Page 6 of Claimed By a Capo


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“I'm sorry. I found it.” I hold up my phone. My heart is beating so fast in my chest that it feels like it will burst out any moment now. “It fell to the bottom.”

“Oh good. It looks like we need to order you another drink.” Marcello takes a sip from his drink and waves a hand at the bartender.

“Actually, I need to head out.”

"So soon?"

“Yeah...”

We exchange numbers, but I give him a fake name and number knowing there’s no way I can see him after tonight.

Marcello turns around to face me again with a wide smile on his face. He leans closer to whisper in my ear, “I’ll walk you out to catch a cab.”

“I’d like that.”

CHAPTERTHREE

MARCELLO BERNARDI

I slapthe alarm clock off the nightstand, and the small device falls to the marble flooring. The glass splinters and the crashing sound echoes in my ears. I sit up on the bed, head banging like there’s a percussion festival within my skull.

I click the remote on my bedside table out of habit and my automatic shades lift letting the morning sun in.

For a couple of seconds, I can’t get my bearings. I feel like shit. Sounds echo in my head, and my eyes are forced into a permanent squint from the bright rays of the sun. I feel sick, vomit caught up in my throat. My feet are numb. Basically, I feel fucked up. And it’s strange because I didn’t have too much to drink last night at the club.

The details are clear in my head. I’d finished my drink after that girl left, and then I’d gone out to the dance floor. Everything after that is a blur.

Unable to keep the sickness off any longer, I scramble off the bed and rush to the bathroom to let it all out. After throwing up everything in my belly, I lean over the sink, making dry heaves.

At least I still remember the things that happened earlier in the night. I remember the music, the dancing, and the sexual tension between that curvy girl in the blue dress and me. And the sex itself was just as memorable.

It was short and passionate. I can't remember the last time I had it that good with a random girl.

I flush the toilet and splash water on my face. The ringing in my head has gone down a notch, but I’m still feeling achy and sick to my stomach. This isn’t the best time to deal with a hangover because I have a delivery to oversee.

My eyes dart to the bathroom mirror, and I see a red smudge on my neck. That's the girl’s lipstick. I wet my hands and clean it off.

“Fuck,” I groan, staggering back to the bedroom.

I have no idea how I got back here last night. The last thing I remember is sharing a drink with that girl after the sex. Then we’d sat at the edge of the club, laughing, sharing a drink. I drop to the bed, still drying my face with a fluffy towel.

I have a solid memory. It’s impossible to work for Don Giorgio if you don’t remember every detail—faces, places, dollar amounts. He throws so many things at you that it’s hard to keep up. But you must juggle everything and keep moving. If he smells laxity at any point, he delivers his judgment, sweet and furious like a beast.

No one ever wants to get on Giorgio’s bad side.

The broken alarm clock ticks on, even though it’s in pieces now. I bend to pick it up and observe its state then I toss it into the thrash.

“What the fuck happened last night?” I ask my walls as if they can talk.

Thoughts of the girl in the club and how I got back home last night continue to plague me, but I have shit to do.

* * *

In two hours,I drive into town to hit the gym to get my blood pumping. Tonight, I’m overseeing the distribution of narcotics from the warehouse. When it comes to Giorgio's merchandise, punctuality is everything. I remember how he once blinded a man for arriving five minutes late. Now, the poor guy wears an eye patch.

I sip on honey and lemon water for the hangover and change into a workout outfit. The grogginess has worn off now, but the headache persists. A distant reminder of what a whirlwind yesterday night had been.

I’m on my first cycle of cardio when my secret line rings. When that fucker sounds, I have to answer. It’s connected to the business. Giorgio’s business. The confusing thing is, I don’t expect to handle anything delivery until tonight.

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