Lacey Luzzi Box Set

by Gina LaManna

  “Only if they don’t deserve you.” Carlos offered a rare, small smile.

  A little part of my stomach warmed inside, and it had nothing to do with the coffee.

  “Grazie, Papá,” I said, using a term of endearment, but not one so mushy that Carlos rejected it instantaneously. I’d heard Marissa and Clarissa use it from time to time, and we were all grandkids, so I figured it’d fly with me, too.

  Carlos stood and threw money on the table. “I’ll see you and your beau tomorrow.”

  I nodded.

  He pushed his chair under the table and walked towards the front door.

  Peggy Sue whistled at him as he opened the door.

  I thought that Carlos maybe turned a shade redder than normal, but it was just a tinge. So slight most people wouldn’t notice anything.

  “You’re not doing as terrible as I expected.” Carlos ignored Peggy Sue and gave me a curt nod, as if not sure how to finish this type of (almost) emotional conversation.

  I swigged the last of my cappuccino as he walked away. I often wondered why I’d had the misfortune to be born into the Family that was mine – but today wasn’t one of those days. Today, I almost felt lucky.

  “That grandfather of yours...” Peggy Sue startled me as she came up behind me, fanning herself with an extra copy of a menu. “Italian Stallion if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Gross,” I said. “Peggy Sue, we’ve talked about this. I don’t wanna hear it.”

  She whistled and scrubbed the table with the rag, and I took that as my cue to ditch out.

  As I shuffled outside, I couldn’t help but wonder if part of the reason Carlos came to this diner was because he was flattered by Peggy Sue’s attention. I smiled and waved at a car honking at me as I sprinted across the road, far, far away from the crosswalk.

  Maybe the old man did have a bit of heart.

  I POPPED ACROSS THE street to see who was working the lookout shift. It turned out to be Nicky, my true uncle. Nicky himself wasn’t bad to be around, but his two daughters were the worst. Marissa and Clarissa, who were somewhere between five and ten years old. Carlos and Nora treated them like saints.

  As I watched Clarissa and Marissa steal quarters from unsuspecting patrons and flick them at one another, I lamented over how spoiling happened to miss my generation. Noticing me, the girls grabbed hangers from the closet and chased after me, claiming they were playing a new game of tag. After Marissa – or Clarissa – hard to tell in their frilly outfits, bopped me one-too-many times, I left with a wave at their distracted father, who was doing his best to ignore his daughters.

  Nicky normally left the girls with one of his siblings or other Family members, but he brought them to the laundromat when he didn’t have time to swing by Carlos’s estate first.

  I’d always felt bad for the guards schlepped into babysitting duty. Nicky was neither married nor in a relationship, and though the girls were almost the exact same age, they did not have the same mother. Even though his kids weren't my favorite human beings, Nicky was a good guy. He worked for the Family because he had nowhere else to go, and the money supported his kids and his habits.

  Carlos trusted him more than I’d have thought, but Nicky’s problems had nothing to do with anyone else. He simply tended to overindulge in the finer things in life. He was loyal to a fault and smarter than he looked, and if it weren’t for his two girls, I would’ve spent more time hanging out with him.

  Jumping back into my car, I looked at the clock and realized it was already time to meet Clay at the gym. I sent him a friendly text as a reminder: Move your rear end. Gym. NOW.

  I cruised through fifteen minutes of old women driving along the side streets and parked as close as I could to the gym doors. No sense exerting too much effort to get to my workout. I whizzed past Marge, who gave me the least discreet wink to have ever been issued in all of humanity, and headed to the changing rooms to slip into my clothes.

  When I emerged from the locker room in my ratty T-shirt and yesterday’s shorts, Anthony was waiting in full-on, uber-hot workout mode. His arms were sheathed in thin black fabric once more, making it look like someone had latex-painted his entire upper body. For some reason, everything about this buff, kind-of-intimidating man made me want to skip the gym and get sweaty in an entirely different way.

  “Today, be careful.” Anthony gazed at me as if reading my thoughts.

  “What?” I looked up, caught off guard. My cheeks blushed; even if he hadn’t read my mind, he most definitely noticed me checking out his abs.

  Anthony cocked one dark eyebrow. I opened my mouth to utter some excuse, but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he stared behind me. I wheeled around, and my mouth dropped open. Clay stood before us in royal blue biker shorts, black socks that reached his knees and a zip up sweater that boasted the name of something I could only hope was a European soccer team. His outfit was topped off with two wristbands, a sweatband, and a fanny pack with a water bottle attachment.

  “So this is your cousin,” Anthony murmured. He spoke so low only I could hear him, and his voice prickled the hairs on the back of my neck with his close proximity.

  “Anthony, meet Clay,” I said. They shook hands, and I could sense Clay’s trepidation combined with his fascination of this real life G.I. Joe.

  “Let’s go.” Anthony turned, signaling the end of the non-existent small talk.

  I winced at Clay, who glared at me with such a fury I feared my hair might start on fire simply from the heat of his eyes. Anthony had turned out to be anything but the nice, kind, female Jillian Michaels I’d promised.

  AN HOUR LATER, WE’D just finished the workout, barely scraping our bruised and battered bodies from the weight room. Clay limped to the bathroom to change, telling me not to expect him home for an hour, as that’s how long it would take him to get out of his spand-i-pants.

  I waved him off, my wrist cramping up with the small effort, and I stopped at the drinking fountain before heading into the women’s locker room. As I walked down the hall, my phone pinged with a message.

  The name MICHAEL MEG’S BAR popped up, reminding me that I had no idea of his actual last name. I slid the phone open as I made my way to the showers, blushing vigorously at the contents of the text, which promised a sweet lunchtime date.

  Without looking up, I typed out a response that hinted I might enjoy that idea and/or more, and hit send. I set my purse on the bench and started to pull my sweaty t-shirt from my body, but was stopped immediately by the sight of a bare chest that could’ve belonged to a giant, and was far too hairy to belong to a woman who was not part of a circus.

  “ARGH!” I put my hands out and closed my eyes, backing away without looking at the man’s face. “What are you doing? This is the women’s locker room!”

  I backtracked and slipped, hitting a few lockers on the way down, jingling the locks like a beginner’s bell choir as I toppled quickly towards the floor. Arms thick as steel poles captured me, holding me like a limp Raggedy Ann doll.

  I opened my eyes to a tattoo of three tally marks on a muscular set of pecs.

  “Wha–?” I gasped, slightly embarrassed that I recognized the muscular chest, and partially overwhelmed by the proximity to a nearly naked Anthony.

  “You’ve got the wrong locker room,” he said with a smile. “Don’t text and walk.”

  A scream erupted from behind Anthony, who whirled around with me still in his arms. My wrists latched around his neck as my head jostled with the sudden movement.

  The owner of the girlish scream was none other than Clay. He stood just outside the showers, eyes wide, mouth open, and towel barely covering the family jewels. “What are you doing, Lacey?”

  “I – I had my head down–-”

  “Texting,” interrupted Anthony.

  “Yeah, and I walked into the wrong room and straight into this semi-truck.”

  Neither Clay nor Anthony smiled.

  I tapped Anthony’s chest. “Would you please let me dow
n now, Mister? I think I can find the ladies’ room from here.”

  Anthony placed me sturdily on my feet.

  “Showers are that way.” Anthony ushered Clay towards the steaming faucet he’d left on.

  Then he grabbed me by the bicep and marched me straight to the door. He put one arm on either side of my body, blocking the entrance for anyone else who might want to enter.

  “Him,” Anthony gestured to the phone that was still in my hand. “Bad news.”

  “What do you know about him? What do you even know about me?” I retorted. I wiped a few crazy strands of hair from my face. Just because this guy was massive didn’t mean he knew anything about my life. “You don’t even take the time to small talk with me. All you do is torture us with weights and cardio. So, I don’t think you can talk.”

  “I don’t small talk because I don’t give a shit. I don’t ask what you do for a living because I don’t care. You’re paying me to get you fit, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “I’m not out of shape,” I said, my feelings hurt more than they should be.

  Anthony raised that damn eyebrow again.

  I lifted my hand thinking I would try to push that eyebrow back into position, but that turned out to be a bad idea. Anthony caught my arm in a vise grip before it’d passed his nose and returned it gently, but firmly, to my side. His lips were inches from mine. I hadn’t realized how heavily I was breathing. My chest rose and fell, and neither of us made a move to separate.

  Anthony leaned forward and my eyes started to close.

  They jerked right back open as he spoke in my ear.

  “Don’t go to lunch,” he warned. He dropped both my arms and walked straight back into the men’s room.

  “Or else, what?” I called after him. “You want a date?”

  He let out such a hearty laugh that I pointed a finger at him; a particular one that would’ve gotten me in trouble had he been looking.

  I strode into the locker room. If Anthony thought he had any say over my life outside of the gym – especially my love life – he was quite mistaken.

  Chapter 13

  CLAY DIDN’T SPEAK TO me for the rest of the afternoon. Whether he was mortified from his clothing choices, aching from the grueling workout, or upset for any number of other reasons, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I needed to hustle in time to get ready for Date Attempt Numero Dos.

  Since it was technically my second date, I couldn’t wear the same dress I’d worn last night, as Michael had seen it, even for the briefest of seconds. Plus, we were only going out for lunch.

  I settled on jeans (gag), a cute black top with lace on the shoulders, and a necklace I’d gotten for my twenty-seventh birthday from Nora. It was a solid gold Italian horn – it looked quite literally like a bull’s horn, but it was meant to be the symbol for good luck in Italy. Again, I wasn’t sure what a bull’s horn or water in the mouth had to do with luck, but I was hoping it would work.

  I spruced my hair after a quick shower, and reveled in the feeling of being clean and energized, a good workout under my belt. Maybe there was something to this whole scientific endorphins thing. Or maybe it was Anthony’s presence revving my adrenaline and filling me full of life once more, even if it was actually just a constant state of agitation and frustration. Or once more, it could be the possibility of danger at any given moment that caused my heart to pound and my energy to soar.

  It was impossible to tell which ingredients caused each flavor in my energy cocktail, but I wasn’t complaining either way. Who knew? Maybe working for the Family would help me to build a resume for a different career.

  Right on time, Michael’s car pulled up out front.

  I watched from the window, holding my phone and yes, stalking him a little bit. But it was kind of odd, since he got out of his car and did a few laps around Clay’s kidnapping van, knocking on the paneled doors and peeping in the windows. The score on this one was definitely Lacey – 0, Michael – 0; we were creeps watching creeps.

  Just when I was about to get suspicious, my phone pinged with a text telling me he was here. Well, duh, I thought. I knew that.

  I locked up and headed outside. I bounced quickly over the graffiti on my front steps and waved, hoping to draw his eyes upwards and away.

  It worked. He’d secured himself back in the driver’s seat and pretended to throw the car in park (I wouldn’t tell him that it was the second time in as many minutes that he’d done so) and exited the front seat (also round two), coming around to the curb to give me a good, solid squeeze.

  “You look gorgeous,” he said. “Just as great in jeans as you did in that fancy black dress last night.”

  “Oh, stop,” I said, pleased he’d noticed Blacky, despite our short time together.

  Michael winked and opened the passenger door for me.

  I smiled happily at him and started towards my seat, but stopped when I saw a package resting where my butt was headed.

  “What are these for?” I gestured to a large box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers, so gorgeous that they looked like they belonged in a bride’s bouquet.

  “I feel like such an idiot for letting that much time get away from us last night,” he said. “I’m really lucky you gave me a second chance. I won’t do it again.”

  “Oh, thank you!” I gushed. I loved Lindt truffles. Well, I loved most chocolate, really. These especially since they were usually out of my sixty-nine-cent budget limit for candy bars; a real splurge. “This is so sweet of you and completely unnecessary.”

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “You deserve much more.”

  He closed the door gently behind me as I made room for my feet among the gifts. As he made his way to the driver’s side door, I couldn’t help but think that maybe the dinner with Carlos tomorrow wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

  “Can I give you a kiss?” Michael asked. He’d leaned towards me a little already, but was polite enough to remain on his side of the car.

  In response I gave a shy smile and met him halfway.

  One of his hands crept towards the nape of my neck, and the innocent kiss quickly became a sexy moment of exploration. His tongue roved the inside of my mouth, his lips as soft as a marshmallow, and just as sweet. He tasted minty and fresh, and the tingly sensation in my stomach was not unwelcome.

  When he finally pulled away after a few more minutes of luxurious making out, he gave me a joyful grin. “Time to eat?”

  My stomach growled, and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since my workout. “I’m starving.”

  “CIAO, LORENZO,” I SAID to the same doorman at downtown Marinello’s as the night I’d met Carlos. The restaurant was teeming with business as usual, mostly local patrons of the Twin Cities area and a few tourists. However, the owner, Luca Marinello, was a close, close friend of Carlos’s and the Family members frequented the restaurant as loyal customers multiple times a week. Carlos had even been known to hold “business meetings” here in off hours, and Luca would join with little vials of grappa and hand-rolled cigars.

  “The white car is his,” I said to Lorenzo. I’d instructed Michael to park in the illegal parking spaces out front. Luca had all cars there towed unless they belonged to the Luzzi clan or the Marinellos themselves.

  “Got it.” Lorenzo kissed both my cheeks and held out a hand to Michael. “Benvenuto alla Marinello’s.”

  “Ciao,” Michael said nervously. “Grazie.”

  “He’s okay,” I said to Lorenzo, with a wink and a nod at Michael. “Michael’s Italian, just doesn’t speak it, I guess.”

  Michael looked relieved. “Yes, sorry. Not at all.”

  “Tutto bene, amico,” Lorenzo said. “We feed anyone and everyone with an appetite. A friend of Lacey’s is a friend of ours.” He leaned forward and addressed Michael. “Unless you hurt her, then you’re dead.”

  I smiled, happy to be in a place I considered home, with a man who was slowly regaining his footing on my good side.

&n
bsp; Michael was a slight shade lighter than moments before, but I couldn’t blame him; I was ninety-nine percent certain that Lorenzo was serious.

  I gave Michael’s hand a squeeze, and then I pointed out the row of photos that lined the wall, showing him the few places I made an appearance. The pictures of me had been added recently, only after they were discovered in one of my mom’s tucked away ‘save boxes.’

  There was a picture of Carlos, straight faced as usual, and of Clay, wearing shorts much too short for even a ten-year-old. Then there was me holding an ice cream cone. Another one of me licking gelato straight from the scooper. The next, me shoving a panini into my mouth...alright, enough of me; I latched my arm through Michael’s and led him to the buffet-esque line where we picked out our antipasto, main dish, and dessert, amid cheek kisses and ciaos.

  “Tutto bene, Dominic?” I asked. “And Ricardo – how are you, my friend?”

  “Si, and Carlos? Where is Carlos?” Dominic looked behind me.

  “Carlos is busy right now, but he’ll be in on the weekend, I expect,” I said. “Just saw him this morning. He’s great.”

  Michael insisted on paying for both of our meals, and I didn’t argue. Not only had he asked me out, but Luca himself had heavily discounted our meal upon introduction.

  “It’s his first time!” Luca said. “Gelato e’ un caffe on me.”

  We carried our plates and sat on the rooftop deck, overlooking the cities. We shared a pleasant lunch and my stomach thanked me for refueling it with good carbs and even some salad, a rarity in my diet of pasta, pasta, and more noodles.

  We spoke of trivial, surface things, but the conversation was easy and light, his laugh quick and hearty. I couldn’t help but glance at him while he surveyed the skyline to our left. His jaw was strong and defined, and the five o’clock shadow he kept held just the right amount of rugged manliness.

  When he turned back and caught me watching him, his cheeks showed deep dimples as he smiled, his lips quirking upwards in a lopsided, endearing way.