“Okay, Stella”—he gives a slight nod—“I want you to know that you can trust me. I’m not turning you in. I’m not breathing a word of this to the authorities or anyone else.”
“Why not?” I set my drink down and wipe my hands down over one another.
He gives a long blink. “I have nothing to gain, and I don’t want to hurt you.” There’s a sincerity in his voice and it slices through my solar plexus in the sweetest way.
Shep doesn’t want to hurt me.
Okay, I’ll admit, that little tidbit made me swoon, but in my defense I’ve just indulged in a carb-fest that is shooting off all sorts of happy endorphins in my brain.
I take a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll trust you. But while I’m in Starry Falls, and from here on out, my name is Bowie Binx. I’m sorry, Shep. I have too much to lose if anyone hears you.” Regina comes to mind. “And believe me, I’ve already ticked off all the right people in town. Regina Valentine would love to send me back to wherever I came from.” I give a little shrug. “She still has the hots for you.”
His brows depress at that thought. “Regina and I have a past. But I don’t want to waste any time talking about her.”
My lips curl on one side when he refers to Regina as a waste of time.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You want me to tell you all about my life and where it went wonky?”
He bears into me with that intense gaze of his. “I know all about your life—on the surface. I know you have a brother, a sister, a mother, a father in prison for a RICO charge. I know that the feds think you and your boyfriend—”
“Ex,” I practically shout the word as I hold up a hand to stop him from including that donkey as a part of my life.
“Your ex-boyfriend—I know that you were laundering money.”
“Wow, you’re good. And you’re all up to speed. Does that mean detention is over because I have a cross-stitching project I really need to get back to.”
He shakes his head, his heavy gaze never wavering from mine.
“Bowie”—he nods as he says my name as if acquiescing to my wishes—“I’d like you to tell me about your life—as a friend.”
“Oh, we’re friends now?” I meant for it to come out sarcastic, but something deep inside me warms at the thought. “Okay.” It comes out a touch softer. “But I don’t want you to treat me any different than you have been. I like you grouchy and aloof. No need to change on my behalf.”
“I’m not changing,” he says it with just the right ornery inflection to assure me of this. “Start with your family.”
“My family.” I take a quivering breath. “My brother, Lorenzo—he’s a couple years older than me—works on the waterfront. He is your quintessential Italian stallion. He likes fast cars, fast women, and even faster horses. He’s a bit of a gambler. Stephanie, my sister, she’s a year younger than me and works at a nail salon owned by her boyfriend’s mother.” I leave out the part that she’s transmundane like me. I doubt Shep is ready to hear about my ability to pry into the future, not that it’s ever done me any favors. “My favorite family member, Nana Rose, just so happens to be dead. My mother, Marie, is a maneater who likes her handbags new and pricey. And my father”—I close my eyes an inordinate amount of time—“Angelo Santini—he got a bad deal. He’s been in prison for almost a decade on that RICO you mentioned. He tried to cut a deal, wore a wire to do it, and now he’ll pay with his life if he ever gets out. Sadly, he’s safer where he is than he ever will be on the outside. My brother once said that if he does get out, it will be his last day on the planet. But you know all that because you write thrillers loosely based on my family.” I’ve been doing a little research myself.
He sheds a crooked smile. “What makes you think they’re about the Santinis?”
“You mentioned last month that you interviewed my father in prison as research for one of your books. The mobster math wasn’t hard.” Only at that time Shep didn’t know Angelo Santini was my dear daddy.
“Tell me about the rest of it. What’s your version of your father’s incarceration story? How did you get to be Bowie?”
“There are only two families in New Jersey who matter as far as the mob is concerned, the Fazios and the Morettis. Dad and his buddies were smuggling drugs into the country via Latin America for the Fazios. And thanks to my father’s misstep to wear a wire, the Fazios imploded. He took them down like a house of cards and the Morettis stepped up to fill the void. They essentially became deities in and of themselves overnight. It just so happened that my slimy ex, Johnny Rizzo, belonged to the Morettis—the exact family he thought fit to steal from. Of course, I helped.”
I glower at the fireplace as if it had just morphed into Johnny’s likeness with that hair he shellacked into a turtle shell and those bedroom eyes he used to lure women into his love den with.
Not only was Johnny cheating the Morettis, he was cheating me.
“Anyway”—I clear my throat—“we cleaned money for the mob through a donut place and a chop shop. Johnny thought we should go one step above and beyond in our illegal activity and steal a little for ourselves. We hopped over to a few other businesses with some of the dirty money and paid them to clean it for us. Come to find out, all of my fancy cars, clothes, and bags attracted the attention of the feds who were sniffing around.”
He nods. “And as soon as you and Johnny found out you were
