19. Nicolo
Chapter nineteen
Nicolo
I pull the charcoal baseball cap lower, to shield more of my face, after a female barista at the coffee shop around the corner from Behind the Lens gives me another curious, sultry look. I’m kind of glad I allowed Aiden to talk me into wearing sweats and a t-shirt, rather than one of the suits I usually wear. He was right, not that I would ever admit it, ’cause fuck him , I would stand out like a sore thumb here. It’s just a role I’m playing, I reassure myself, as I miss my Tom Ford suits. I move my aching, stiff jaw back and forth, as a grimace pulls on the healing cut on my lip. My face looks like it went ten rounds with Mike Tyson right now, all thanks to the asshole sitting next to me, enjoying a basic black cup of coffee like a psychopath. Who even drinks coffee like that, when there are so many other options? I lift my caramel, non-fat oat milk latte up to my lips and take a sip. As much as I don’t want to admit it, ’cause I love Chicago, this is one of the best cups of coffee I have ever had. Never mind that I’m already on my second cup, and feeling the caffeine rushing through my veins, as I look around this bohemian-style space, and the sounds of Afro-Jazz music have me tapping my foot against the floor. “How long are we going to sit here, Aiden? We should just march in there and point a gun at someone’s head, until they give her up,” I grumble.
He rolls his hazel eyes at me, as he turns in his cushy, sienna-colored fabric, club chair to face me, and it gives me immense pleasure to scrutinize the bruises I left all over his face. That’s right, motherfucker, I’ll beat your ass for trying to take what’s mine. “Yeah, that’s a great idea, asshole, why don’t you go do that, and I’ll just wait here for the cops and FBI to show up, ’cause you know, you’re part of the fucking Italian mafia, and on some list somewhere, right?” Well, when he puts it that way, it does sound a little unreasonable and foolhardy. Still, sitting here for hours is getting us nowhere. Phoebe hasn’t shown up to work so far today, and we don’t know where she actually lives, or even what name she’s using. There are only so many cups of coffee we can have, before the coffee shop workers start to get suspicious. Never mind that I think the redhead is getting ready to ask me for my number. She’s found every reason she could to touch me, as she handed me back my change, and brought our drinks over.
I guess, even battered, and in simple clothes, I’m hot shit. Women freaking confuse the hell out of me. I should be a walking red flag to this chick right now, with my battered appearance, and my glowering large companion, but instead, she’s flirting with me, and I’ll just bet that if I put in some effort, she’d follow me into one of the restrooms, and let me bend her over one of the sinks. That’s the old me, though, the one that believed I should fuck as much pussy as possible. The one conditioned by my position, within my father’s mafia organization, to take whatever I want, whenever I want it, fuck the consequences, and anyone’s feelings or opinions. The version of me who didn’t have the best intentions for any woman, and thought that I could use, and manipu late, them for my own gratification and purposes. I used to be the guy that was so reckless and stupid that he lost the only woman he’s ever loved, ’cause he couldn’t keep his dick stowed in his pants. That guy learned his lesson. I’m not saying he hasn’t fucked women in the two years Phoebe has been missing, but he’s been more careful, and has been waiting for the day she returns. The day she comes back, and I make her my wife, and never touch another woman again.
“Do you think she lives close by? Maybe we should take another drive around the neighborhood, and we’ll get a glimpse of her.” My leg taps an incessant staccato sound with nervous energy on the vinyl flooring, and Aiden gives me a menacing look. Everything I seem to do now pisses this fucker off. I miss the days when he used to enjoy my company, but now he can barely stand me. I know I’m to blame for some of that, I handled the situation badly two years ago. I’ve known all our lives that Phoebe always favored him over me. She was subtle with it, knowing that Aiden was also best friends with her brother, and that was a line she shouldn’t cross. I still felt the rejection though, especially as we went through our teenage years, and she became infatuated with him. I would catch her looking at him with hearts in her eyes, and it always made me feel less than.
When my father suggested a marriage alliance with the Irish, I immediately jumped at the chance, and put Phoebe’s name forward. Was that a dick move? Sure. Did I betray my best friend, who I knew was also in love with her? Absofuckinglutely. Did I regret it at the time? Not for a second. Did karma smack me hard in the fucking face for it? With a damn steel beam. Would I do it again, if I had it to do over with? I hope not, but there’s a tiny part of me that still holds onto the notion that it would have all worked out, and she would have been all mine, if she hadn ’t run.
“I don’t know, Nico. I think we have to look at other possible options. You’re right, we can’t sit here all day, hoping she comes by. We don’t even know if she goes to the place every day. My guess is she doesn’t, and since she performed yesterday, who knows how many days it will be before she’s back?” He drinks the last of his coffee, and fiddles with his phone again. He ensures that I can’t see the screen, and it makes me wonder if he’s trying to hide some Irish family business from me, or if it’s something to do with Phoebe. He wouldn’t confirm or deny that he was the one speaking with her last night, but he didn’t have to. His guilt and concern were written all over his face, even though he tried to hide it. The thing is, I’ve known Aiden since we were three years old, and I am intimately familiar with all his expressions, and lack thereof. He forgets himself. We may have grown distant from each other, since Phoebe took off and hid, but I know him just like he knows me. The question is, what does he know, and what is he hiding from me?
“So what do we do now?” I shift in my seat and attempt to glance down at his phone, but he immediately pockets it. The barista comes by with a tray, leans over, rubs her breast against my arm, reaches for his empty coffee cup, and flashes me a tempting smile. I catch Aiden observing my interaction with her, a contemplative look on his features. He thinks I haven’t changed, and that at any moment, I’ll fuck this chick here. He’s fucking wrong, I have a goal, and it’s to win Phoebe back. I want to show her how good we can be together, and I won’t allow anything to get in my way. Not this, or any other woman, not him or his family, not even my own family. I refuse to wander off course.
He clears his throat and gets her attention. “Do you get a lot of students from Soda Springs University in here?” My eyebrow rises as I contemplate his question. Where the hell is he going with that? Why is he interested in this shitty little town’s mediocre school? I’m starting to feel like Aiden is pulling my chain, and is wasting my time on purpose, so I don’t end up finding Phoebe. The joke’s on him though. I won’t return to Illinois without her, no matter how long it takes, but he can’t stay away for long. He has to keep that cunt Tadhg out of trouble. “A few, but not many, just the ones who work in local shops or restaurants nearby. Why, are you thinking of attending the school?” She gives him an appraising glance, as if she has just realized how attractive he looks. Seriously, women are a fucking mystery to me. What about his scowling, grouchy attitude is attractive right now?
“Yeah, we’re going to check out the campus. Maybe we’ll be back later.” He winks in her direction, and a red streak appears on her pale cheeks. What is he doing right now? Is he flirting with the barista? My mouth opens and closes in shock. Aiden doesn’t flirt. Aiden doesn’t even usually acknowledge the other sex, except in polite, reserved ways. “I... I’m here till three... if you decide to come back.” The crimson streak just grows larger, and spreads down her face to her neck. I sit here, all but forgotten, and replaced by none other than Aiden Doyle, and honestly, I don’t know how to feel about that. She moves awkwardly away, without a glance in my direction, behind the counter, and I narrow my gaze on Aiden. “What the fuck was that?” I question with impatience, and a little resentment. Will there ever be a fucking female that doesn’t choose him over me?
“That was me ensuring that we butter up the pretty redhead, in case we can’t find Phoebe, idiot. She may know her, and might be able to give us some information, if the school turns out to be a dud.” He gets up, drops a fifty-dollar bill on the table, and starts heading for the door of the coffee shop. “Wait, you actually think she might be attending the school?” I scramble after him toward the door, and the glaring California sunshine.
“ Do you really know nothing about Phoebe?” He stops in his tracks, and questions me with an incredulous look. With a massive sigh, like he can’t even be bothered to deal with me, he leaves the shop, and walks to the driver’s side of our vehicle. “Ever since she was little, she’s always wanted to be a speech therapist, and work with kids, to help them.” I raise a confused eyebrow in his direction. “Yeah, and?”
“Pay attention, Nico. Soda Springs University has one of the best speech therapy progra ms in the country.” Oh.