6. Maximo
CHAPTER 6
Maximo
ONE WEEK LATER
It’s been a week since I kissed her, knowing full well that I needed to stay away from her. It’s not right, and fuck me…it isn’t fair. Did that stop me from watching her through the tinted windows of my car? No. Has the memory of her soft lips on mine halted any sexual thoughts I’ve had about her? Also no. The sad look on her face as she watched the door to the coffee shop she works in, waiting for me to walk in, about killed me.
Every time the small bell above the framework of the door dinged, I saw the excitement drain from her eyes as she realized it was not the face she wanted to see. Every night I’ve been late to meet up with my cousin, and every night he scolds me about the same fucking shit. I knew not going back to her would be impossible, especially with her smile and big doe eyes.
The night I walked away from her, I promised myself I would keep my distance, yet again, I can’t seem to do it. I can’t afford to get distracted. I can’t afford to let the plan I’ve worked so heavily on go to waste.
Rocco nudges me, holding his cigarette in front of me, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, “Here, take a drag. It will calm your nerves.”
I shake my head, pushing his hand away from my face and grimacing. “Smoking is bad for you. Besides, every cigarette you have takes?—”
“Thirty minutes off your life. I know.” He rolls his eyes, and I chuckle as he finishes my sentence in a feminine, nagging tone. “You sure you want to do this, cugino ?”
I try to quell the anger rising in my stomach, “ Come dio mi è testimone.” I repeat the words my mother would always say to me when I would act up as a kid ‘As God is my witness.’” God, I miss her, but I’ll be home soon. I need a few more weeks. That’s all. Just to make sure everything is done and then I can fly home.
“ Andiamo,” Rocco taps my shoulder, flicking the cigarette from his fingers and out the car window. Watching as that sick motherfucker leaves the office building and climbs into his car. We know his route home like the back of our hands, but tonight, he won’t make it. Rocco starts the car, swiftly turning the steering wheel and pulling out of the parking space. John is completely unaware of his surroundings, scrolling through his phone with a smile on his face, I wanna punch it off—no doubt looking at all the emails of dying people that are begging for his help.
“We need to make this quick,” I tell my cousin, “I don’t want to be seen by anyone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, we are in this together. You fucking know that. After what they did, there’s no way I’m messing this up.”
“Hm.” I hum in response. Snorting a laugh when I look at him, my gaze lingering for a moment.
“What?” He asks, confusion marring his face.
“You look like Uncle Alfredo in that fucking suit.”
“Uh, fuck you very much, Alfredo was a pervert.”
“Well, if the suit fits.” I chuckle louder. “And by the looks of that fake Armani suit…it does.”
“ Vafanculo! This isn’t a fake suit. It’s real!”
“Bullshit. Where did you snag it from?”
Rocco clears his throat and makes the universal Italian hand signal, “From Uncle Alfredo.”
My eyes widened briefly before we both burst into laughter.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I groan to nobody but myself. I drop my head back against the headrest of the car seat, close my eyes, and think back over the last four hours with Rocco. After he dropped me off in the tree line, I scrambled into it, making sure to cover my presence in as much of the darkness as possible. I didn’t want to be seen, as this was our only chance. If this didn’t work, then a more standard way of kidnapping would be on the cards.
But thankfully, Lady Luck was on our side tonight. While my cousin had the hood of his car up, fake smoke billowing from it, wearing a suit that made him look decent—fuck if I’d tell him that, though, we waited. After a few lonely minutes on the road, John Richardson came to a stop in his car. He rolled down his passenger side window as he passed and leaned forward.
“Hey there!” He called with a smile and concern on his face, “Need some help?”
My cousin played the part beautifully, complaining about car trouble while looking as though he was worth a million dollars had that fucking piece of shit hooked. John hopped out of his half-a-million Rolls Royce Phantom and came to the aid of a man he believed to be rich and powerful…just like him.
When he finally realized what was going on, it was far too late. Rocco cracked him in the jaw so hard that he went down like a sack of shit. “Shall we give him some cement boots and drop him in the river?”
I snort at the memory of our exchange.
“ Stai bene? ”
“What?”
“We’re not Cosa Nostra, cousin.”
Rocco held his hands up in surrender. “We’re from Sicily, that’s all I’m saying. You don’t know what our fathers were into.”
Clapping him on the back, I stepped over John Richardson’s body and chuckled. “You’ve been watching far too much Goodfellas. Your mother owns a restaurant, and your father a fucking vineyard.”
“Dead bodies in barrels, and some in pies.”
“ Dio mio.”
Pulling a silver coin from my pocket, I tossed it, caught it, and flipped it onto the back of my hand. “Heads or tails?” I asked him. The result of the coin flip would decide what end of the body we got to hoist up and stuff into the trunk.
“Heads.” He shrugged after lighting another cigarette.
“Tails. You got the ass end.”
“Fuck!”
Shaking my head, I smile further at everything.
I think back to how we took John to an abandoned building just off the Cedarwood Forest, tied him up, blindfolded him, and had two of my father’s friends watch him. Yeah, I can see why Rocco believes we could be made men. For all intents and purposes, I was planning to go home to the cabin my father still owns on Lake Gardini, which is about a three-hour drive north of here, but instead…that’s right…I’m here…with my head pressed up against the cool glass of the tinted driver’s side window, looking up at flashing Christmas lights.
It’s 10 p.m., and I know she’s home. I can see the TV flickering through the little space of her apartment window that’s not covered in festive décor. Seriously, what is it with this woman that I can’t seem to stay away from. I mean, sure, she’s beautiful. Scratch that she’s fucking stunning. Her laugh is infectious, her shapely curves I can’t keep my eyes off of, and those soft little whimpers she made when I kissed her a week ago made me want to find out just how delicate they would sound coming from underneath me.
Fuck…I’m truly fucked!
“Just stay in the car,” I tell myself. “In fact, start the car.” After a few more seconds, I groan. “Fuck it.”
Jumping out of the car, I search the ground and find a few small stones, launching them up at her window. They clink against the pane of glass, and when she doesn’t answer the first few times, I collect more and keep throwing. She finally pushes the window up as soon as the sixth stone is thrown, leaning out.
I knew she was gonna be pissed at me. Christ, I walkedaway from her without even so much as giving her my number.
It was the right thing to do.
So why do I feel so shitty about it?
She doesn’t say anything for a beat. She just stares down at me. One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted up, watching further, waiting for me to say something, anything.
“Oh, would you look at that! It’s Mask Guy!” Another woman says after popping her head out next to Julia. “See, I told you he’d come back.” She smacks her arm playfully.
“Shut up!” Julia snaps, and I can’t hide the smirk on my face. “I’m mad at you.” She calls down to me.
Pulling my mask off my face completely, I smile back. “Yeah, I’m mad at me too, Bella. ”
“Yeah, okay, you said he was hot, but you didn’t say he was that hot!” Her friend barks in shock. “Hey, are you some kind of GQ model or…hey…Julia!”
The girl protests continually while my girl pushes her back into the window and out of sight.
My girl?
“You think I’m hot?”
“Borderline…attractive, I guess.”
“Better than Baby Knees!” Her friend screams from inside.
“Baby knees?” I question.
“Don’t listen to her. She’s an alcoholic. She missed her AA meeting today, and I’m her sponsor.”
Lifting my hand, I rub it over my chin. Christ, my cheeks hurt. I don’t think I’ve smiled this much since…well…it’s been a long time. The door adjacent to me bursts open, and her flushed and breathless friend stands there with a grin on her face the size of Manhattan.
“Hey, Hot Mask Guy, get over here.” She flaps her hand, calling me over.
“Tasha, you whore, I’m going to kill you!”
“Hey, would you shut up. It’s late!” A neighbor calls out from the adjacent window.
“You shut up fucker! If I have to listen to the fake screams of the women you bring home, you can listen to my voice dickhead!”
“Fake screams? Come over here, and I’ll show you they’re not fake.”
“Fuck you Miller, I wouldn’t touch you with this guy’s dick. Go inside!”
I laugh then, hard. My girl has a potty mouth.
My girl. Jesus Christ, I said it again.
As I close the space between myself and her friend, Tasha, I hop the final steps two by two. Stopping in front of her, she holds out her hand.
“Phone.” She demands. I unlock it and hand it to her, and she begins punching in a few numbers before eventually handing it back. “It’s girls’ night, so…no boys allowed. But, if you hurt her, I’ll shoot you directly between the fucking eyes, and nobody will find you, capiche? ”
“Okay.”
“Trust me, I have a concealed weapon and a shovel. I doubt anyone would miss you.”
Leaning forward, I place a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I promise. She’s safe with me.”
But is she?
Descending the steps, I hold my phone up to her. “I’ll text you.” Even from here, I can see how her cheeks blush, and she fights the grin, forcing its way onto her angelic face. “I have a few things to do, but are you free this weekend?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I think I’m working.”
“Call in sick.”
“I can’t?—”
I pin her with a stare. “Call. In. Sick. I want to show you my special place.”
“Is it between your legs?” Tasha cackles.
“Tasha!” Julia squawks.
I don’t give either of them an answer. I yank open the driver’s side door and jump into the car, slamming it closed. The engine roars to life as I put it in drive and pull out of the parking space.
Maximo Rossi, you’re in big fucking trouble.