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No, I gulped and got tingly.
It's obviously just something in his pocket. Like what, Ava? A water bottle? A flashlight? A fucking traffic cone?
Realizing I am squatting at eye-level with this man’s crotch as I mentally try to determine what the bulge in his pants is, I quickly stand up straight. Even fully standing I have only made it to eye level with his chest, which is comparatively as massive as his thighs. His chest is only further accentuated by his broad shoulders and the pristinely pressed white button-down shirt hugging his torso.
My eyes continue from his muscular frame to his face. He has a broad jaw and chiseled cheekbones that put Cillian Murphy to shame. When I meet his eyes, they nearly take my breath away. They are hazel, but like a golden caramel. I have never seen anything like them in my life.
As though he is oblivious to the fact that I just eye-fucked him, he flatly states, “I’m looking for Frank.”
“I’m sorry,” I bumble back, “we aren’t open yet and Frank isn’t here.”
“I didn’t ask if you are open. I clearly said I needed to speak with Frank.”
Putting my keys in the door, I unlock it and push it open to step inside.
“And I clearly said Frank isn’t here,” I sternly repeat, pushing the door shut behind me.
Only it doesn’t shut. His large hand is pressed against the door and he is holding it open. Trying to press it shut is useless. His sheer size alone, I am no match for his strength.
“Let Frank know that I will be back this afternoon,” his voice is stern and demanding, “and he better be here.”
“And who are you?”
“Just tell him Sal sent me. Do you think you can remember thatpiccola pesca,” he lets go of the door and has disappeared down the sidewalk as quickly as he arrived.
“Picco…what,” I mumble to myself.
Did he just fucking swear at me?
Pushing the door shut, I lock it before dropping my things on the counter. It only takes me a few minutes to get the store ready to open. Promptly at eight, I unlock the door and put up the open sign.
ChapterFive
Lorenzo
My morning is spent driving around the city collecting various debts for the family – mostly gambling and loans. It has been a relatively uneventful morning, with everyone promptly paying up on the debts they owe or providing us with information regarding the other families.
Everyone except Frank. He has always been a problem, and he is the reason I am out here doing a job that we should be able to send almost any one of the guys out to take care of. Yet, he has somehow been managing to avoid them for the past month – just like he managed to avoid me this morning.
After a few more stops, including one at Carmine’s for lunch, I intend to head back over there. Hopefully that petite little blond with the perky ass passed on my message to Frank, because I do not intend to have to come back to this shit area of the city again.
Although, seeing that round ass peeking out of those little shorts does make the trip back almost worthwhile.
It is a little after two in the afternoon when I make my way back across town to the little produce store to get Frank to pay up. Parking at the first open spot I see on the block, I climb out and begin walking towards the store.
Frank spots me as I approach and hurries inside. Sprinting the last few feet, I shove my body into the door frame before he has a chance to close it. Pushing myself inside, I close and lock the door behind me.
“We don’t need to make this difficult Frank,” my words dry as I slowly stalk towards him.
With every step I take, he continues to back away from me until he has backed himself against the register.
"I...I don’t have it,” Frank stammers at me.
“Frank,” I walk close enough to him to grab a fistful of his shirt, “you owe the Botticelli’s a lot of fucking money. We don’t just forget about half a million dollars.”
“M…m…maybe we can work something out.”
“We aren’t a fucking bank Frank,” I pull on his shirt lifting his feet off the ground and throwing him onto the counter, “We don’t do payment plans.”
