There are toasts to Papa and I’m catering to guests I don’t know and probably won’t see again. Is any wake different?
At long last, the guests leave by late afternoon. Besnik’s breath smells of sweet brandy, I hate the smell of it. It reminds me of the nights Papa had too much of it and came home drunk, waking up the house and talking all night.
Now, my papa’s best friend sits at our old metal kitchen table, the one that looks like it came from the old country, and he sips on the coffee I place in front of him to sober him up.
“Thank you.”
“Sure.”
I finish drying dishes and glance at him sitting there alone, and I feel for him. He and papa went back to the old country and now he’s lost his best friend. He has no children of his own and no wife. I don’t think he will hurt me, but then again, I couldn’t bring myself to accept the truth about Papa and in my subconscious I knew he wasn’t honest with me. But I went with it just the same.
“Remember, what I tell you now is true. I’m trying to help you. You have to believe me when I say what I’m doing is in your best interests.” He wraps his hand around the hot cup and drinks it even though the room is warm.
“I know.” There’s no benefit in disagreeing. I’m better off behaving like the girl he’s known because if I ask questions, he might get suspicious. Besides, the real killer is on the loose. He could be sitting right in front of me.
11
Marchello
It’s midnight when my phone chirps with a generic text alert. I’m working the poker game and nothing needs my attention so I have time to check the message.
You were right.
It’s Prende. Great, now I have her cell phone. She just confirmed my hunch about her store being a front to launder money. It doesn’t surprise me. Her drive to succeed and be independent made her the perfect patsy. Plus, she’s trusting and naïve and they used that against her, which infuriates me.
Sorry, but I’m glad you know the truth.
I am sorry, sorry that she has to go through this. It’s strange, but I find it comforting knowing that she’s not connected.
I’m a criminal, I should be the last one to judge. I don’t know why it’s so important that I know this. Although it validates the fact that I’m a good judge of character. I didn’treallythink she was pretending to be innocent, however I’ve been on the streets long enough to know, it’s safer and smarter to assume everyone lies.
She is naïve but that’s changing, and apparently, she trusts me. This is very good and moving closer to me instead of farther away is fantastic.
She is an innocent in life and with men, of that I’m certain. Not many men have kissed her properly, judging by her eagerness yesterday. With the family’s reputation at stake, it makes sense daddy would want to control her social life and contacts.
My mind drifts back to her lips searching mine, and how she seemed surprised when I slipped my tongue into her mouth. I could have taken her then and there if we had more time. There’s always a tiny room in the back of these buildings.
I’m not a fan of virgins and yet I still want her. Just the memory of that stolen kiss in the museum makes me want more and my cock twitches. I’m glad tonight is easy as my mind isn’t on work and that never happens.
I don’t know if my uncle is in on it or not.
I don’t know either, but odds are good, they work for the same company.
I receive a text from Angelica, the hot model I’ve ignored all week. I reply with a vague response that keeps it open and doesn’t encourage a hookup. My cock needs servicing in a bad way, but this time, not just any woman will suffice.
Buona notte,I type to Prende.
She’s going to sleep. It’s about time, it’s one in the morning. I wish her sweet dreams and then berate myself for being such a pussy.
Sweet dreams my ass. I want to toss her like a salad and fuck the shit out of her showroom new pussy. I will fuck her so hard she’ll never look at another man.
After work, I head home, making sure I’m in the clear. The last thoughts on my mind tonight aren’t about money or the vig on the bets I’m carrying.
No, my thoughts are all about the sexy Albanian woman with the long brown curls, dark eyes and soft lips. I want her more than any woman who’s ever crossed my path.
But the Albanian mafia wants her as well.
No doubt her ‘family’ will try to screw her out of the store. Whether she owns it or not, it will belong to the ‘family’.