“I’ll answer this time,” I said.
She took the skillet from me and hid it behind her back. “I have a lot of pent up aggression, so I got this.” She nodded toward the door. “Open sesame.”
I took a step back, running into Keely after I had opened the door. “Guido.” His name slipped out before I could stop myself. He held a gold wrapped box in his hands.
“Do I have to whack him?” Keely whispered.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Good,” she said. “His face is too fine to mess up. If that singer who writes about all of her old flames ever saw this dude, she’d be writing songs about a guy named Guido.”
Guido eyed us both in the way that men do when they think the women in their presence are unstable. Then he grinned and said, “There is no need for violence. I have come in peace.”
We both gasped a little. It transformed his face.
“I used your name,” I blurted without thinking. “The night at The Club. It was wrong, but I thought they were going to bust me. I remembered you from Home Run, when Scarlett came to pick up the framed jersey for her husband.”
“Be careful,” he said, his tone serious, but there was mischief in those dark eyes. It made him hard to read. “My name is well known, but not all that know melikeme. They might have turned you away due to my name alone, or put you behind bars for my enemy to take apart. The name Fausti does not always guarantee safety. Sometimes it attracts trouble.”
“Shit, Mari!” Keely slapped my arm. “The Faustis!”
I turned a little and gave her a dirty look.
Guido seemed unfazed by her outburst. He held out the package for me to take. “Ilcapo.” He paused, fighting a grin. “He sent me to deliver a message. All that you need to begin is in the box.”
“Does she get to work from home?” Keely egged him on, taking this situation more seriously since she knew I’d scored the job, whatever it was.
“Instructions are in the package,” was all he said as he turned to leave.
“Guido,” I called, my voice barely above a whisper.
He stopped and turned to me. The sun hit his dark chocolate eyes and they glistened.Fucka me.What were these men eating in Italy? They were almost too good looking to be true.
“What doesilcapomean?” I asked.
“It meansthe bossin Italian.” He laughed. He laughed all the way to his expensive, fast car.
Gangsters with a sense of humor. Who knew?
After I shut the door, I rested my back against it, because my knees felt like they had turned to putty. The box in my hands could have been a gift or an explosive device.
“Mari,” Keely said, forcing my eyes on her. “This just got really serious. The Faustis!” She kept repeating the name like it would make them disappear if she said it enough.
I held my pointer finger up. “Shh. I need a minute.”
“I need a drink!” she said, and I knew she was going for Irish whiskey.
I slid to the ground, letting my weight take me while the door braced me. After five minutes, ten hours—who knew?—with trembling fingers, I opened the box.
A pair of really nice tennis shoes was tucked underneath a thin veil of paper.My size.A note sat on top of the pristine white shoes.
Ms. Flores,
You should always go into an important meeting with shoes that fit properly. A first impression can be your last.
This is the first pair of many. The cost has already been deducted from your wages. Wear them. No excuses.
I did for you. You’ll do for me next. This is not personal. Merely business.
