Out of Time (Fall of the Morelli Crime Family #3)

2. Chapter 2

two

Bianca

M onday Night Art Fest was always the absolute best event at the community center. Kids aged two through twelve got to come in, show off their creative side, and have their beautiful projects displayed all week long.

Someone more qualified led the session, but I considered myself the perfect assistant. I loved keeping busy, helping my community, and seeing all the cute kiddos make something to be proud of.

Tonight was Watercolor Night, meaning I had my hands full. I began by passing out smocks in all sorts of sizes—mostly clothes donated to the community closet that were in too poor shape to give away to those in need—then began chatting up all the boys and girls, discovering their favorite colors so their palettes reflected something unique and exciting for every single one of them. Once everyone settled in, I waved Francesca over to help me fill and deliver dozens of plastic SOLO cups of water to everyone to rinse their brushes out with.

Frannie was a shy girl—no, Frannie was a shy woman; I kept forgetting she was freshly eighteen now. Soft-spoken and sweet, she was one of my favorite cousins.

My mom had been taking a special interest in her sister’s youngest kid for the last couple weeks. I could tell how much it bothered Frannie to be the center of attention at home, so when she volunteered to join me tonight I went with it. Keeping cups of fresh water at the ready for three dozen kids was a lot of work, but it was solitary, allowing her some peace.

Oops!

One of our regulars, three-year-old Sofia, knocked her cup of water over, but I was prepared with a towel and mop. The poor clumsy girl knocked something over every week, so I was used to it.

Mariela, Sofia’s mom and another volunteer at the center some nights, apologized half-heartedly as she held Sofia’s painting up and out of the way while Frannie and I cleaned up the spill, but I waved her off. This stuff happened. We all expected it by this point, and Sofia never did it on purpose.

When I saw her wee little toddler lip start to tremble in sorrow, I turned away. I loved kids and especially babies. Little Sofia was still more baby than child and if she started to tear up, it would make me cry, too. Mariela picked her up, stroking her adorable curly ponytail and reassuring her youngest that everything was okay, that nobody was mad, that her painting was alright.

Could I have a sweet little girl like that with someone I loved?

I cleared my throat and wrung out the mop, rolling the bucket back to the corner. Frannie followed and brought over another cup of water for Sofia to inevitably knock over before the end of the session.

I always tried to give back to my community through volunteer work, patronizing local businesses and farmer’s markets, even eating a vegetarian diet to lower my carbon footprint, but sometimes I wondered if it would ever be enough. My family members did illegal things—hurting the community in some ways—so I spent most of my free time trying to offset that balance. Some days, like today when I was feeling especially pathetic, it almost didn’t seem worth the effort for the pain I still felt.

I looked over to where Mariela held Sofia, seeing the comfort given by simple touch, and held in my sorrow.

I’ll never hold my own baby that way.

While I was leaning against the wall, waiting for someone to need something, I let the self-pity come. I kept busy so I didn’t have time to wallow very often, but seeing Mariela interact with Sofia made that small, broken part of my heart feel bigger than ever.

I missed Mark and what we could have had. We were so in tune, so on the same wavelength with what we wanted out of life. And he was so attractive with his wavy brown hair and dark root beer eyes. He was everything I wanted, but it would never work because of something I had no control over.

It was frustrating and heartbreaking, so I let the moment pass until I wasn’t thinking of Mark’s tender hand along the small of my back as he led me across his apartment. Then I walked my own damn self across the room again to mop up Sofia’s newest mess, leaving the sad and bitter feelings behind.

Sofia was full of enough unintentional chaos to keep me distracted, at least for the remaining thirty minutes of tonight’s Community Outreach program.

After the Monday Night Art Fest madness ended, Frannie asked if I wanted to go out for a sweet little treat.

It was such a nice offer that I almost said yes, but I wasn’t feeling like company. I nearly changed my mind when I saw her face fall, but Fran was already halfway to her car, a new Porche. I let out a low whistle; I didn’t know when she got it, but if I had to guess I’d say it was an eighteenth birthday present from my dad. He was always generous for birthdays or holidays, and I knew how much he doted on people.

I was a prime example of that, though my luxury car was twelve years old. Dad asked me if he could replace it a few times, but I didn’t see the need when the car ran just fine.

Frannie pulled out of her parking space before I could follow her. I felt bad about it; clearly she was reaching out to me, but I’d do better next time. It would be nice to hang out more, even if she was a decade younger than me. Maybe I could get Frannie to volunteer with me every week.

Unsure what to do with the rest of my night and feeling bad for blowing off Frannie, I drove around aimlessly for a few minutes before coming to a resolution. I could pick up a couple gelatos and surprise my little cousin at home. I pulled over to google the closest gelato shop and froze. I was parked across the street from the little Tiki Bar where I met Mark.

Damn.

I fought the urge to cry—I did enough of that on that first morning six weeks ago—and focused on my breathing. It wasn’t a big deal. I could ignore the bar and just continue my mission to look up the nearest dessert place. Really I could.

I dug through my tote to find my phone, and Google told me that the nearest dessert shop was…three doors down from the bar. Okay, maybe I couldn’t ignore the bar, but I could walk by it without looking inside. I wouldn’t see anything if I did. Mark being there in the first place was a one-off, just like it was for me.

I’d stopped in after a particularly stressful Youth Sports Day at the community center, dealing with a malfunctioning crockpot of nacho cheese for five hours, and really needed an adult-level pick-me-up. He wasn’t normally a drinker either, Mark had said, but some days called for a shot of hard liquor at the end of it all. I agreed, and toasted to better days in the future, beginning the best night of my life before it abruptly ended in the morning.

So Mark wouldn’t be there, I convinced myself as I gained the courage to exit my car. I could walk past without looking inside to get Frannie an apology gelato.

When I crossed the street, I discovered I couldn’t actually do it. I wanted to look for him. Just in case. I wanted to walk inside and see if Mark would trudge through those doors with the weight of the world on his shoulders. I wanted…

I wanted Mark. Still.

I paused in front of the entrance, but turned my back to it. I wouldn’t go down that road again, but I couldn’t make my feet walk past, so I just stayed where I was, facing the street.

Maybe if I went inside, made sure he wasn’t there, I could convince myself to keep going.

No, that would be a terrible idea. What would I do if he was in there?

I was about to convince myself to leave—really I was—when I heard the door open behind me and someone barreled out too fast for me to get out of their way. I stumbled, letting out a squeak of shock, but the big, masculine hands that held me upright and kept me from falling were even more surprising.

“Shit, sorry, are you okay?”

Mark was here after all, and now he was holding me. This was not part of the plan. What was he doing here? I glanced at his clothes, seeing him in a standard blazer and slacks, work clothes, so he probably got off his shift not too long ago.

I let my gaze wander farther up, taking in the neatly trimmed beard accentuating that sexy-strong jawline, the handsome face, and then up to finally meet his gorgeous brown eyes. God, he was good-looking, and he could’ve been mine in another life.

I saw the moment his eyes turned from concern over the stranger he knocked over to stunned recognition, and it made my heart pound hard against my breasts.

“Bee?” he asked, the wonder in his voice making my spine tingle. He’d clearly been pining, too.

I knew it was a bad decision to walk past the bar. I should have chosen a different gelato place when I realized where I was.

But it felt so good to see him again. My shoulders relaxed, my jaw unclenched, and the world looked just a shade or two brighter. It felt like years since I’d seen him; I didn’t know how heavy the feeling of loss was until he was standing in front of me again.

Holding me.

His hands wrapped around my upper arms to hold me steady when he smashed into me, his palms soft against my bare arms, but his fingertips slightly calloused. It felt too good, too natural to have those powerful hands holding me firm yet delicately. I shifted out of his grip and crossed my arms over my chest, putting a physical and emotional distance between us.

“Mark, what are you doing here?”

“I was just having a drink with a coworker. Things are going good in a case so we were celebrating.”

His smile was so big and sincere. He was genuinely joyful to see me. My heart twinged.

I wasn’t wrong for falling for him. He was a kind, wonderful man. He liked silly jokes, and the smile that went along with the puns and punchlines was crazy sexy. His hair was a little wild at the end of his workday, the brown waves falling freely over his forehead. His dark eyes were so expressive, the happiness shining in them too much to hide.

We would have been perfect for each other in another life.

I forced the tender smile back from my lips. It wouldn’t be fair to give him hope. Knowing how much I adored and missed him wouldn’t do him any favors. I tightened my arms around my chest and slipped on the standard Resting Bitch Face, not saying anything else. He didn’t need to know how fast my heart was beating or the way the skin on my arms still tingled where he touched it.

The seconds ticked by and I saw the instant he felt the difference in the air. First the uplifted corner of his mouth twitched, then dropped altogether. I saw confusion in his eyes, then watched as it morphed into hurt. I was doing what I needed to, but that didn’t stop the shame I felt at hurting him.

I needed to nip this in the bud. I never meant to see him again and risk having this conversation. But he needed to understand there wouldn’t be a repeat of the last time we met.

We would never have a happily ever after together. He still might have one with someone else— ouch, even the thought of that hurt—but I would never meet someone like Mark again. My Prince Charming and happy ending wouldn’t come a second time. I’d always be alone, no family of my own. I remembered little Sofia and put a hand to my stomach. I’d never have any beautiful babies because I couldn’t imagine going through it with anyone but Mark.

I always assumed I’d eventually fall in love and get married, but thinking on it now, it was a long shot. Where would I find a kind, wonderful, sexy man who would make a great husband and father? A man who had a strong moral core, but was sympathetic enough to deal with my baggage? Someone who was ethical, wanted to set a good example for any future kids, while still understanding why I loved my family? It was a tough line to walk.

I’d met men who thought it was hot as hell that I had a powerful and dangerous family. They wanted to lean in to it, meet my dad and uncle. They were fun for an evening, but no good for settling down.

I’d also met men who were good on paper, but got an adrenaline kick from it all, excited to rebel against the establishment. No, I was not a pawn in someone else’s game or rebellion.

But those good, sweet, sexy men…These men were rare and inevitably ran for the hills when I told them the truth. They didn’t wait around to see if I was worth fighting for.

It was why I didn’t say anything to Mark in the beginning. I wanted him to get to know me without learning that my father was Carlo Tomas Morelli, that he led the mafia syndicate here in the city by the bay.

What my relatives did shouldn’t matter in my relationships or affect how men saw me. I wanted Mark to know me as a person before making any judgements. It all made sense while it was happening, but that damn badge threw everything else out the window.

Mark wasn’t a dirty cop. He wouldn’t be able to look the other way long enough to get to know the real me.

I wasn’t blind, wasn’t stupid. I knew my dad was involved in some nefarious stuff. The word “mafia” implied that, even if I didn’t know exactly what he did. Gambling or stolen cars? I assumed he probably beat people up, too. Mafia men were supposed to be hard, vicious even.

But it was difficult for me to recognize that hard side of him when he was always a good, decent father to me. He provided for our family, never hurt anyone, listened respectfully whenever I spoke to him, and he even invested in my business after I finished college. The only time he ever yelled at me was when I offered to pay him back with interest.

No, bambina! Family helps family, no exceptions. Blood is thicker than money.

Blood was thicker than love, too, I’d wager. Daddy would never approve of me dating a cop. I wasn’t worried about him hurting me, or even Mark. He loved me too much to hurt someone I cared for.

But he might disown me. I could live without the money, the credit card.

I didn’t know if I could live without my family, my mom, or sweet Frannie, so I would have to live without Mark instead.

I’d have to dig deep, but I could walk away from him again. I had to.

Family always came first.