Page 6

Chapter Six

FIAMETTA

T hree days have passed since Father ordered Tomas to remain at my side in everything I do. The only peace I’ve had is when I’m sleeping – and I’ve had to start a habit of locking my bedroom door – and using the bathroom.

Luckily, mine’s an en-suite. I’m sure I’d have caught him rifling through my clothes for my panties by now, had it been a shared situation. I shudder at the thought, disgusted with myself for even thinking it and at him because it’s definitely true.

I glance over my shoulder at him while Simone and I walk hand-in-hand down the busy New York street. Tomas doesn’t walk. He lurks like a real-life reincarnation of Frankenstein’s monster, with a thick brow and dull-eyed gaze to boot.

He gives me the heebie-jeebies.

“Ogling him isn’t the deterrent you think it is, Fi,” Simone snickers, and tugs my arm snapping my focus back in the direction we’re walking.

“Yeah, but what else am I supposed to do?” I’m complaining for the sake of complaining and we both know it.

I know that Father’s idea to have someone watching over me is the purest form of love. He cares about me, so much so that he’s willing to let his second in command follow two women around New York, rather than help find the man responsible for all the deaths in the family. But there are many other better-looking men carrying the Napoli flag. It’s hard to accept that I could’ve had one of the hot ones, who I would’ve enjoyed gawking right back at, but instead I got the creepy one.

“Go on as normal. Pretend he isn’t there. Carry on living,” Simone drops her airy tone in an attempt to break through to me.

“Easier said than done when you don’t share a house with him.” Not that Tomas has tried anything, yet. When he isn’t on the phone to my father or someone else under his command, he drinks himself to sleep before ten P.M.

“You need to relax. It can’t be easy, but we’ve got a long night of work ahead, and I don’t want to see your sourpuss the whole time.” Simone smiles as if it’s a joke, but I know she is serious. And she is right.

She is also making me feel bad for getting sucked into my own problems, which are pretty inconsequential, when we’re headed to a place of actual suffering. I can handle Tomas looming over me like a heavy, gray cloud about to pour, because tonight I can get into my warm bed, with a full belly, and no genuine concerns in this world. Well, unless you count the fact that I was drugged and the mysterious stranger who slipped it into my drink broke into my apartment. Probably touched me while I was sleeping and...

I cut myself off right there, as butterflies start fluttering in my tummy, instead of the nauseated pit I used to feel. God, I must really be screwed up to think of that night with anything but horror. Yet, the more I do, the more tantalizing it’s becoming.

Part of me knows it’s because it won’t happen again while Tomas is on guard. No one is getting into my apartment without his express approval. So maybe I’m not messed up for feeling this way. Without really knowing what happened that night, it could just be a wild fantasy.

Who hasn’t had one of those, involving some cloaked hottie pinning them down and—

Not the time, Fia. And those fantasies are usually reserved for strangers. Not the mysterious masked man whom you’ve placed on a pedestal. He’ll never be able to live up to your imaginary version of him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Tonight isn’t about me.” I move my hand up Simone’s arm and hook it around her elbow.

Our destination is in what most would call the bad part of town. A free-standing building beneath an overpass ramp onto a bridge that leads to Manhattan. I’ve always found it so messed up that on one side of the water, there’s beauty and wealth in massive abundance, whereas the other side is riddled with poverty and depression.

We arrive at the Davis Diner soup kitchen early, out of necessity. Any later, after the folks start to arrive for their meals, and we won’t be able to get inside the building, let alone offer our help.

“Hey, Joe.” Simone’s voice echoes inside the vast emptiness of the soup kitchen’s eating area.

“Si-Si and Fi-Fi, my two favorite twins,” Joe Davis says with pure seriousness. I would’ve believed we were twins had I not been one of the two names mentioned.

“I told you, we aren’t twins,” Simone giggles, and wraps her arms around Joe’s shoulders, taking care not to startle him.

“Anyone ever tell you your voice is like honey on a blind man’s ear?” Joe returns the hug, with the biggest, goofiest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Anyone ever tell you, that you’re too sweet for your own good?” Simone rolls her eyes as she pulls away.

“The only way for your medicine to go down is by being sweet, Sugar.” I’m damned sure Joe would be winking at Simone right now, if it wasn’t for the blacked-out Aviator’s covering his eyes.

“Medicine is usually a bad thing,” I chime in before jumping into his arms for my hug.

I’d never admit it to Joe, but these hugs have become something of the highlight of my week. He’s around my dad’s age, with a similar dad-bod build, and for the few minutes we share an embrace, it feels as if I can picture what a normal life with a normal family could’ve been.

“Look where we are,” he releases me and waves his arms around the empty recreational hall. “Ain’t nobody coming here for a big bowl of mama’s loving.”

“Too true. But we do what little we can to give ‘em a taste of it on a Wednesday night.” I gently rub his shoulder in a comforting way.

Before Joe opened his soup kitchen, he lived a terribly hard life. He worked with hoodlums and thieves to make ends meet, until he lost his vision. The old adage rang truer than ever when it happened, and with no honor among thieves, Joe found himself in a place not unlike this one.

Penniless, homeless and on the verge of giving up, he managed to turn his life around. And rather than enjoy the excess of his success, Joe opened his own kitchen to help those in need, believing that each and every person who walked through his door, could turn their lives around. All they needed was a push in the right direction.

Simone and I were so enamored with his story, when he came to our college looking for volunteers, that we signed up on the spot and we’ve been here every Wednesday night since.

“Who’s the newcomer?” Joe asks, once our pleasantries are over. “Is he helping or hungry?”

I’m stunned that he knew anyone was with us. Tomas hasn’t made a peep since we entered the building, and he isn’t all that close to us either. It’s as if Joe’s been gifted with vision we normal folk will never understand.

“A bit of both,” Tomas answers in a drawl. “But don’t mind me, I’m just taking in the sights.”

“Ain’t no one sightseeing on my watch. You’re either in the kitchen or you’re out the door.”

“A blind man playing watchdog? Now I’ve seen everything,” Tomas’s snarky jab causes Joe to furrow his brow in frustration. “I’m neither, and you’re going to accept that.”

“Holy shit, is this guy for real?” someone shouts from across the room. He isn’t a big guy by any means, and he doesn’t look much older than twenty, but he’s storming toward us, with total disregard for his own well-being, and fixing to knock Tomas’s head off his shoulders.

His words speak volumes about the loyalty that the folks around here have for Joe Davis.

“You don’t want to do that, kiddo. Go back to your station,” Joe intervenes. “He ain’t worth the time, and I don’t want the paperwork.”

I scowl at Tomas, as Simone and I follow Joe into the kitchen. He just grins the same yellow grin he gave me the night this arrangement was set. I’ll have a word with Father about this. Tomas is supposed to be unobtrusive. Just standing by in case of emergencies and nothing more.

Insulting my friends is beyond disrespectful.

“I’m sorry about him.” I mutter under my breath, afraid that even from this far away, Tomas might hear me.

“Nah, Fi-Fi, don’t lose a minute of sleep over it. Whatever has him chasing you two around is more important than an old man’s ego.” Joe’s back to all smiles, as if nothing happened.

“I’ma station you ladies on serving tonight, if it suits? The cooks are cooking, but plates aren’t moving. Need as many hands in front as we can get.”

“Anything you need, boss,” Simone says, raising a hand to her head in salute. I giggle and do the same.

“We’re expecting more folks than usual here tonight, with that big ass storm rolling in. Not as many as double, but close enough. So, get those arms and legs ready for a workout.”

“Yes, sir.” We manage to say it in unison, as if he actually were a drill instructor. The bright, goofy smile returns as he catches on to our joke.

“Then hustle, ladies. This ain’t your grandpap’s army. Hop to.” You can tell he’s never been in the military. Hell, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even watched an accurate war movie given his lack of understanding of how a drill sergeant would bark orders.

But the fact that he’s trying is beautiful in its own way. Crafted in darkness, Joe returned to the light. It gives me hope that there’s still a chance for my father to find his way out of it.

That someday, we may live as a proper family, and not as this nightmarish bastardization of one.