Gia sighs. “Yeah well, you could’ve used a little tact, opened the conversation by telling her how lovely she looks today.”
“Tact isn’t his thing, Ms. Rossi,” Antonio chimes in.
I shoot him a glare. “Asshole.”
“Shut up. Both of you,” Nico snaps.
We do. We’re employed by Gia, and Elio, but Nico is our immediate boss. Elio gives orders to Nico, and Nico makes sure we get them done.
It’s a clear-cut system. Easy. I like it. I’m used to a hierarchy, and in Elio’s world, everything makes sense. Everyone has a role to play. And I know exactly where I fit.
I never figured out the pecking order in high school. I was always the tallest, the largest, and the strongest kid my age. Other kids found me intimidating, so they tried their damnedest to bring me down. Self-defense mechanism, like little-dog syndrome. Attack before I showed them what I was capable of. My grades were average. My teachers never saw the little assholes who started the trouble that I finished. And my mom didn’t know what to do with me.
Then a Student Advisor suggested joining the Marines after I graduated, saying that it would teach me some discipline, give my life some structure. And he was right. I liked being told when to get up, when to eat, when to sleep and exercise and fight. It cut out the thinking part and allowed me to play to my strengths in a controlled environment.
That would’ve been my life if I didn’t get a back injury that took the option away from me. Getting back out into the civilian world sucked—it was hard to navigate a world that had changed while I was serving my country. I had no qualifications for an office job, and back pain that made manual work difficult to find. I was abouthalfway to jail when Elio found me because when you look like I do, trouble follows you around like you got Velcro stuck to your back.
Been working for him for two years now and never looked back.
Been following Gia to the nail salon for six months.
And I’ve been dying to ask pretty Sara Mancini out every single day but never plucked up the courage. Until today. Give me a war to fight and I’m right there on the front-line. But ask me to speak to a beautiful woman and my tongue forgets that it’s connected to my brain.
“So, what are you going to do with her?” Gia asks as Nico pulls away from the curb. She’s genuinely interested. It’s one of the things I like about my bosses. They never forget that their employees are real people.
“Get sorbet.”
“Not ice cream?”
“She’s lactose intolerant.”
“She told you that?”
I frown. Was it too much information to share the first time we spoke? I don’t have much experience with women. “I think she was a little nervous.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. But you’re still going out, huh?”
I raise an eyebrow at Gia. “We all have our stuff.”
I mean, I wake up in the middle of the night screaming sometimes because my brain feasts on corpses, bullets, and blood while I’m asleep. An aversion to dairy is nothing in comparison. I’d love regular issues, the kind that can behandled by avoiding ice cream. I only hope that Sara can hang out with mine.
“Just don’t fuck it up, Romeo. Sara Mancini never left Staten Island because the rest of the world isn’t always that accommodating for girls like her, you know what I mean? She’s not connected, but you know,” Gia shrugs. “She’s… nice. She went to high school with us.”
“I know.”
She sits forward, her eyes taking on a familiar predatory gleam. “And bring her some fucking flowers.”
“Already planning to, boss.”
An hour later, I’m waiting outside the nail salon. I have no idea what flowers Sara likes, and my hands feel like they’re sweating around the stems in my palm. White and yellow daisies. They made me think of Sara when I saw them, pretty and perfect and unpretentious.
I stare at the door for so long that I talk myself around in circles. What if she doesn’t like them? What if she slips out the back way to avoid me? What if she only said yes because she was being polite in front of her coworkers and Gia? I’ll never be able to show my face in there again. I’ll have to switch places with one of the other lads. Every third Friday will never be the same again.
What if she is in there now laughing at me standing here…
Then the door opens and she steps out, and my fears evaporate leaving behind a warm glow inside my chest.
God damn. She’s gorgeous. Petite, with glossy, dark-brown hair that’s piled on top of her head in a cute bundle. I love the purple outfit she’s wearing today. The pants hug the sweet curves of her ass, and the top nips in at her small waist.
