Chapter Twenty-Five
Stephanie
You’d think that Andy and Sammy were watching out the peephole with how quickly after Venezio placed me down on the bed they came bursting into the apartment.
“I hope you two were having a fuck—” Andy started, trailing off when she got a look at my feet and Venezio’s face. “What happened?”
“What happened in the living room?” Sammy asked, coming in behind Andy. Meatball was in tow, running at Venezio like they were old friends.
He leaned down to give the dog a quick pet.
“You want me to stay for this or give you privacy?” he asked, looking at me.
“Did you get her involved in mafia shit?” Sammy asked, straightening.
“Wait… what?” I asked.
“Yeah, what?” Andy asked.
“How’d you know?” Venezio asked.
“Oh, come on. I had suspicions. Then I saw you all chummy-chummy with Vega.”
“What does that mean?” Andy asked.
“It means everyone knows that Vega is close with the Costa Family. Mix that with how you act, how you talk, it all just kind of lined up.”
“But you didn’t tell me?” Steph asked.
“Or me?” Andy asked, crossing her arms.
“It was a suspicion,” Sammy said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t know anything for sure. I figured I had time to look into it.”
“Then you disappeared,” Andy said. “And weren’t answering your phone.”
“I lost it in Central Park,” I admitted.
“What happened to your feet?” Sammy asked.
“Running. In heels. Then more running… in slippers. Followed by even more running in a different set of slippers.”
“Blisters?” Sammy asked.
“Big ones. That burst.”
“Did you see a doctor?” Sammy asked.
“A… surgeon,” I said, loving how Venezio’s lips twitched at our little secret.
“Okay. I’m going to need a lot more information than that,” Andy declared.
“There was a guy. He wanted to hurt us. We eventually got away. That’s the CliffsNotes of it.”
“And is he going to come back?” Sammy asked.
“No,” Venezio said, tone certain.
To that, Sammy nodded.
“Do you want to come stay with us for a while?” Andy asked. “Just to feel safe?”
“No. I want to stay here. Venezio is going to be with me.”
“Really?” Andy asked, eyebrows wiggling. “Is he your nursemaid too?”
“Got the care kit and everything,” Venezio confirmed, waving toward where he’d set the kit down on the dresser.
“Can you walk?” Sammy asked.
“I am under strict instructions not to walk,” I grumbled. “And I have so much to do.”
“You got nothing to do but rest and heal,” Venezio countered, making Andy smile.
“That’s a cute idea. But I have a charity to run. Thousands of kids who need to get presents.”
“I can handle that,” he insisted.
“That’s sweet, but no, you can’t.”
“I can actually get you a wheelchair,” Andy said.
“What? How?” Sammy asked.
“My mom. Remember when she broke her leg last year? She was such a pain in the ass that my brother got her a wheelchair so she could get around and stop bitching and moaning. It’s been sitting in her closet ever since. I can borrow it.”
“Can you? Like… soon?” I asked, brightening up slightly. Because as much as a part of me did want to rest and heal—preferably with Venezio at my side—I had to get back to the charity first thing in the morning.
“We can go right now,” Andy said. “If you’re sure you don’t need us.”
“I’m okay,” I assured them. “Really. I just really don’t want to have to be carried into and out of the bathroom,” I said. Even if that was only a small part of it.
“Okay. We will go get it now,” Andy said. “But you owe me cookies when you are back on your feet for making me go over there on a night when I’m not obligated to.”
“You got it,” I agreed. “Thanks for checking in on me.”
“Want Meatball to keep you company while we’re gone?” Andy asked, picking him up.
“Sure. I missed his smushy face,” I said, patting the bed.
With that, Andy left the dog with me and the two women were escorted to the door by Venezio.
“What took so long? Did they threaten you?” I asked when he finally returned.
“Sammy is pretty scary when she wants to be,” he said, coming over to the other side of the bed, kicking off his shoes, and climbing up next to me.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like that you have friends who care about you. Did you know she has a gun? And a healthy understanding of the Castle Doctrine in the city?”
“She’s a badass. Aww,” I cooed as Meatball climbed up between us and rested his broad head on Venezio’s thigh.
“You like him, huh?”
“He’s my nephew,” I said, petting his velvety head.
“You don’t want a dog?”
“I’ve always wanted a dog. But I was, you know, taking care of my mom. And then the charity opportunity dropped in my lap. I just haven’t had the time.”
“What kind would you get? Something big and mean? Small and fluffy?”
“Something in between, maybe? Medium-sized, so I don’t worry about tripping over it. But with hair. I love you, buddy,” I said, rubbing Meatball’s ears. “But you shorter-haired dogs get stinky fast.”
“Puppy? Senior?”
“Middle? I mean, puppies are so cute. But there’s so much training involved. It would be nice to get one with some programs already installed. Are you getting a dog?” I asked. It was odd how much he was asking about it.
“Nah. Well, maybe. But it’s not at the top of my list. Your feet still doing alright?”
“Still blessedly numb. What kind of pain medicine did Salvatore give me?”
“Percs, I’m sure.”
“Percs?”
“Not street shit,” he said, shooting me a bemused look. “Got some guys in the Family who have chronic pain. They go to pain management and get pills.”
“But don’t they need them?”
“When weed is legal?” he asked, shrugging. “Salvatore pays ‘em for the medicine. They use that to get edibles. Everyone is happy and pain-free. I could get you weed, if you’d rather go that route.”
“God, no.”
“Not a fan?”
“Listen, the old street stuff? That was fine. This legal stuff? Absolutely not. It’s too strong.
Andy, Sammy, and I shared a joint once, and I woke up the next day to realize I’d eaten two containers of ice cream.
Not the cute little pint ones, the ones meant for families.
And an entire bag of Halloween candy was also missing.
I felt sick for like three days. No thanks.
I had to take pain pills for when I had my wisdom teeth taken out.
I was loopy, but didn’t chew through a Kit-Kat wrapper. So… yeah.”
“You chewed through a candy wrapper?” he asked, smirking.
“Yeah. And I’m about ten minutes away from doing it again. What can we order this late?”
“Pizza. Chinese. The usual.”
“Pizza sounds good. A lot of pizza. The greasier, the better. And a Sicilian. And garlic knots.”
“I can do that,” he agreed, reaching for his new temporary phone to find the closest place that was still open and placing the order. “Twenty minutes.”
“We eat,” I said, leaning my head against him. “Then we sleep.”
“Because you’re gonna insist on being up early to go back to work.”
“Yes. You’re either with me or in my way. And I think we both know I can swing a mean liquor bottle now.”
“Nah. I’ll be there. Gotta give you the cash from Lorenzo.”
“Is that a bribe?”
“Can we call it a bribe if it’s going into the charity, not your bank account?”
“Fair,” I agreed.
Honestly, after everything, I genuinely didn’t give a damn about some merchandise making its way into the city via the toy trucks. So long as the kids got what they needed, who cared?
“Between what Lorenzo is pledging and the lawyers are sending over, I think we are just about making your goal.”
“Don’t get my hopes up. We were several hundred thousand away from it last I checked.”
“Because you weren’t good at keeping a mental tally with the lawyers. You were too busy being charming. Me, without a lick of fucking charm, was counting.”
“Who said you’re not charming?” I asked as Meatball let out a loud snore.
“Just about everyone I’ve ever met.”
“Well, they’re all wrong.”
“They’re not. You’re just fucked in the head.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But I like being the only one to know how sweet you can be.”
“Sweet? Babe, you sure you didn’t whack your head sometime tonight?”
I elbowed him in the side at that.
“You carried me.”
“I’m the reason your feet are fucked up.”
“You warmed me up.”
“Couldn’t let you die of hypothermia.”
“You escorted me to a stuffy holiday party.”
“Alright, that was kinda nice of me, huh? No,” he said, rolling his eyes at me.
“No, what?”
“No, you can’t be looking at me like that. You need food, meds, and sleep.”
“I mean… that might help me sleep.”
“I’m not gonna have to explain to Salvatore why your bandages are all fucked up tomorrow.”
Honestly, I didn’t feel up to it either. But my libido wasn’t working on the same wavelength as the rest of me.
“How’s your face? Really.”
“It’s alright. Feels like I got hit in it a few times. It’ll fade.”
“It’s looking worse by the minute,” I told him.
“If you don’t wanna be seen with me tomorrow, I can have someone else fill in for me at the charity.”
“What? No.” I was offended even at the suggestion. “Why wouldn’t I want to be seen with you?”
“Because I look like I had a fistfight.”
“I mean, yeah. But we can spin it.”
“Spin it how?”
“Well, maybe we left the holiday party last night in search of some food that would satisfy something larger than a finch. And we were mugged. And you fought off the attacker.”
“You’re okay with lying to everyone?”
“That’s kind of what has to happen, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. But the question wasn’t about what has to happen, but how you feel about it.”
“I guess that depends.”
“On what?”
I tried to ignore the way my stomach twisted, how my pulse quickened, how every system inside me was screaming in discomfort at having to have this conversation.
“You.”
“What about me?”
“Well, if I’m never going to see you again after Christmas, I guess I can see this whole situation as a lie that has to be told to protect me. If I am going to see you after Christmas,” I went on, “then I guess I can see the lie as a necessary evil to protect someone… someone who…”
“Someone who, what?”
“Someone who means something to me.”
It wasn’t the most eloquent I’d ever been. But it was honest. And I felt like Venezio was the kind of man who could appreciate that.
“Alright,” Venezio said with a deep exhale. Like he hated this, but was going to do it anyway. And emotional vulnerability in a man like him? That was hotter than I ever could have expected. “Gonna just lay this shit out there.”
“Nice opening,” I teased, trying to make it easier for him. “Did you rehearse it?”
“You gonna let me talk?”
“You gonna get to the point?”
I got a snort at that and the tension that had been creeping into his shoulders and jaw slackened.
“I’m in this.”
“You’re… in this,” I repeated. Some part of me wanted to just accept him at that, knowing he was clearly uncomfortable even dancing around his feelings and intentions.
The other part of me needed brutal clarity or I was going to obsess over it until I was sure he meant the exact opposite of what he said.
“Just to clarify, by that do you mean… you know… in me, or…”
“No. Well, yeah,” he added with a devilish little smile. “Plan to be in you as often as you’re down with that.” My body enthusiastically agreed with that. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant. This. Whatever… this is,” he said, waving between us. “And I know it’s something.”
“How?” I was being a little mean, but I was really loving getting this side of him.
“How’d I know it was something? ‘Cause you were supposed to be a job. I was supposed to get to know just enough to know if you’d be a willing partner to us, or if I’d need to do this shit behind your back.”
“Okay.”
“And then… then I started to get to know more. And more. Not because of the job. Because I wanted to know. Then the more there was to know, the more there was to like.”
“So… you like me?” I asked, lips curving up.
“Something like that,” he agreed.
“And?” I asked.
He exhaled hard at that. “You’re killing me.”
“It’ll feel better to say it,” I promised him.
“Dunno about that but fine. Fuck it. And… I’m in this. I…”
“Go ahead,” I encouraged, reaching over to put my hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze.
“I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I had a shitty fucking childhood.”
“Yeah, I gathered.”
“With shitty fucking parents. Who didn’t give a fuck about me.
Not on my birthday. Not on the holidays.
So all that shit you see on TV, in movies, about kids coming down the hall to see the presents under the tree on Christmas morning, I didn’t get that.
” He sucked in a deep breath. “I guess what I’m saying is…
I get it now. You make it feel like Christmas morning. ”
I couldn’t tell you what the sound that escaped me then was. It was some kind of awful hybrid of a cry and a squeal. And it was loud enough to make Meatball startle, grumble, and climb off the bed via the storage ottoman at the bottom.
Venezio looked equally startled.
“That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Bandages making it impossible to climb onto him, I reached for him instead, pulling his head down on my chest and wrapping my arms tightly around him.
“No nuzzling,” I grumbled after a moment.
“Why not?”
“Well, you know how I ran for like two hours in slippers?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I also did it without a bra on,” I told him, cupping one of my boobs. “They’re angry.”
Venezio pressed a kiss to each one before pushing up as the buzzer sounded. “I can make ‘em happy later. Right now, gotta do something about that stomach growling.”
“Hey, Venezio?” I called as he reached the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“I’m in this too,” I told him.
“Yeah?” he asked, eyes warm.
“Yeah.”
I had no idea what that might mean in the long term. What it might be like to date someone in the mafia. If his “Family” would accept me. If my nerves could handle the danger, the uncertainty.
But I did know that I wanted to try.
Because in such a short time, Venezio had managed to fill that void of loneliness I was starting to worry might never go away, might always be a part of me, putting a damper even on the things I loved the most.
Maybe I made Venezio feel like Christmas morning.
But he made me feel like those precious moments after the presents were opened, the food shoveled in, and there was nothing but a bone-deep contentment as you sat on the couch under a blanket with some silly Christmas movie on the TV but you were watching the tree lights dance instead.
He made me feel like traditions falling into place.
Though, yeah, if we ended up as a forever sort of thing, I’d be totally fine if we didn’t make running for our lives through the city a tradition of ours.
“Pizza,” Venezio said, coming back into the bedroom.
But pizza? Pizza could absolutely be one.