Riding Dirty: Luciotti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) Read online

  4

  LUCAS

  “Y ou’re joking. Four days? This car’s a classic, boss,” I said, looking at the piece of junk that was currently raised high up in the air. I’d had this car forever, since before I was a made man, even.

  “Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ll just have to walk for a few days. It’s going to be a little bit longer than we planned. It’s a small town, though. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting around out here.”

  I groaned, running through all the possibilities in my head. There wasn’t much except offer more money, and my allowance was running out. I had a job to do and I was taking too damn long on it.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Just call me when it’s ready.” I adjusted my long coat and walked out the building.

  “Wait, you left your coffee!” I heard, but I was already out of the building.

  The sun was strong and blistering today. I looked at the one long street in front of me. I hated this town. How anyone could move here was beyond me, but it didn’t have one ounce of value to me. My options were either go to the café and stare at miss prissy-pants and her boss, or find a place to get a shot or two. I decided that both options were just as good as the next.

  I pulled out another cigarette and walked to the café. In front of me were the douchebags I’d set straight the other day. Just my luck. I took one look at the middle man’s shattered nose and I could see the fear well up inside him. “Come on, guys. Let’s go,” he whispered to his friends.

  “Seems like a good plan,” I muttered back. I parted my jacket from my hips and showed the grip of my pistol, hanging in my jeans. They started to walk a bit faster. I laughed to myself. All in all, I regretted hitting that little pipsqueak. But insult a beautiful lady like that, and I couldn’t be expected to restrain myself.

  I was born on the streets of Detroit. Things were a little different then. But there was a strong code everyone obeyed. Certain actions were not unanswered. When the city turned dark, and all of the corruption spilled onto the streets, the rules started to change. No one knew what they could or couldn’t say. Some wise guys got their faces caved in for smiling the wrong way.

  Unlike those maniacs, I was raised old school. The best and the worst of ‘em. We had a code and we stuck by it. And that woman, the one with the cute ass and hard charm, deserved a little better.

  I smoked my cigarette in front of the café, observing the unlit neon sign above me. It was real classic looking, like it was trying to be something it wasn’t. “Café - Restaurant” the sign read. I kissed at it and whispered “bellissimo,” with a real Italian look on my face. I laughed to myself and took another drag.

  All of these old paesans escaping some bad shit on the other side of the ocean, came here and opened up these cheesy little cafés. They slapped some half-assed Italian name on the sign and expected the best. They cheapened our heritage with this shit and didn’t even see it.

  I looked inside for the old man. Better watch your back, buddy. I’m waiting for you. But he’s nowhere in sight. I put my hand against the glass and realized I was staring at that woman’s tits. She knocked on the glass and yelled “Up here, asshole.” I averted my eyes from her chest and see her angry eyes staring back at me. Shit, I muttered to myself, taking a step back.

  She opened the door, holding a towel and some Windex. She looked a little out of breath and her hair curled in her eyes. She wore a short blue dress and her tits called my name. Did she really expect me, a red-blooded Italian, to not accept the invitation? I almost cupped them then and there.

  “What are you doing here?” She spat at me. She was in a feisty mood today.

  “Can’t a man come by for some coffee and a quiche?” I smiled and pulled out a wad of cash. It was something, at least. Only, was the last of my earnings for a while. Fuck it. I began counting the endless amount of hundred dollar bills and twenties.

  She sighed loudly and said “Come in.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I laughed. I looked around at the empty room and clapped my hands loudly. “Shit, does anyone come to this place?” I asked.

  “One black coffee and a quiche?” She ignored my question.

  “I liked what you made me last time.” I said, leaning over the counter. I grabbed one of the chocolate bars on display and pretended like I was reading the packaging. “What was that called again?”

  “A red eye.” She said, rolling her eyes at me. “You going to buy that chocolate bar too? Or are you just out to annoy me today.”

  “Both. Sure, throw the chocolate bar in.” I looked around her at the open kitchen. In the back was a man I hadn’t seen before. “Where’s the old goombah today?”

  “Goombah? Really? Isn’t that a little disrespectful?” She punched in some numbers on her electronic display and held out her hand for the money. “That’ll be $9.73,” she said.

  “Lady, I’m Italian. My pops was born in Italy. I think I get a free pass with that stuff,” I said. “Here’s a fifty. Keep the change.”

  She made a gross throaty sound, as if my presence made her sick. She walked up to the kitchen window and called out “Quiche. To-go, please.” Her back was arched in front of me. I had half a mind to turn around and close up this shop, drop in front of her and cup her ass hard. She’d probably love my working-class hands, pushing her forward, while I had my way with her.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked me, turning back around to grind the espresso and start the coffee. She clicked a button and a loud grinding sound echoed throughout the café.

  “I like your dress,” I said. I’d rather be underneath it, with it draped over my face.

  “Uh, thanks,” she said. She poured the coffee into a paper cup and threw a shot of espresso in it. Then she quickly grabbed the boxed quiche and handed it to me. “Here ya go,” she said, without making eye contact with me. But underneath all that light makeup, I could see that she was blushing.

  No woman in her right mind could resist me, especially the feisty kind. And I knew that deep down she was a woman full of spice. Hell, she was clearly covering some shit up. Just that knowledge alone gave me a light feeling in my movement.

  I smiled and took a big sip. “Now that’s some good coffee. Thanks.”

  She looked at my jeans, examining my belt buckle. Now was the time for me to start blushing. When she didn’t reply back, I said “You know, you don’t have to play your little game anymore. We’re friends now, right?” I gave a big cheesy look, showing off my handsome smile.

  “Friends?” She spat out. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” For the first time since I met her, she burst out laughing.

  Straight-faced and serious, I said “What’s so funny? Why can’t we be friends?” I had drained about half of my coffee by now and I unraveled the tinfoil on my quiche and took a bite with my hands.

  “Because you do stuff like that,” she said, still slightly smiling but trying to give off this “high and mighty” attitude with me. As if she was better than me and my kind. Listen, I wanted to say, I know you’re bad like me. All this pretend life you’ve got for yourself, ain’t fooling no one. But I didn’t. I simply took another bite of quiche and continued to stare.

  “You couldn’t handle a man like me. Is that why?” I smiled. “Anyway, I don’t want to be friends with some boring lady in a shit-town. You probably have way too much baggage for a guy like me.”

  That, of course, pissed her off. Before she could lay it on me, I was already out the door. “Hey! You can’t just come in here and—”

  I closed the door and chuckled softly to myself. “You’re such a prick,” I muttered under my breath.

  I had decided it might be time to go home, back to being a recluse. But all of a sudden, a brand new black SUV pulled up in front of me. The window rolled down and I saw a dark-haired man in his 30’s, smiling at me. “Well, if it isn’t my baby brother. Get in.” Ricky. Fuck.

  I reluctantly got in the front
seat, holding my quiche and coffee, and he sped off. “You’ve been hiding from me baby brother!” He laughed. “I’ve been so lonely.”

  I stared straight out the front window. “How’d you find me?” I asked him.

  “It wasn’t easy. In fact, I traveled everywhere. South America first. Turns out you had been in São Paulo, Brazil a week before I got there. So I stayed in a few hotels, asked around at about a dozen or so bars, and tracked you down in Basque Country. What were you doing in Spain, Lucas?”

  “Catalonia.” I corrected him.

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” He took off his sunglasses to get a better look at me. “Are you eating a fucking quiche?”

  “The locals would get angry if they heard you call it Spain,” I said. I took another bite of quiche and washed it down with my strong coffee. It was extra good today. “What’s it to you? What do you care if I eat a French pastry or not?”

  “Just expected you to be at the bar down the road is all.” He said. “You going soft on me?”

  I rolled down the window and tossed the rest of the quiche out. “There, you happy? No more quiche. I was in Catalonia because I needed to collect a debt that was owed to me, that’s all. I got my money and I came back. Brazil was a vacation.” I lied. Brazil was more than a vacation. It was a trip to the belly of the beast. I was convinced that if there was a Hell, it was in the area I stayed in for a month. The hard truth was, if you needed information, you sometimes had to risk everything to get it.

  “You never invite me anymore! Remember how it used to be? I search the ends of the earth for you, and you don’t even give me a ‘hello, Ricky’? Not even a ‘I’ve missed you, big brother.’ Shit, I had some close calls out there! And I mean some really close calls!”

  I knew what that meant. It meant he went to a few beach resorts, got a manicure and a tan for a high price, and got to know just about every local prostitute there was. He never understood the job, never did what it took to keep the family going. He was spoiled. And ever since his wife died, he had become such a huge liability.

  “Yeah, well I’m sorry. I’ve missed you big brother,” I said, almost inaudibly. I did miss the family. I missed my father. And my Mom, with all her delicious cooking. There were all of the old made men--Jonas, Paulie, and “Little” Michael Sabello. But Ricky was a hothead. He didn’t have what it took to be a real leader. The new generation of Italian gangsters made us look like cheap knockoffs.

  I looked at his outfit. A one hundred percent leather jacket, $300 pair of sunglasses, Italian-made boots, complete with at least ten gold chains, a Rolex, and solid gold rings. He looked like a walking advertisement. If anyone saw him out here, it would be obvious he was up to no good. He brought too much attention to my anonymity.

  “Well, thanks for the apology,” he laughed. “So why you really out here?”

  “A man’s got to decompress every now and then, right?” I eyed him to see if he bought my story.

  “Bullshit. Dad’s got you on an assignment doesn’t he?” I stayed quiet, unwilling to play his stupid little games. When I didn’t answer him, he took that as a sign he caught me in a lie. “I knew it! God dammit, when is dad going to trust me? I’m the big brother!”

  “Calm down. I’m not here on assignment. I’m here because the Basque Country job was tough on me. I need to relax for a second before I do get assigned another job.” I sighed heavily. He was going to give me an anxiety attack. “Look, brother. You should be happy. You have it made. Money, women, spa treatments up the wazoo. What else do you need?”

  “I want to be a part of the action. Like you. All that angel of death shit. I read what you did up there in the papers. That’s some dark shit, brother.”

  I frowned, feeling the creases in my forehead thicken. I ran my fingers against the collar of his leather jacket and then squeezed hard. “My business is my business. End of fucking story,” I said.

  He looked worried. “Alright, jeeze. You didn’t need to mess up my jacket.” He began smoothing out the indent of my fingers where I had gripped it.

  “Just let me out here,” I said. This town was small enough to walk at least eight times throughout the day. It wouldn’t take me long to get back to my place.

  “Sure thing, brother. But before you go, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s Dad. He wants you back home tomorrow for a meeting.”

  “A meeting? What for?” I asked, suddenly feeling sort of strange. Why would he interrupt my trip here for a meeting? There were plenty of other men ready to fill my shoes while I was gone. Why didn’t he just call them?

  “Come on, Lucas. You can’t say no to father. You don’t have a choice in this. Ma’s making a feast. Just be there, okay?”

  I groaned grudgingly, but it was obvious I had to obey. “Don’t worry. I’ll go,” I said. The car came to a stop and I jumped out. Sure, I had it made.

  5

  DAHLIA

  “Y ou just never let up, do you?” I stood there, crossing my arms in front of myself as Lucas sat inconspicuously in the corner.

  He was reading a large book called “Plants of Michigan.” Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw me and set down the paperback. “Where else would I be? There ain’t much to do in this town, you know,” he said.

  “There’s a coffee shop a few blocks north,” I retorted. I grabbed a towel and dunked it into the bleach bucket and sloppily cleaned his table off.

  “Yeah, well I heard their coffee sucks,” he said. “Read it on Yelp.”

  I looked at him and tried not to laugh. “You looked it on Yelp, huh?”

  “Is that funny to you? Seems like everything I do is to your benefit.” He was looking at me with a stern gaze. His white muscle shirt suffocated his muscles. Every peak and valley from his six-pack rippled against the fabric. There I was, staring a hole through his body. I immediately noticed myself gawking and snapped out of it.

  “I can’t imagine you owning a smart phone,” I laughed. “You, a tough guy from Detroit.”

  “Everyone has a smart phone. Even tough guys from Detroit,” he said. He picked his book back up and started reading.

  I couldn’t believe this guy. Everything he did seemed to be a contradiction. At least it was something interesting. He was right about one thing: there wasn’t much to this town. And after living here for a while, the days started to blend together. “You a gardener now or something?”

  He sighed and set the book back down. “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone,” he said.

  I felt my heart race as my eyes trailed his body downward to his belt. I kept imagining him slowly threading the leather through each loop, opening the buckle like a box of treasure. I had these fantasies where I fell to my knees, waiting patiently for him. I was obedient and hungry for him. His presence filled the room, that ashy-wood smell, and he was more than willing to let me know who was boss. “Give me that cunt,” he whispered, holding his leather belt between his hands.

  I had to snap myself out of it. I had a child for fuck’s sake. I had responsibilities. I couldn’t be reckless like I used to be. I gulped down, hearing that tiny click in the back of my throat. I said “I was just wondering.” I quickly shielded my red face and turned to help another customer. Finally, there are other people to distract me, I thought to myself.

  “Don’t you leave without taking my order,” he said.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. Without turning around, I said “Red eye with a quiche, right?”

  “Hm. No, I should get something different. What do you recommend?” Fuck. He was going to force me to face him. That bastard!

  “The quiche is good. I recommended the red eye last time. It’s a standard knock your socks off kind of a drink,” I said.

  “Give me an iced latte. Extra shot. And a ham and cheese omelet. Make it pepper-jack.” I could feel him smiling behind me.

  “Coming right up,” I said. An Iced latte? Was this guy for real? Next thing I’d know, he’d be asking me fo
r extra caramel.

  He made me feel so weird. It constantly felt like his dark and heavy eyes were staring at me. Yet, every time I turned to look at him, he was invested in that stupid plant book of his. My cheeks felt hot. Okay, just relax Dahlia, I had to tell myself. I posted his order in the kitchen window. “Order up,” I said, making eye contact with Joel, the new fill in for Carmelo.

  I was actually kind of worried about Carmelo. The past few days he had called in sick and the day before that it was as if he had seen a ghost. It wasn’t like I couldn’t handle myself here. We probably got around a total of 30 customers a day. It’s just that the old Italian was never sick. He was always energetic, sometimes even rambunctious. He was just one of those guys who was happy to be alive. But ever since Lucas came into town, something had changed in him.

  I tamped the espresso and pressed the button on the machine, watching carefully as the dark clay-colored liquid poured into the cup. For fun, I drizzled caramel on the bottom. Smiling to myself, I mixed it together, poured the milk, and let the ice cubes slide inside slowly. Voila! “One extra-sweet caramel latte for the tough guy in the corner!” I yelled out.

  He looked up from his book, frowned, and then looked back down. “I’m over here,” he muttered. Ugh! I grabbed it and slammed it down on his table. It was childish of me, but he was being a total prick.

  “There. Happy?” I asked him, steaming at this point.

  “Very. Thanks, babe.” To save myself from smacking him in the face, I put my hair into a ponytail and took a few deep breaths. “I’m just messing with you. Calm down.”

  “Yeah, just pay when you get a chance,” I said, turning to walk away.

  “Wait just a second.” He grabbed my hand, forcing me to stop short.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I have some business to take care of in Detroit tonight and maybe tomorrow,” he said.

  “And?” Initially I had tried to pull my hand out from under his, but after a few seconds, I stopped. He was repulsive, offensive, and every kind of wrong, and yet he was every kind of right. The strength, and his overall level of control made me stop pulling away. But the man needed to either let me go or pull me in, because I was not the girl to mess with.