Page 29 of Hot for Her Italian Mafia
And even though I broke his heart by going to work, Luca spent the night in his booth watching over me. He walked me home, kissed me goodbye, and promised to see me again tomorrow.
I could get used to this.
With a warm heart, I make my way upstairs. The hop in my step is noticeable but uncontrollable. How can I stop myself from feeling giddy? Why would I want to? I finally have everything I’ve always dreamed of.
But as always, it seems that when things are at their best, bad news waits around every corner.
Our apartment door is ajar when I get to it. From behind it, I hear voices. Dad’s to start, muttering difficult-to-understand words, and an unknown voice that speaks with far more conviction. Maybe it’s nothing, some old friends coming by to check in on my parents. It wouldn’t be the first, though it is a rare occurrence.
As much as I want to believe that there isn’t anything sinister happening within my home, Dad’s recent penchant for getting involved with the wrong people has a lump nestled in my throat.
I’m not willing to take the risk that this is a friendly get-together. Not when I know Luca isn’t far away.
I unlock my phone to a list of missed calls from Dad. Fourteen with time stamps ranging from just after I started my shift to ten minutes ago. None of them direct me to voicemail, but if he’s been hounding me this hard, I can’t imagine it was to pick up a bag of ice on the way home.
Fuck. What has he gotten himself into this time?
I text Luca: Please come. Hurry.
No time for details, not that I have any to go on.
“I can see your shadow at the door,” the voice that moments before spoke to Dad is directed at me. “Why don’t you come in, Josie?”
Is his knowing my name a good sign or bad? When it comes to my dad, is it ever good?
I grab the handle and push the door. Old hinges creak and squeal, serving to further add to the ominous tension surrounding the situation.
“Come, come. We won’t bite,” he continues. “No need to draw this out any longer than it has to be.”
I enter, taking a few steps through the short entry hall, and my heart sinks into my guts. On one end of the three-seater sofa sits a man I’ve never seen before. Long gray brows hang over his eyes like a curtain, white hair neatly tucked beneath a black fedora, and a pudgy body kept in check beneath an expensive suit.
It's not him that makes my legs numb and has fear pressing down on my chest, leaving me breathless. On the far end of the sofa sits a man I’ve seen before, his snake-green eyes peering at me through a curtain of messy hair. His face is bruised, cut, and swollen, but I’d recognize him anywhere.
He’s the man who kicked all of this off.
“There she is,” the older man speaks. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
One word steamrolls through my mind.
Run.
Get out of here. Run far, far away and never look back. Whatever’s going on here isn’t going to end well. If I’m lucky, Luca’s seen my message. He’s on his way over, and he’ll be downstairs. I can jump into his strong arms, and he can carry me off into the proverbial sunset.
“I understand you two know each other,” the older man says, waving a lazy hand toward the man beside him.
“Look, Mr. Lauren. I’m sure whatev?—”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” the younger guy snaps at Dad. “You made your bed, and you’re going to sleep in it.”
Mr. Lauren. The name rings a bell. Combing through my mind, whenever fear allows, I stumble back to his name. Max Lauren. The man my mom called a monster. The piece of shit dangling a carrot in front of Dad’s nose, promising him vast fortune.
“You screwed with the wrong man, little girl,” he says, lifting out of his chair. I’m taken back to that night, feeling his hand touch me, the words he whispered into my ear, making me feel like a piece of meat rather than a person.
The inspector.
“Calm down, Bryce,” Max Lauren says. “I’m sure we can come to an amicable solution to this issue. Phil here, he’s a big boy, he knows what has to happen.”
Mom. Trapped in my daze, I don’t even notice her. She’s standing in the kitchen, clutching a cloth to her face and wiping away the long tears ruining her make-up. Dad’s in his single seater, lower lip quivering.