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I knew leaving New York that I could never really entertain the idea of being involved with someone, certainly not so soon after leaving. It has been less than a year and papa is still hunting for me. I continue to look over my shoulder everywhere I go, and my life is a quiet one because of that fact. I only move from home to the bar and back, alternating spending nights here with Alf and Sofia and then nights on my own.
I take a different walking route each day I come here, and I leave and arrive at different times. There is no routine or standard day for me, and it is mentally exhausting, but it needs to be this way because I know my papa won’t stop until he has found me. I am his little girl, after all. I can occasionally step out of the area, like heading to the park on Sunday or going to grab a coffee, but that is really it. I can’t be anywhere too crowded or enclosed.
Being close to Marco is a really bad idea. It is too dangerous. Marco’s life is too public; everyone knows him, and he has paparazzi following him everywhere he goes. It is just too unsafe for me. I shake my head to dislodge my thoughts and start walking to the front of the bar to serve the next customer. I look up to greet the next in line, and I look into the very eyes that I want to drown in right now.
“You okay, beautiful?” Marco asks, inquisitively and tenderly as his eyes dart from me to Alf and back again. He looks worried for me, and it melts my heart a little, but I need to toughen up. Feel no fear, feel no pain, I chant over and over in my mind as I try to harden my heart and reassemble the walls that he manages to bring down every time we are near each other.
It is not lost on me that he called me beautiful, and I blush a little which makes him grin. I smile, feeling like a giddy school girl. I am not able to look him in the eye and lie, so I say the first thing I can think of, “Would you like another?”
He nods, in reply and holds up four fingers, indicating he wants drinks for each of his friends too. I nod, but before I can turn to grab the beers from the fridge, Alf comes up and stands right beside me.
“You go have your break, Diletto. I will take this one.” I look at him and nod, because the tone he used left no room for questions. I give a quick remorseful smile to Marco and start to step away from the bar.
I know Alf wants Marco to disappear and will probably ask him to do just that. And that makes me sad, but I know it is for the best and I know Alf thinks that too. So, I do what any good girl does, I turn and walk away, making my way to the back room of the bar. I don’t look back. Not even for a second, because I know if I do, I will unravel.
5
Marco
I watch Frankie leave, looking downcast, and my eyes graze across her back to take in her pert backside one more time before she moves out of sight. She is one sexy woman, and I love the banter we have with each other, so I am not happy that she is gone now because the old guy dismissed her.
My attention then turns toward the older man who is now reaching into the fridge and getting the beers for me. I wonder why he felt it necessary to step into our connection. To be honest, I am a little pissed off at the intrusion, but I can only assume he has a good reason. I wait patiently as he gets the beers and try to simmer my anger.
My eyes quickly flick back to the door behind the bar to see if I can spot her. There is no movement, no one else coming or going, and no indication that Frankie will be returning. I sigh in disappointment; we were just starting to get to know each other, and now I have lost her again.
This woman has a hold on my attention like no other, and I have a lot of females that constantly vie for it. But there is just something about her. Yes, she is hot as fuck, but she also seems smart and funny. She calls me out. I like her.
The older guy called Frankie, Diletto, which I think is Italian, but I will Google it as soon as I get back to the boys at our table. Thinking about Frankie; she does have an olive complexion, dark eyes, and a no bullshit attitude, though none of those things necessarily mean she is Italian. But this guy behind the bar, he very much looks Italian. A big Italian man with an accent that slightly gives him away.
As he puts the beers on the bar top in front of me, he opens them one by one, flipping the lids off with expertise. He then stands to his full height and looks at me dead in the eyes. I gulp a little because for an old guy, he has an intimidating presence about him. And to be honest, he looks a little dangerous. I am not scared by any means, but I can see him and Frankie have some sort of connection so I want to be open to hear whatever it is he looks like he is going to say to me.
“You and your friends are welcome here at any time, and I don’t want any trouble, but you need to stay away from Frankie. Nothing good will come of it, and you will get hurt.”
I straighten up to my full height, not wanting to be subdued by this old guy but wanting to be respectful all the same. I nod. “Thank you for the beers, and I appreciate your words, but...”
“It’s not a request, son. It’s a warning. You need to stay away from her. Far, far away.” He cuts me off, reinstating his earlier remarks and crosses his arms over his chest. He gives off an air of authority; his shoulders are broad, like a bouncer from a club or a soldier of war, and I have to say, I am a little dumbfounded. This is more than just a friendly warning from a concerned boss. His tone indicates that he is deadly serious and that this is quite a heavy threat.
My eyes remain on him, I don’t shrink away.
“And if I don’t?” I say in return. I know I am asking for trouble; I don’t even know who this guy is, but I know he is serious so I want to tread carefully. I am now intrigued, and keen to understand their connection. He is extremely protective of her, of that I have no doubt.
“You are one of Boston’s wealthiest bachelors and are probably used to getting what you want, when you want. But you need to listen to me and heed my words. Stay away from her.” He nearly spits out the last few words of his sentence and his eyes are now angry. He is purely menacing as I look at him in shock. He is dead serious.
Clearly he knows who I am, and I wonder what it is about me that he despises so much. Sure there is a lot of gossip and history that comes with my name, but not enough to warrant such a warning, especially when he doesn’t know me personally. Before I can say anything further, his stance softens and he grabs a white cloth that was resting next to him on the bar and flings it over his shoulder.
“They’re on the house,” he says before pushing off the bar and walking off out the back door to follow Frankie wherever she went just moments before. I watch as he leaves, like a man on a mission and wonder what exactly is waiting behind that door and what would happen if I followed him.
But I won’t. Instead, I grab the four beers that lay untouched on the bar top and walk back to the small wooden table to where my brothers are sitting. I slump in my seat, deflated and curious, rubbing my eyes with my hands to try and get my head straight.
The conversation around the table ceases and all eyes are on me. I blow out the breath I was holding and take a swig of my beer, then lean back into my seat, pondering the conversation I just had. The other three do the same, all copying my moves while they wait for me to talk.
“What’s going on?” Jake is first to ask, his skill in assessing situations is astounding. He was probably lip reading the entire conversation I had with the old guy at the bar if he was watching.
I look at all three of them, running my hand through my hair as I start relaying the story. I tell them all about meeting Frankie at the park on Sunday and how I felt about our instant chemistry, then to seeing her again here tonight. I tell them about the spark I feel with her, our connection, and how the old guy has now warned me to stay away from her.
Shaun looks concerned and a little pissed, his big brother protective mode coming out in him just a little. Stephen is looking around the bar, watching the bar staff and looking for the old guy or Frankie, but neither of them have returned from out the back. Jake is nodding, listening intently to every detail I am relaying to them, memorizing it all.
“That is some crazy ass warning. Who do you think the old guy is? Her Boss? Her Dad?” Stephen asks the very questions that have been bouncing around in my head for the past 15 minutes. I shrug because I am at a loss.
