Across the street, Lenny the Lobster and a couple of other thugs watch closely with their hands near their weapons but don’t interfere. Whose side will they take?
“Leave, Paolo. I mean it.” As she points, her shotgun toting mom appears in the doorway, and a collared priest ambles up the sidewalk.
“Trouble, Rose?” The ancient man glares at her ex in the way holy men have been doing since the dawn of time.
I have no doubt he just prayed for Paolo to jump off a bridge or some other equally unfortunate accident.
He-who-should-not-be-named frowns. “None, Father O’Connell, I was just leaving.”
As he shuffles off, the priest looks me up and down. “And you are?”
“The bodyguard.” I offer my hand and he shakes it firmly.
“God bless you, my son and leave her be.”
“Yes sir. I will.” Holy fuck, if anyone else warns me off, I may enter the priesthood myself.
On cue, a gray tabby missing one eye trots to my feet, stops, and growls. “You too, dude? I assure you my intentions are honorable.”
Chapter 6
Rose
It’s hard to believe only two days ago, I was skating at Rockefeller Plaza in Manhattan, and had the most amazing kiss of my life. Tonight, I’m back to the same ol’ Rose who hasn’t the balls or the income to refuse a blind date. Gah, could I be more pathetic?
The gray sky, gray buildings, and gray sidewalk match my mood as my boots crunch over a grave of this morning’s frozen footprints. Christmas decorations serve to remind me how I’ve managed to reach the end of another year and made no progress. Like the movie, Groundhog Day, I’m stuck in an endless loop but unlike Bill Murray, I never learn anything.
Wheels, the primary reason for my foul mood, walks beside me, his eyes darting. The giant, glaring, grumbly-puss hasn’t said two words since lunchtime. Is it my fault my family is overprotective?
Why am I constantly compelled to apologize to him? “I said I was sorry.”
An unsatisfactory grunt comes from his chest and as he increases his stride, my breath creates clouds of steam. If the temperature keeps dropping, city pipes will burst, and we’ll be boiling drinking water for days.
At the intersection, he stops, and I poke the bear. “You do know glowering is not considered language.”
His lips purse, his eyes narrow, and his mouth remains in a thin, grim line.
The silent treatment? What are we, twelve? “Hey, it’s not my fault the ex-who-shall-not-be-named showed up.”
When he responds with an eye-roll, I give up. “Fine. Be like that.”
I never asked for a bodyguard and I sure as hell don’t need him. By the time we arrive home, I’ve had enough and shove my phone at him. “I’m going out and don’t try to stop me. If you want to discuss it with my Uncle Vinny, press nine. He’s on speed dial.”
Inside, I take off my gloves and lean into the downstairs apartment. A large pot bubbles on the stove filling the kitchen with eau de sausage and tomatoes. “Yo, Joey. You home?”
A few moments later, my shirtless, wet-headed cousin pops his head out of a back room, buckling up his jeans. “Whadda you want? I’m busy, here.”
I grab a spoon, dip it in the sauce, and blow. Taking a sip, I almost moan with delight. The gravy is as good as his mom’s but it’s fun to mess with him.
“Needs more oregano.” Rummaging through his spice cabinet, I sniff small containers and pile them on the orange countertop. “Any idea who Vinny set me up with?”
He ducks into a long-sleeved black shirt, approaches, then slaps my hands away from the pot. “Don’t touch. I maybe have a name. What’s it worth to ya?”
“I won’t murder you in your sleep?” I grin and when I pinch his cheek, he laughs.
“Promises, promises.”
“C’mon, Joey. Spill the beans. How bad is it?”
