2. Costantino
2
COSTANTINO
F inding someone on the strip is nearly impossible, so imagine my surprise when I accidentally run across Isadora. She's in Miracle Mile, wearing a pair of jeans that fit her ass like a dream, hugging her curves in all the right places. The way she bends over the counter at the coffee shop to talk to the barista has me rock-hard just from the sight of her. I came here to check on my dad and the shop, but now I’m completely distracted by finding this blonde goddess who has starred in every one of my dreams since the day I met her.
The barista keeps looking up from her tasks with wide eyes full of fascination, clearly captivated by Isadora’s charm. In her hands is a plastic cup drizzled in caramel, half suspended in the air as if it might float away at any moment. Whatever Isadora is saying to her seems to be the most interesting thing in the world, an enchanting conversation that I can only imagine. What I wouldn’t do to be able to listen in, to catch even a whisper of their exchange.
I head toward the entrance, eager to get closer, and catch snippets of their conversation. Classmate, Vegas wedding, wild night. I can’t help but wonder if she's talking about this weekend. I bet I was the wild night, the memory that lingers in her mind. Is Autumn her classmate? I haven’t reached out to Enzo since the wedding, nor has he reached out to me. But honestly, he’s probably too busy enjoying the fruits of his new marriage, so I don’t give it a second thought.
There's really no reason for me to walk away now. It’s perfectly normal to grab a cup of coffee, a simple act that could lead to so much more. Vegas is a small town, even if it feels large and overwhelming to tourists. It’s entirely plausible for me to run into Isadora at a random coffee shop, especially since this is a genuine run-in. I wasn’t looking for her, at least not yet, but now that fate has placed her in my path, I can’t resist the urge to see where this moment might lead.
"Hey, Izzy, someone's behind you," the barista nods her head in my direction, a subtle gesture that hints at her willingness to assist. "Let me help him."
With a confident sway, Isadora glides to the side, but not before casting a quick glance my way. The moment our eyes meet, recognition flickers across her face like a spark igniting a flame. "Costantino." My name spills from her lips with an intimacy that feels both thrilling and dangerous, reminiscent of late-night secrets shared behind closed doors. "Long time, no see. Have you gotten better looking, or am I just seeing you in broad daylight for the first time?"
I feign surprise at our unexpected encounter, looking her over as if genuinely taken aback. "I think I've gotten better looking. It's the haircut; it really drives the girls wild.” I offer a playful smirk, hoping to match her upbeat energy.
She disregards personal space completely, her fingers reaching up to explore my freshly cut locks. A mischievous grin spreads across her face. "You must be quite the ladies' man. I can't believe I bagged a catch like you,” she teases, her voice laced with playful bravado.
I've never encountered a woman so unabashedly open about her romantic escapades; it's both refreshing and, if I'm honest, a little exhausting. If she’s aware of her allure, she won’t hesitate to walk away if I misstep. "I think I'm the lucky one. I'll have to thank Enzo for that wedding invitation," I reply, trying to keep the banter light.
Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips, and she winces slightly as she pulls it back in, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that catches me off guard. "I'd give them a few days if I were you. There was a disturbance over the weekend.” The way she emphasizes ‘disturbance’ sends a ripple of unease through me, heightening my awareness of the charged atmosphere around us.
I didn’t hear anything. My phone was uncharacteristically quiet, actually, almost eerily so. After a late night out with Isadora, I spent Saturday recuperating, nursing a slight headache and replaying the evening’s events in my mind. Sunday rolled around, and I received my orders from Carlo, a reminder of the weight of family loyalty and obligation. Now, here I am, standing in front of the very woman he wants me to find, yet all I can think about is my cousin and the turmoil surrounding him.
"Excuse us for a moment," I say politely to the barista, trying to maintain an air of casualness despite the tension coiling in my stomach. With a gentle tug on Isadora's arm, I lead her away from the prying ears of the café, seeking a brief reprieve from the curious glances. "What happened?” I ask in a whisper, my voice barely above the hum of chatter around us.
She quickly relays the Reader’s Digest version of events, her words clipped but urgent. Apparently, a stray bullet managed to find itself lodged in Autumn's stomach, a cruel twist of fate that has left everyone shaken. Nobody is sure if the shot was meant for Autumn or her new husband, but they wound up at Bellevue Memorial regardless, thrust into a nightmare. "She's doing fine, and she was released from the hospital yesterday. But while I was there, I met another Bianchi—this one is a doctor. Do you think you could put in a good word for me?"
A pang of jealousy sharpens in my chest at the thought of Isadora potentially befriending another member of the Bianchi clan, but I quickly push it aside. I’m a good cousin, after all, so I immediately ask if Enzo is alright. Though he might not have been shot, I can only imagine the weight of knowing that his newly-wed wife was a victim of such violence, the burden of guilt heavy on his shoulders.
"Yeah," Isadora replies with a roll of her eyes, as if the situation is only mildly annoying rather than terrifying. "But I guess he threatened to kill Liam or tried to kill Liam. I don’t know. I haven’t gotten the whole story yet. When I showed up at the hospital, he was handcuffed to a chair in Autumn's room." The image of Enzo, usually so composed, reduced to that state sends a flicker of concern through me.
Why didn't I hear anything about this? News used to travel like the speed of light in this family. Now we have cell phones that are basically tiny computers in our pockets, and yet nobody can call or send a text message to keep me in the loop? Hell, I would have settled for an email. "How did you find out about the accident?"
"I'm Autumn's emergency contact," she says simply, her expression unwavering. "It was me or Liam, and Liam is a piece of shit. So it was a pretty easy choice in my opinion. I mean, I guess she could have listed her parents, but that feels a little juvenile, don’t you think? And frankly, they’re pricks, too.” Her tone is casual, but there's an undercurrent of tension that I can sense, a hint of deeper emotions simmering beneath the surface.
I don't think Carlo knows what he's getting himself into. I feel like I know Isadora a hell of a lot better than he does, and I still feel way out of my depth. "Interesting. Is there a reason why you left me at the hotel without your number, an email address, or even your last name?” I decide to change the subject, feeling the need to shift the focus away from the heavy situation at hand. I’ll call Enzo later, but right now, I want to concentrate on the beautiful blonde standing in front of me, her presence both captivating and perplexing.
With a purse of her lips, Isadora shakes her head no, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Dutton," she says playfully, punctuated by a wink that sends a rush of warmth through me.
I know that now, but the information came from other sources, sources I can’t reveal to her at this moment. That might put a damper on our budding relationship, and I’m not ready to risk that just yet. "Isadora Dutton," I repeat, nodding my head thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about it, and I'd like to take you on a proper date.” The words feel charged, and I can only hope she feels the same excitement I do.
I bet she was a cheerleader back in the day; she’s got that infectious, bouncy personality that lights up the room. Isadora shoots me another wink, one that feels like a spark igniting something deep within me, and then she spins on her heel, heading back to the barista without answering my question. "Hey, hold up," I call out, quickening my pace to keep up with her, hot on her heels. "Is that a yes or a no?"
She grabs her drink from the barista, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting into the air, and thanks her kindly, her voice smooth and warm. The drink looks like some kind of blended coffee topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream, the kind that makes your taste buds dance with anticipation. "Sweetie, I'm gonna be honest with you," she says, her tone suddenly serious, "there's a lot you don't know about me. It's probably best that this thing between us just stay a one-night stand." With that, Isadora blows past me like a woman on a mission, her long strides taking her further away, the mission clearly to get as far away from me as possible.
The cozy atmosphere of the coffee shop fades into the background as I chase after her, my heart racing. "Wait a second. Isadora, I can handle whatever baggage you've got. See?" I flex my bicep playfully, "I'm practically a himbo. Muscles, good looking, not an Einstein. I can carry anything."
This brings a fleeting smile to her face as I finally catch up to her, that glimmer of amusement making my heart skip a beat. "Well, Hercules," she replies, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "I've got more baggage than your oversized muscles can handle."
"Try me," I challenge, a grin spreading across my face, determined to prove that I’m more than just a pretty face with muscles.
Isadora stops abruptly in the middle of Miracle Mile, the bustling street alive with the sounds of chatter and the distant clatter of heels on pavement. I wish I'd had the foresight to ask her where she was headed because this is the opposite direction of my father's jewelry store. Miracle Mile wraps around in a serpentine fashion, but it's quite a trek when his store is all the way on the opposite end from where I stand now. "I'm twenty years old, Costantino. I'm in school for Hospitality Management with a minor in business administration," she states, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "I've dated some questionable men, including the one who shot my best friend. I aborted his child when it sounded like he might kill me if the kid wasn't his. My family is trying to sell me off like a cow to the highest bidder and they've secured a match with a truly heinous man. On weekends, when they aren't trying to convince me to meet Carlo Rosetti, they're trying to get me into rehab for alcohol addiction. And if that sounds like a picnic for you, that's just because I haven't opened up Pandora's Box and told you the details."
In that moment, I almost forget that I’m supposed to be on a job. The second she utters Carlo's name, the gravity of my assignment crashes back down on me like a wave. Shit. "Tell me the details over dinner," I say hastily, urgency lacing my tone. Job or no job, I need to secure this meet-up. I need to see her again. I am desperate to spend more time with Isadora, the revelation of her struggles igniting something protective within me.
Her blue eyes flare with exasperation, shimmering with a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "This isn't a game, Costantino, this is my life. What do you think my fiancé is going to do when he finds out I'm going on dates with someone else?” The raw emotion in her voice is palpable, and it tightens the knot in my stomach.
"Let me deal with that. Besides, it's just one date. I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend." I attempt to break the tension with a smile, a half-hearted gesture meant to lighten the mood, but her face only cracks a smidge, the weight of her reality pressing heavily between us.
Isadora takes a long sip of her drink, her gaze sweeping over me from head to toe, as if she’s weighing the risks of this reckless venture. "Honey, you don't know what you're getting yourself into. But if you want to sign up for getting killed, by all means. Where's your cell?” Her tone is a mix of playful sarcasm and genuine concern, and I can’t tell if she’s teasing or warning me.
I dig into my pant pocket, fingers fumbling slightly as I pull out my cell and quickly hand it over to her. Isadora types with deft fingers, her focus on the screen. "That's my number. I'll consider texting you back, assuming I feel like being part of your suicide mission. If that's the case, I'll give you the date, time, and location of our date. If it doesn't work for you, then hey, we tried, we'll move on with our lives. I'm a busy lady." Her words dance between jest and seriousness, and I can't help but be captivated by her boldness.
Excitement surges through me, making my whole body feel alive in a way I haven't experienced in years. It's been far too long since I've felt this kind of thrill about someone. "The date and time will work. I promise." I'm ready to rearrange my entire life, cancel any appointments, meetings, or engagements to make this happen. Deep down, I know Isadora is my soulmate; I can feel it in my bones, a visceral truth that resonates within me. And if Carlo dares to ask any questions, I’ll simply tell him I’m just getting closer to her. At some point, I’ll have to come clean to him, but today is definitely not that day. "Please text me, Isadora. I don't care what happens."
She snorts, rolling her eyes with a mix of amusement and disbelief. With a sharp turn on her heel, Isadora resumes her stride, her confidence radiating as she walks away. "You'll regret saying that later, himbo."
The only regret gnawing at me is not eliminating Carlo the moment he handed me Isadora's photo. Now, I’m left grappling with the daunting task of figuring out how to handle both the job and win over the girl. Why is it so tough trying to have it all, to juggle danger and desire?