She appears not to notice the change in my attitude, and continues, “Only that my father is well known, but I don’t know how. Sure, he’s friendly and he did some charity work. But he put on airs and Albanians don’t live like that.”
“I don’t know much. I’ve just seen him around clubs,” I say, hoping I’m being vague enough.
“Clubs? What clubs?”
“There are many, Prende, I’m sure he’s at taverns with his friends and at times the younger guys want women and a new place.” I lean forward and resume eating.
“Oh.” She slides back in her seat. “I never thought of that. But a hundred people bought flowers, that’s a bit much for our quiet life. I don’t understand it. Lately, I don’t understand much where he’s concerned.”
“What do you mean?” I play along in the hopes of a reward or a slip up by the end of the twenty questions.
“Ugh,” she throws her hands up, “I’m so over my uncle controlling things and answering none of my questions.”
“It takes time for estates to be settled,” I remind her.
“Yeah, I suppose.” She carefully re-wraps her sandwich and checks my sandwich like she needs to be somewhere else.
I take my last bite, crumple the paper in my hand, wipe my mouth and toss it all in the trash can at the end of her desk. I stand up and it feels good to stretch my long legs.
“I must be going. I’ll leave you be tomorrow. It’s bound to be emotional, but you’ll be okay.”
“Really?” She stands and I follow her to the cooler, where she puts her sandwich next to the flowers.
“I believe you are quite capable.”
Her smile radiates to my groin, both are growing in the depth and breath of their circumferences. I button my coat, the one I left on to make this a quick visit and now it helps with a hasty exit. I say goodbye without kissing her cheeks this time.
Damn, I missed feeling her close to me, but I’d rather not poke her in the stomach with my boner. I can’t get out the door fast enough and dash to a café within sight of her shop. I’m convinced she’s up to something and determined to find out what it is.
I order an espresso, which is great after all that food. I stand inside the café, next to the window, watching Prende’s shop.
Just as the wind picks up, Prende leaves her shop wearing a short coat and carrying her purse.
I set my cup on the counter and sprint out the door.
She is careful to look both ways and occasionally checks her six to see if she’s being followed, but I stay out of sight.
Curious behavior for sure. After three blocks, she stops and talks to a young man on the corner. It looks like she hands him something and when she turns, she’s holding an envelope.
Fuck me, it has to be the results of the autopsy. I thought she was too busy working on flower arrangements to play detective at the coroner’s office.
She opens it, reading it quickly as she shelters away from the wind. Then, she folds it and slips it in her purse.
I text Dante, letting him know what’s going on and follow her back to the shop.
A smirk forms on my lips as I realize she might not be in bed with the mafia, but her actions and instincts are spot on. Either she’s being coached or she’s a natural.
Either way, let the games begin. And I’m good at games.
8
Prende
Mila peppers me with questions about Marchello, digging for more details, as she follows me around the shop.
“That’s sweet, Marchello stopping by—again and bringing you lunch. Someone has an admirer,” she teases me.
“Maybe.” I don’t mean to sound terse, but I’ve got a lot on my mind as I cover the counter with flowers and start snipping the ends off the stems.