Chapter 2 #2
It brought out a little laugh from her, which was a win.
Although it was sometimes impossible to know what I was going to get from her.
Whether she was going to be the mom I thought would be all sweet and cuddly, or the one with a razor jaw that snapped and spit venom for even looking at her.
Sometimes—most of the time—I felt like I had to be there as a parent to her. And it never felt nice saying that.
“You know I haven’t done anything like that, right?” she said, her brows rising up her forehead. “Because I’d never do that. I’d never stoop as low as him.”
I nodded. Of course it was all I could do. I really didn’t want to get into it right now. I knew it would turn her sour in only a matter of minutes. “So,” I said, slapping my thighs. “What else is on this shopping list?” I asked. “We can go anywhere, and get anything, as long as it’s close enough.”
* * *
Despite all my mom’s faults, she had great taste.
It was never expensive taste, which my bank account preferred, but it was definitely good, like the taste of someone who could’ve been huge in the fashion world if she’d been given the chance and had the confidence to go for it.
Most of my clothes growing up were thrifted and tailored, and even now, she was tailoring for a bit of spare cash for the neighbors—wherever we went, she worked for the neighbors.
In a second-hand clothes store, my mom pushed a cart filled with clothes, and each item she put into the cart was accompanied by an anecdote about how people throw away good clothes every day, and how easily she could make them into this, that, and the other.
“I could make you a really nice suit for work,” she said.
“I have a large enough wardrobe,” I chuckled back.
My eyes scanned every aisle and every door.
Having her with me was great for getting around town and seeing if I could spot any of the Bianchi members following me around.
I just needed to show them a little area of my life they could exploit before I could find my in.
I never left my Ma in any real trouble, though.
The door was triple locked with a camera, and that was before I even joined the FBI.
Growing up with paranoia like that brought on a large bout of anxiety that I think the Feds appreciated.
It meant I was always looking for exits, and was aware of people.
“But if you want to make me something, I won’t stop you. ”
“Good boy,” she said, patting my cheek before going back to wheeling her cart. “Keep up.”
“We gotta be quick,” I said. “We’ve still gotta go to the butcher for the good meat before it’s all gone.”
She wandered away, and that’s when a warm breath landed on the back of my neck. “Nice day for a shopping spree,” the voice said in a growl. “You’ve not left Boston, I see.”
I turned to see and feel the warm presence of the semi-giant Rocco Bianchi.
There was a hint of smoke and gin on his breath.
It made my insides twitch. I was feral for him in a way that made any investigation tricky.
If he asked me to bark, I’d yap, and if he asked me to jump, I’d be an Olympian over the pole.
“Why would I leave?” I asked. “I’ve got a job at your bar. Right?”
He shook his head, but stopped as I placed my hand on his chest. A single finger slipped between the buttons of the white shirt he wore. “You work for the Feds, you’re not coming back to my bar.” His hand wrapped around my wrist.
“Oh my, what big hands you have,” I said as he peeled my hand from his shirt. “You know, we’ve really got to stop getting this close. And I’m not a Fed. I’m in town taking care of my ma. Look at her.” I gestured with a nod.
“Looks sweet,” he said, flicking my hand away, but that feral something in me was desperate for it to touch my skin again.
It made me feel skinny to have him hold me like I was fragile—I was far from it, but it was nice to feel like it again.
“I know all about you, Kalen O’Ryan, and I know that you’re overqualified for any position at the Palazzo.
You’re sniffing around the wrong beasts. ”
I shook my head. “I’m not sniffing around anything.”
“Don’t think about coming into the Palazzo tonight,” he said, slowly nodding his head. “I’m being very clear and very serious about that.”
I could only smirk at the comment, partially out of nervousness, but there was a level of teasing that begged me to go in and see what would happen—he wasn’t exactly going to hurt me, especially not if he thought I was a Fed.
“Kalen,” my mom called out. “Is your friend coming for dinner?” The sound of the wheels on the cart began getting louder as she increased the force she pushed it with. “You might as well invite him, you’re making a feast.”
Rocco stared down at me, tilting his head. I couldn’t ask him. I wasn’t inviting him inside—like a fucking vampire, you didn’t invite the mafia into your home. They’d wipe you off the face of the earth.
“He’s busy,” I said just as she arrived. “And he’s got to go. But I’ll see you around.” I looked back at him and winked. “Okay?”
His gaze was intense, white hot almost. “Okay,” he let out with one single heavy breath.
I hoped I was in his head now, and I was ready to stumble into whatever shady underground operation the Bianchi family were running—there were only so many whispers I could get an investigation started around. I needed proof they were shady.