27. Hookin’ at the Market
Hookin' at the Market
Salvatore
“Showing you my business requires us to go inside.”
Bianca peers up at the buildings behind me. “Is it safe?”
“Not with those sandals once we get in the warehouse, but you can wear my steel-toe boots,” I say.
“No.” She scans the lot. “I mean, is it safe?”
I lean into the car. “Why wouldn’t it be safe?”
“The mafia, Benny,” she whispers, like a sniper will spill her brains the second she gets out of the back seat. “Don’t we need more protection?”
I’d laugh if she weren’t serious. Her nails might draw blood from the leather cushions if she digs any harder.
I bite the inside of my cheek at her sinking lower to the ground.
“Trouble, look at me.”
She ignores me.
“Bianca,” I say, meeting her eyes. “You wanted to get out of the house. That requires you to leave the car.”
“What if someone is waiting to off you and I get taken out? You should have more security, armored cars—stop laughing!”
I holler so loud that Aldo, my driver, pops his head out of the car to check if I’m okay. I’ve never laughed this much and find the sensation odd.
“Love,” I hiccup through a breath, the term of endearment too common when I’m around her.
“Most crime families keep a low profile in public. I have security you don’t see, but I don’t like people in my personal space all the time.
I made an exception for this woman who insists on dodging imaginary bullets.
” I dodge her slap. “Judges and police are cracking down on mobs and mafia districts. Unless someone wants to spend a hundred years behind bars, you’re safe. ”
I pry open the door Bianca attempts to close and pull her out. “I told you I’ll keep you safe, right?” I kiss her pouted lip. “Trust me to take care of you.”
“Okay,” she says lowly.
A breeze threads through our hands, which I lace together before kissing hers. I can’t keep off of her and haven’t since last night’s agreement. Any reason to touch her, I take it, which surprises me as much as her.
The receptionist does a double take at Bianca when we walk in. She takes in her braids, high in a ponytail, and the pink-and-white dress that hugs her breasts and flirts with her knees. I introduce them and take Bianca down the hall to my office.
“Is your staff usually this nosy?” she asks, in English, about people poking their heads through open office doors.
“I’ve never brought a woman here. You’re also stunning, Trouble.” I wink, unlocking and opening the door for her to enter.
“You ship here?” Rays of light skim the Port of Catania, decorated with docked boats and cruise ships.
I turn on my computer. “The shipping containers are across the street. We import and export goods along with the fish we distribute wholesale.”
Bianca glances at the closed door. “Is this one of your legitimate businesses?”
“Yes, though we place and receive additional shipments throughout the month that’re not on the books. No one in this office is involved. The same for my restaurants and processing centers.”
“So whoever we’re looking for is involved on the shipping side?”
“Or our warehouses.”
Bianca nods, her mind racing through thoughts between narrowed brows.
“I need to look at the files of all the employees who work across the street and in your targeted warehouses. I’ll also need CCTV footage and access to employees’ email accounts before I conduct interviews. This week, I’d like to meet your staff.
“You’re sexy when you’re in your element,” I confess, squeezing the base of my dick to calm it.
A smile plays across her lips. “You’re the first to compliment me on my thoroughness. I usually get ignored or told I’m doing too much.”
“Your old boss is a fucking idiot. What else do you need?”
“A laptop, paper, and colored pens, please.”
“My God. You’ll have to ship me home in one of your containers.” Bianca moans around arancini filled with pistachio, cream, and prawns. “How do you not come here every day?”
“Meetings.” I chuckle at the shimmy she does when something tastes good.
We packed up and hit the markets at her request. She made friends at the office who quickly prompted me to give her the Catania experience.
My staff never feels comfortable telling me what to do, but they didn’t hesitate to push me out the front doors with a pat on the shoulder and a promise to handle outstanding meetings.
I’ve never ended my day after lunch to do nothing, but watching Bianca smile while she stuffs her face is worth it.
“There’s so much.” She beams at fruits we don’t need.
“I’ll remind you that you’re staying on a citrus grove. Put the lemons down.”
“They’re so big.”
“I’ve got something bigger.”
She swats the shopping bag straps digging into my shoulders. “Nastiness aside, thank you for taking me here. I haven’t been to a market since I was younger.”
“Farmer’s markets?” I guide us past tents with more food we don’t need.
“Those and Lexington Market. Mama Vee would take us on the weekends when we didn’t go to Mondawmin Mall for her Chicken George.” Bianca snickers at a memory. “Stephanie and I used to hook near the market all the time.”
“Hook?” The lines in my forehead deepen. What kind of racket was her mama running?
Bianca grins back, the sun splashing her honey-brown skin in thick waves. “Hooking,“ she says with emphasis. “Sometimes twice a month.”
I don’t know whether to hug or pray for her.
“Did you ever hook?” she asks, bouncing in white sandals she’d wrapped around my waist when I carried her through La Pescheria to keep them clean. “Skip school for the day?”
I let out a long breath. “That’s what you meant? I need a dictionary for your slang.”
Her mouth tumbles open. “Me? I’m not the one who uses minchia fifty-two different ways. What the hell does testa di minchia mean, anyway?”
A woman covers her son’s ears, shooting a glare at Bianca, who frowns.
“It means dickhead.” I smile.
“Are you telling me we’ve been speaking the same language this whole time, Benny? I love a good dickhead. So did you skip school?”
I shift Bianca’s bags over my shoulder. “Sorry to tell you I’ve never hooked a day in my life.”
She rises on her tiptoes with a smirk. “Liar. You’re hooking now, boss.”
I bump her nose. “And I have you to thank.”
My hand finds its way around the slope of her hip, pulling her closer. I try to ignore the strange ache behind my ribs that stirs whenever I’m near her.
“You’re not so scary when you’re relaxed,” she says.
“I don’t scare you.”
“Damn right.” Her eyes drift over my shoulder. “Ooh, olives!”
Bianca skips toward a vendor who grins back with all his remaining teeth. She points to Castelvetrano olives and claps when the older man spears a couple with a toothpick.
“Didn’t expect to run into her so quickly. Or you.”
I reach for my gun at Tino’s voice.
“Relax, Bennici,” he says with a short laugh. His eyes are on Bianca, collecting enough free samples to feed us for days. “B is more beautiful outside of Eden.”
“Keep her fucking name out of your mouth,” I sneer.
The asshole grins. He steps closer, the top of his suit barely reaching my chin. “I don’t mind sharing to keep the peace. Wouldn’t want her getting hurt in a war.”
The safety is off my gun.
“You have a weakness.”
I steal a glance at Bianca still talking about olives. “Unless you want to get mailed back to your father in pieces, I suggest you go.” My warning is low.
Tino cocks his head to the side. “Always arrogant, even when you’re outnumbered.”
Men in suits appear out of the corner of my eye. The Fera O’Luni is a crowded market with tourists shopping for food and souvenirs. It’s about to be a burial site.
One tap of my watch sends drones from undisclosed rooftops into the air. Tino’s smile falls at my security flying above colorful umbrellas strung between buildings.
He wants to rush me but won’t. His jaw works before he motions to his men to back off.
“Don’t start what you can’t finish, Junior,” I chide. “Daddy won’t save you.”
I re-holster my gun when Tino disappears into the crowd and send a message to Andrea and Luiggi to meet later.
“Was that Gus?” Bianca squints in the direction that Tino left.
I take her bag of olives to add to the others. “You didn’t tell me you two met at Eden.”
“You told me to speak to the women about Diana,” she says, eyes darting across the market. “Who is he?”
“Tino Messina. The Preda don’s youngest son,” I say.
Bianca stills. Her eyes balloon, but she keeps her voice low. “Don like mafia? The big one?”
I nod.
“I knew something looked off with him! Acting like I was on the menu,” she mutters.
What?
“Put the gun away,” Bianca hisses when I reach inside my suit jacket. “Should I be worried?”
Tino is young and dumb, but he’s not stupid. Why he’s in my territory requires both an answer and a response. He can catch a bullet either way.
“He wants to get under my skin,” I tell her honestly. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
She rolls her eyes. “Says the one who’s never been kidnapped. Come on, Benny. We have dinner to make, and it might be my last supper, with my luck.”