“Yes,” he moves forward, laying his elbows on his knees. He takes my hands in his as he swivels towards me, then looks me in the eye. I can’t think straight and the touch of his hands on mine excite me and scare me. I can’t pull my hands away if I tried. And I don’t want to pull them away, it’s like coming home at night to find the porch light is on. He’s thinking of me.
“My brother has been brought in for questioning. I think it’s in our best interest to return to the scene of the crime and see what we can find.”
His slender but strong hands are warm and they hold mine just right, the right about of pressure, the sensitivity level is sending off warning bells, he’s so close, and his voice is smooth, infectious. I want to listen to him talk for hours.
“That’s drastic. I don’t know, we’re not detectives, what if we do find something? What then?”
My pussy is pulsating for something that’s not battery operated and if he so much as touched me there, or kissed me, I’m powerless. I won’t be able to turn him away.
But why do I need to say ‘no’? I’m free.
“Then we have more than we do now.”
“What’s your stake in it?”
He pulls his hands back. “Fair enough.” He sits straight and crosses his right leg over his left knee, “I want the guilty person to go to prison, not a member of my family.”
“Could that happen? I thought you guys didn’t do it.”
“Nothing is impossible,” he puts his foot down abruptly. “We need to go over what happened that night, look at the registration list and see if we can find any hotel workers who might remember something.”
I lean forward so I can stare him in the eyes. “This is crazy.”
“Yes, it is. But some things and accidents yield the greatest inventions. All we need is a smoking gun,” he says, and he chuckles.
I can’t help but giggle because he sounds likeInspector Gadgetreruns I saw on old VCR tapes as a kid to help me learn English. Of which, I never fully grasped the show, but the inspector was funny.
“Look, we have nothing to lose, we might even have fun. I’ll pick you up in the morning at ten.”
“Alright.” As crazy as it sounds, it’s worth a shot.
He pops up, stretches his long legs and buttons his coat. “Great.”
I walk him to the door where he turns, kisses me on each cheek, says good night and slides into his sports car that’s parked on the street.
I close the door and lean my back on it. Am I crazy? I’ve got to pack and make sure Mila covers the store.
Holly shit, I’m leaving town tomorrow. I wonder if I should show him the little black book but I decide it is safer on me than in a box of tampons under my bathroom sink, after I take pictures of the pages, I put it in the lining of my worn purse. Just in case something bad happens to my home.
I’m beginning to feel like Jackie O. Is this what it is like being in the midst of what might be a conspiracy theory?That just seems like a black and white movie playing in an endless loop for over twenty years.
I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want to be stuck in this nightmare. If Marchello wants to help, why not?
My angst turns into excitement because Marchello thinks I’m smart, but let’s face it, the smart girl rarely gets the hot guy. However, we need answers.
Our families might be at war in a sense, but I don’t want any innocent people framed for murder. I don’t want Marchello hurt or his family for that matter. Besnik’s war with the Micheli’s isn’t my war.
And even if it was, I’d be tempted by that devil in a trench coat with slick words and a hot tongue.
It’s not even ten in the morning and sure as shit, Marchello knocks on my door, he has a Mercedes van waiting for us in the street. I have one suitcase by the door and a man with him, in a black suit and looks Israeli is his shadow, reaches inside my door and grabs my luggage.
“Let’s go,” he grumbles, turning to the van.
“Ciao, let’s go.”
“Who is that? Armed guard?”
“Great friend to the family.”