere around him, and I certainly don't want to be trapped inside my Mustang with him. I want this over.

  This was a big fucking mistake.

  I push the heel of my hand hard against the steering wheel. It's a good thing this car is built like a tank, or I’d snap that fucker off.

  “Jesus, Nico, this is bullshit. When is Mrs. Cappelli coming in?”

  He takes a few seconds to answer me. I don't know if it's because he wants to keep going over the same old bullshit, or if he's really trying to think of an answer.

  “Yeah, I don’t really know,” he finally admits.

  Anger fills me. My gut feels like it's got a barbecue spit in it, roasting me from the inside.

  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugs. I don't see it, but I can hear the fabric of his shirt crinkling.

  “Well what did she tell you?”

  “I didn’t talk to her directly.”

  “Okay… Aldo, then? What did he say?”

  Nico sucks his teeth in disgust. Any mention of our older brother makes him shake with rage. I know that. I was just fucking with him.

  “Alphonso is who I talked to, and he didn't have all the details. Her transport was compromised… Some of the information may have gotten interrupted or something.”

  This is all fucked up. I shake my head and try to bite back the million things I'm not saying to him right now.

  “So she's here? Or she's not here? What the fuck do you know, Nico? Anything?”

  Holding his hand up in the air between us, he makes a gesture like, Stop.

  “Tek, you're not helping. Just shut up and wait, can you?”

  I twist the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life again, growling in the darkness like an animal.

  “I'm all done waiting, sorry,” I shrug. “There is a bottle of Jack with my name on it back at the bar, and Lisa said she's got some cousins coming in this weekend. I’ve got shit to do, Nico. This is your wild goose chase, so you go on it.”

  “Stop being such a dick, Tek. Just give it a couple more minutes — oh, God…”

  His voice trails off. His mouth is hanging open and I can see him flinch back a little bit. Following his gaze out the windshield, I stare into the darkening air of the parking lot and try to see what it is he's looking at.

  There she is. Her hair is up in a high ponytail on the top of her head, the blonde waves streaming out behind her as she walks across the sidewalk in front of the diner.

  She's practically in slow motion, her chin pushed out stubbornly, her shoulders back. Her head swivels from left to right as she scans the few people in the lot and the cars that face her. I want to duck down so she can't see me, though I know she couldn't see through the windshield even if she wanted to.

  “No fucking way. Nico —”

  “I didn't know,” Nico whispers hoarsely. “I swear, Tek, I didn’t know. Alphonso didn't say…”

  “You said the Widow Cappelli!”

  I can barely even see through the window; there's a fog of red starting to color everything crimson. That can't be her. That can't be the one I'm supposed to…

  “That's what Alphonso said!” Nico exclaims. “I assumed he meant, you know, her mother or whatever. I never would… Tek, you gotta believe me!”

  “Why the fuck would I start believing you now, Nico?!” I snarl, jerking the gearshift and slamming on the gas. The tires kick up a dramatic spray of gravel and though I swear I am not looking, I almost see her head turn as I peel out of the parking space and cut diagonally back across the lot.

  I almost saw her. She almost saw me. Just knowing that slices through my heart in a way that makes me want to fucking kill somebody.

  I can not get out of there fast enough.

  DAY 3 - CHARLI

  I'm not sure when I fell asleep, because it felt like I was up all night. Waiting. Pacing. Watching Gus sprawled out on the tacky floral bedspread with his mouth open, sleeping like an angel.

  I spent the night as vigilant as a cat. Every sound of footsteps or voices on the concrete walk outside our room sent my heart into spasms. But no one knocked. Every once in awhile I'd slip out of the room and go check the diner and the parking lot for somebody I was supposed to meet, anybody. But nobody came.

  Around dinnertime yesterday I thought I saw somebody… But no. Just some hillbilly in a muscle car in the parking lot, doing donuts on his way back onto the interstate. Unbelievable. Bruno told me this would be picturesque out here… Picturesque, he said. That was his word. Not like Deliverance, which is where I’m afraid he actually sent us.

  Oh my God, Bruno.

  I shake my head hard, trying not to see him on the train platform in my mind again. I can't think about that now. I have got a whole lifetime to wonder what happened to him, to let the guilt sink through me like a
tattoo on every cell. My own brother, and he could be in trouble. He could be…

  No. Not now. No.

  I will think about that later. I will think about that forever.

  But today, I have to get Gus and me the hell out of here. Obviously, something is wrong but I don't know what. When we got off the train I bought a burner phone on a prepaid card like Bruno told me to do. My bright idea was to get an Uber to the motel that Bruno had mentioned, but apparently Uber is twenty years or so in the future for this particular metropolitan area. So I just got a cab, probably the only cab in an eighty mile radius. This place is the only motel besides bed-and-breakfasts for miles, the driver told me. This should be the place. It really should.

  So how come nobody came for me?

  I hold the burner phone against my palm, clutching it tightly in my fingers. The high orange wedge of sunlight cuts across the tacky floral bedspread and lights up Gus's shoulder under his chin. His mouth is hanging open as he snores just a little bit. He fell right asleep, wouldn't you know it. He didn’t seem to mind me bouncing around and talking to myself either. Such a good boy.

  Don't worry, Gus. I’m going to fix all of this.

  I can hear voices outside. It's getting pretty late, about 9:30 in the morning. If nobody's coming for us, I'm going to have to come up with another plan. We’re going to have to do something. We can't stay here.

  Slowly I push myself up on one elbow and lean toward Gus. I hate to wake him, but there will be plenty of time for sleeping when we get to where we’re going. Wherever that is. Still, the tiny blue veins in his eyelids seem too sweet for me to disturb, and I get a pinch of guilt as I stroke his shoulder lightly until his breathing changes.

  Pulling up one hand, he knuckles against his eyelashes and squints at me, a smile breaking across his sweet mouth, exposing the void where he lost a front tooth last month. His smile is a little lopsided for that, and brims with sincerity. I love that, the way he's always so grateful and happy to see me, no matter what. If only every love could be that pure, that reliable.

  I only hope I'm worth it.