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“Peroni, please” he replies, and as she reaches into the fridge to grab a bottle, Shaun looks at me quickly and gives me a smirk like he has caught me in the act. Frankie stands back in front of us, opens the bottle and passes it to Shaun.
“He will fix you up,” Shaun says pointing to me with a grin, and he leaves just as quickly as he arrived.
“What about you?” Frankie asks me again.
“Your number.” Okay, so perhaps I’m not being as low key as I could be, but fuck, I want to get to know this girl. I would all but beg her at this point.
Frankie laughs. “I’m sorry, I don’t give out my number.”
“Not even for the King?” I say smiling, hoping that may be enough to convince her.
“Not even for the King.” I am disappointed because women usually throw their number at me; I don’t usually have to ask for it. Of course, the one time I do ask, I get shot down. And her number is the only one I’ve ever wanted. But she is smiling and doesn’t appear to be in a hurry to stop talking. So, I keep going, wanting to do exactly that with her for the rest of the night. The bar is quiet, so it may be a possibility.
“So, you work here?” I say as I look around the place. Having not been here before, I gaze around the small bar which has a nice homey neighborhood feel to it. It isn’t a place people would seek out, but rather a local bar where just those living on the nearby streets would know about. It has dark wood decor, a few booths, the stools around the bar seem mainly full of locals, and there is a jukebox in the corner where a few women are holed up while they select music and steal glances at the boys from afar.
My brothers are at the pool tables, having a friendly game as they catch up and there are a few tables scattered around where people are eating dinner. A TV is on in the corner showing the latest sports game, and an older guy is the only one behind the bar with Frankie. He looks like he may own the place or be the manager given his casual stance while talking to some men a few meters away at the other end of the bar.
“I do,” she answers and gives me nothing else, not that my ridiculous question merited more than that. I decide that I need to take the hint that this girl who has my dick hard just by breathing and has haunted my thoughts for the better part of a week just isn’t into me.
“Peroni,” I say to her and see her eyes flick with disappointment which is quickly and expertly replaced with a well-practiced smile. She grabs another bottle and after opening it, passes it to me on the bar where I grab it and our fingers graze again. Our eyes shoot up to meet each other’s, and there and then I know that my feelings are not one-sided. I smirk, grab my beer, and walk off to my brothers to leave her to work. But I will be back, that she can be sure of.
4
Frankie
Damn it. I was so close to keeping my distance from him, but that last touch undid me. I mentally scold myself for being so stupid to believe that what my heart wants, it can get. I take a deep breath and wipe down the counter, then set to work cleaning the benches behind the bar. I release my frustrations with the cleaning cloth as I scrub back and forth. The dirt and fingerprints leave the gloss timber bench after the first few swipes, but I continue to rub at it like a mad woman, not paying any attention to the actual cleaning.
I am totally lost in my own mind. My inner angel and devil sit on opposite shoulders as I try to look at this situation from every angle. I can’t even entertain the idea of being with someone like Marco Marshall, even though the universe seems intent on pushing us together. He is too well known, too popular, a regular feature on most gossip sites and social media channels. I need peace and quiet—seclusion.
I am doing okay at work tonight considering it’s my first shift back after cutting my hand. It still throbs a little and is heavily bandaged, but it will be as good as gold in no time. My left hand is getting used to working harder each day to replace my right and while it is nowhere near as efficient, I am managing just fine.
Today is also my first day out of my house since my brother told me to lay low, so I am relieved to be out and seeing people once again. Four days in lock down was so hard this time. Usually, I take the time to just relax, reading books and watching TV, but this time, all I could think about was Marco. My body wouldn’t relax, because it was vibrating at a steady level of desire all week. Even my battery friend couldn’t unwind the tension I felt when I thought of him. And I thought a lot about him these past few days. I need to add batteries to my shopping list.
I huff and puff as I clean the bar, mumbling to myself as I try to talk my mind and body down from the ledge that is Marco Marshall. Because right now, with the way I am feeling, all riled up about him, I am likely to forgo all consequences and jump the bar to go perch myself on his lap.
Marco Marshall is all man and my body reacts to his like dynamite. I watch him from the corner of my eyes through the mirror at the back of the bar enjoying the banter he has with his friends and brother. When he smiles, it lights up his entire face. Although the bar is small, they have the attention of all the other patrons, and they are clearly used to it because they don’t seem the least bit uncomfortable that nearly every eye in this place is on them.
“Do you know those Marshall boys?” Alf asks. Alf is the fifty-year-old owner of this bar and a longtime friend of our family—before my papa double-crossed him. Alf is also my godfather or Parrinu in Italian. He’s balding and cuddly around the waist from too much of his wife, Sofia’s, delicious homemade pasta, and inside, he’s like the loveable father I should have had. He, Sebastian, and I kept in touch over the years, secretively of course, and now Alf is one of our only confidants.
He is on my side and knows all about me and my history, having experienced it firsthand himself. Aside from Sebastian, Alf and Sofia are the only other people who know who I really am.
My papa, Alessandro, is from a long line of Italians from Sicily, and in New York, he is the leader of the Men of Honor. Although, I don’t see a lot of honor in what they do. He met and married my mama in Sicily before immigrating to New York when they were younger, setting up new roots here in the USA where they are now popular by name and reputation. It was not long after they arrived in New York that my parents met Alf and Sofia, and the four of them formed a solid friendship that lasted over twenty years.
Unfortunately, papa used Alf by putting him in front of the enemy while papa made a clear getaway from a drug trafficking meeting that went wrong. It was pure luck that Alf managed to escape after 24 hours of torture. I remember the night he made it home to our place. He was unrecognizable from his wounds and stayed for only a few days to mend before papa paid him money to start a new life elsewhere. Alf and Sofia then moved here to Boston and opened this bar.
That was the first time I truly saw my papa for what he really was and understood that family meant both everything and nothing to him. Alf and Sofia left New York ten years ago and haven't seen or heard from my papa since. Their bond is now totally broken.
“Not really, I ran into Marco at the park on the weekend and he remembered me.” I tell Alf everything, because I know he has my back. That and because he knows when I am lying so there is no point even trying. He didn’t spend years working with my papa to not learn anything from his time being second in charge of the family.
Alf might look like a gentle giant, but he is still capable of a lot of things. He is not someone to be crossed. Everything you could think of, he has done. He has kidnapped, tortured, even killed; I am sure of it. Many of them more than once.
“Well, it looks like he did more than remember you, Diletto, because he has been watching you all night. I know you know getting involved with him is a really bad idea, but let me remind you, that getting involved with him is a really bad idea, Diletto,” Alf says quietly, leaning down to whisper in my ear, using the Italian term of endearment for me knowing that it softens my heart when he does.
My eyes flick to Marco as Alf is telling me this and Marco is looking right at us. He is probably trying to work us out, and no doubt already wondering who Alf is and why he is standing so close to me.
I look back at Alf. “I know, all right, I know. I just...” I can’t even get out my words because I know what he is saying is all correct. I am frustrated at myself and throw the rag onto the bench, crossing my arms in a huff. I do need to stay away, I just can’t. There is a magnetic pull like nothing I have ever experienced before, and it is pulling me toward Marco.
“Just nothing, Diletto, all right. It can’t happen. It can never happen.” Alf says a little louder like he is trying to drum it into my head and my shoulders slump as he walks away to serve a customer down at the other end of the bar. I grimace at his words because I know I shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of getting to know Marco, but the woman in me, really, really wants to get to know Marco. He makes me feel like no one has even made me feel before and we barely even know each other.
