Chapter 2
Sam
After signing the contract, my stomach churns. Slate said he’ll call me when he has work, but what if it takes weeks? How will I make ends meet?
First off, I’ll need another part-time job. Damn my family. Why can’t they stay the hell out of my business? This is precisely why I left the city fifteen years ago.
No sign of the hot bodyguard, I head home on the subway. In the street in front of Mrs. Murphey’s, I dig out my phone then speed-dial my father.
“Precinct.” The curtness of the officer’s voice tells me they’re busy, so I get right to the point.
“Can I speak to Police Chief Russo? Tell him it’s his daughter.” Tamping down my anger, I pace in front of the cannoli.
A few minutes later, Dad’s booming voice echoes as if speaking inside a vast tunnel. “Sam, honey. What can I do for you?”
“Could you take me off speaker phone?” My eyes roll. The last time we spoke, the mayor and half the police force learned how my ex-boyfriend cheated on me.
When the cavernous background noise disappears, I take a deep breath. “Dad, did you speak with Slate?”
“Sure, but he called me.” His defensive tone tells me everything I need to know.
Releasing my clenched back teeth, I count to ten. “What exactly did you say?”
“I said I thought you’d make a great receptionist which you will.” After I press mute, I let out a primal scream, not caring how many heads turn.
“For fuck’s sake, I worked as a senior analyst for the FBI for fifteen years!” I promised not to yell, yet here I am again.
The man who taught me all about volume, ups his. “Behind a desk. That’s where you belong, not in the field. Have you fired your weapon since leaving home?”
“Just a sec.” Inside the bakery, I point at one of Mrs. Murphy’s famous blueberry muffins. “Coffee-cream-no-sugar-to-go.”
While she gets my order, I unmute my phone. “Do not mess with my career or I’ll tell Mom everything, capiche?”
Silence ensues for so long I wonder if he’s still on the line. “Understood. That said, I reserve the right to arrest anyone who endangers your life.”
“Thank you, daddy. I’ll see you for Sunday dinner. Love you.”
“Love you, too, honey.”
Shaking my head, I sit at one of the wrought iron tables, set my coffee on the glass, and place my laptop bag between my feet.
Ready for another argument, I dial Uncle Vinny.
“Hey, how’s my favorite nipote?” He has used this line on all my female cousins since birth, yet he still finds it amusing.
“This niece is fine.” As I did earlier, I use weaponize silence while chewing on my sweet confection.
Eventually, he sighs heavily as if I were the problem. “So, did youz get the job or not?”
“Not so fast. Did you threaten Patten Securities?” Considering how I have had to negotiate with a mobster my whole life, you’d think my interrogation skills would be stellar.
“Not in so many words…” His hedging sets off an internal trigger.
That’s why my brain explodes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Language, young lady. You’re living under my roof now.” His tone makes me feel like a petulant teen, which also pisses me off.
“I’m not in the apartment. I’m sitting in Mrs. Murphy’s. I’ve heard her say a lot worse.”
When I glance up, the elderly baker woman grabs my phone. “Vincent, you leave her the fuck alone, you old crook.”
As she stomps behind the counter, my uncle shouts, “Tell her I’m booking her a confession with Father O’Connell.”
“Holy shit? Is he still alive? Whatever. Listen, Uncle Vinny, I need the work. You can’t go threatening peo-”
“No worries. I spoke to your Aunt Marion. She says you can get your old job back.”
“Washing hair?” Voice up at least two octaves, I lean back to pray to the tin ceiling. Dear God, give me strength. I would hang up, but thanks to Sebastian Sutcliff, my uncle is my friggin’ landlord.
Knowing he has the upper hand, my mother’s brother chuckles. “Just for now, until I find youz a good man to marry. Dat was our deal, capiche?”
Shit. He’s right. Desperate to leave DC, I would’ve agreed to just about anything, but I must set boundaries. “As I recall, I said I’d go out on a few blind dates, nothing about matrimony.”
“Say hi to Rose and Mia. Nice talkin’ to youz. See you Sunday.” When the connection disappears, I open my laptop and fill out the private investigator’s application.
Kissing the last of my savings goodbye, I hit send. Private Detective Sam Russo? I like the sound of that. It certainly beats Samantha, hair-washer extraordinaire.
Having done all I can to regain control of my life, I stroll to my new residence. Taking a deep breath, I cross myself, pray for patience, and open the door.
“Yo, Sammy. How’d it go?” Vinny’s guard dog, my cousin Joey, sits in his favorite kitchen chair facing the stairs.
“Fine, Joey.” Trying not to roll my eyes, I wave, noting that nothing in his apartment has changed since the nineteen sixties.
“Hey, my dad says he lined up a date for you. I sent you the info. Make sure to wear something that shows off your boobs.”
When I shoot him a rude gesture, he laughs. “Nice to have ya’ home.”
Fuck. Hating my life, I trudge up the stairs. The stench of failure evaporates when my cousins gather me in their arms.
“What are you guys doing here?” Wiping a tear away, I swallow hard to hug them again.
“Early dismissal.” While Mia opens the refrigerator, I glance at my phone.
“She must be getting daft in her old age.” Because nothing could be further from the truth, we all laugh.
Mia hands me a beer. “The salon is always slow on Mondays. And, since everyone is talking about you, she figured she’d get the scoop. We’re booked solid for the week.”
“Fucking awesome.” Picturing all the blue-haired salon ladies, I guzzled my beer.
As the alcohol soothes my damaged ego, Rose grins. “C’mon. Get dressed. We’re going out for pizza. You can share everything on the way.”
“First, I need a shower. Do you have anything to wash away bad luck?” One bathroom plus three women equals a complete disaster.
“Sorry, but feel free to use anything you find. When you’re back on your feet, you can chip into the community bathroom fund.”
Once I remove the dryer rack from the tub, I run the water and step under the spray. Of course, the minute suds appear, my thoughts run to the sexy bodyguard. What kind of nickname is that? If it weren’t for his recommendation, Slate wouldn’t have hired me, not even part-time.
The more compassionate part of my brain tries to rationalize the revenge sex. After losing my job, I found sex texts on my boyfriend’s cell phone. Anyone would’ve done the same. Right?
As I’m about to point the vibrating shower head between my legs, Rose knocks on the door. “Can I do my hair?”
“Yup.” I guess masturbation will have to wait until tonight.
While I rinse off, Mia’s offkey singing blasts from her bedroom. “Gonna wash that man right out of my hair.”
We two join in her atrocious antics until our stomachs hurt. God, I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.
As I wipe my eyes, I kneel on the mattress so the drawer can open fully. In clean undies, I duck into the Hobbit-sized closet built under the eaves. Going for all black, I grab a romper, high tops, and a leather jacket. says the temperature will drop, so I add knee socks.
My cousins dress in stilettos. They pair tight black jeans with tank tops. Rose has an eyebrow ring and a beautiful skull tattoo on her upper back. A tiny jewel shines in Mia’s nose above a gold loop in her lower lip.
Once I make some money, I’ll re-pierce the holes I let close after joining the ultra-conservative FBI.
We enter the pizza parlor a few minutes later, where Pete Solari leers at me from behind the counter. Never handsome, the cook has gained thirty pounds since high school. His hairline has receded, and his acne is worse than I recall.
“Holy fuck, Sam, you’ve filled out nicely.” When his lascivious gaze roves over my body. I cup my fingers at waist height, virtually shoving them up his ass.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Petey. Shut your hole. A pie, a pitcher, and hold the commentary, capiche?” Chin jutted out, arms crossed, Rose shoots him our nonna’s infamous evil eye.
Grinning, the chef sets down his wooden pizza paddle, then leans his elbows on the counter next to the cash register. “So, Sammy, we on for Friday night?”
Huh? As I open my mouth to tell him I have no idea what he’s talking about, Rose nudges me in the ribs. “The date? The deal?”
Holy shit. Uncle Vinny hooked me up with Pizza Pete? Could this day get any worse?
“Oh, sorry, Pete. Right. Listen. This week is not good. Nope, not good at all. Aunt Marion wants me washing hair in the morning. In the afternoon, I got a job in Manhattan. I also started a private detective business. I’ll call you.
I promise.” Grabbing our beer, I turn my head to roll my eyes at my cousins.
Halfway through the meal, I venture a look his way and groan. Staring, his smile reminds me of the Pillsbury dough boy—or maybe the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Picturing him naked, I stifle a giggle. Oh, God. That’s just not right.
Sitting across from me in the red vinyl booth, Rose raises her brows. “Want to let us in on the joke?”
I whisper over the table, “I’ve known Petey my whole life. Dating him would be like going out with… Joey.”
Oblivious to our lively conversation, Pete spins his dough, then throws it in the air. “Don’tcha need a license to be a dick? Not that it ever stopped you before.”
“LOL. For your info, I applied online this afternoon.” While I shrug off the sister’s stunned expressions, Pete ladles sauce over the raw crust.
“I know dis guy who lost the love of his life. He’s been searching for days. I could recommend you to him.” While he deals out pepperoni, my heart quickens.
Holy shit, my first missing person’s case. “Is he willing to pay?”
“Yeah. I’ll tell you all about him when I pick you up… on Friday.”
I would’ve slapped the smirk off his face a few weeks ago. Broke, I don’t have the luxury of pride. Index finger out, I warn my cousins to butt out.