I walk toward Reese, as she stands at the display. On cue, Giovanni Salvatore Giugliano removes his Vuitton sunglasses. His eyes land on mine. “I was waiting to meet the famous Zaccaro. Cosenza, right?” Giovanni mentions my family’s hometown in Italy. “Very touristy,” his lips curve in distaste. “But your Italian, that Vande… whatever his name was. It’s good that things didn’t work in his favor.”
I stand before Reese. My forearm pushing her toward the back exit, but she won’t budge. She’s glued to me as her confusion yields to fright.
“Signor Giugliano, you're not welcome here,” I assure.
His fat jaw curves upward into a smile. “You keep our girl safe, until I'm ready to settle down. Spend some time working on my great-grandson, capiche?”
“Like I just said,” I begin again, jaw tensed, hands balled at my side. “You are not welcome around this bakery. If I so much as hear of you lurking near Reese, you and I will have a motherfucking problem. Know what I’m saying?”
“You're a soldier. I like that. Because of me, you are a MADE MAN, Valentino. Stay that way.” Those eyes tell me Giovanni’s crew is right outside but he doesn't need a single one to help him.
Reese begins to curl behind me. Her grandfather picks up the box of goodies, he gestures toward his granddaughter. “Reese's Pieces–”
“You can't call me that anymore,” her voice is tiny, yet strong.
“Okay, doll. When you're ready,” he gazes at her lovingly, then his eyes slither over mine as if to tell me I’m in this too.
“Was it two or three more times here before the new Flour?” He inquires. She is mute. Giovanni nods, “Alright, see you next month.”
30
Evan
January…TWO MONTHS LATER
“The first person who dies has to cook dinner!” Reese shouts, voice full of playfulness as I lean against the doorframe of the entrance of her apartment. There are boxes everywhere. Low and behold, on top of the cardboard box to my left is a Super Soaker.
I sigh, shaking my head. “No fair, Reese, I've had a long day at work. You've made cupcakes.”
“Whatever, Evan. I resent that. Not to downplay baking, but I’ve actually been arguing with the moving company all day. They’re charging me by the room, as if a hallway and a smidge of a bathroom count. Now, pick up the gun,” she says.
“Alright, but I should warn you, I've had to handle my Beretta today, Reese's Pieces. So I'm already warmed up.” I grab the lime-green plastic handle of the water gun. In a sinful tone, I add, “Prepare to get wet for me.”
Instead of having the last word, Reese is a ball of giddiness as she sniggers. There’s a cocky smile on my face, along with a few gashes from being in the line of duty. I start into the living room, back against a wall of cardboard boxes, I proceed toward the hallway.
“Keep laughing, Reese, mark my words, you’ll be wet. Thanks for allowing me to pinpoint your location.”
The laugher coming from the bedroom is now stifled. I suspect Reese has a hand over her mouth.
“St… stop trying to get in my head. No friggen cop spidey-senses allowed, that’s cheating,” she shouts.
When I peer just inside the bedroom, the canopy posts have been removed, the bed is all post and mattress. Red, glossy toes are peeking out from behind the bedroom dresser. BINGO.
Reese hops up from her hiding position, and I take the shot. She does too.
Her white camisole, which was already clinging to her skin, is now outlined by pink, hard nipples. I smile. Until I look down at my nuts. Head cocked just so, I tell her, “Right in the fucking sack, really?”
A smile beams on Reese’s face. “Looks like someone needs a diaper.”
“You're a riot, my shot is more lethal.” I again aim at her chest, and continue to spray. Her silky skin is dripping wet as she comes around her hiding spot. “Beautiful, I’m hungry, I believe you made the rules, right?”
I reach down and my lips brush across her forehead.
“Oh no, Evan. Granted, you shot me in the friggen tit, but I shot you in the balls first.”
“So that’s your story and you’re sticking to it?” I arch an eyebrow.
Reese leans into me. “You betcha. But you can be my sous chef.”
With a smile on my face, I decide she’ll pay later. She lingers in my arms. As I hold her tight, I cannot imagine my life before her and becoming so obsessed with a case. Reluctantly I step away from her curves.
Reese and I head into the kitchen. “Get a tomato and the bunch of squash out the fridge,” she says.
“Hmmm, sous chef sounds more like slave?” I inquire, opening the stainless steel door. A split second later, I fall in love with this woman all over again. When I glance at her sideways, Reese is all smiles. There’s baked ziti with sausage, already prepped and ready to go into the oven. I exclaim, “This is why I love you, and you made my favorite?”
The bright smile on Reese’s face wavers for a moment. The words to say she loves me too are dangling at the tip of her tongue. Only, she just doesn’t have it in her to verbally reciprocate. “Yeah right, Evan. The panna cotta is already set. All you have to do is place dinner in the oven, okay, slave?” She says. “Then take a shower, stinky.”
I step before her, planting my palms on either side of the counter. The woman I love, who is too conflicted to utter such a simple adoration is caged between myself and the cupboards. My throat vibrates, almost likened to the deep purr of a lion as I lean in, nudge my nose against her and inhale the sweetness of her skin.
The scent of black berries, strawberries, blueberries from the panna cotta and her, the fucking sweet scent that’s match to no other is embedded on
