Page 19 of Tainted Love

I halt my stride while he sifts through a stack of papers on his cluttered desk.

“Tomorrow night,” he mutters. “Enzo’s opening.”

Lorenzo Zappia. The eldest of the three brothers. I’ve never met the middle son, Giovani, but from what I’ve heard, I never want to.

Some forms of crazy are best left alone.

“The restaurant?” I ask, recalling vague details of Enzo’s various business enterprises. All fronts for mob activities, of course.

Zappia finally finds a square flier and holds it out for me to take. “Yeah. Here…”

It’s printed on red card stock with gold lettering. Enzo’s Fine Italian. Admit one, plus guest.

“I wish him luck, sir.”

“You’re going,” he says. “He needs to fill up some tables and I could use the extra gun nearby, just in case.”

I cringe on the inside. Zappia family gatherings really aren’t part of my job description. “Sir—”

“Damn Lutrova bastards wandering around my city again is the last thing I fucking need…” he mutters quietly, ignoring my protest.

I tap the card against my palm. There’s no getting out of this and it’s pointless to even try. “I’ll be happy to be there, sir. Of course.” I spin around and move to leave.

“And bring a dame!” he adds.

A spark ignites in my head and I flash a quick smile back at him.

“I will,” I say.

I smell him already, lingering behind the door before I even open it. Marty lurches out of the frame as I throw the door open and step out.

“You know, kid,” I say, closing it quickly, “if you’re so desperate for attention, why don’t you try sucking his dick once in a while, eh? I hear it works for your mother.”

“Fuck off, Hart.”

He spins away, leaving a cloud of his stench behind as he drags his feet toward stairs to hit the casino floor. I know I shouldn’t say anything to make him hate me more, but I just can’t stand his pathetic, little face.

I glance at the blood-red invitation again.

Bring a dame, eh?

I know just the one.

Chapter 6

Lucy

I sit up and look around, lost and confused for several moments until I remember where I am.

Oh, fuck.

I’m in the bed of the mafia hitman who came to kill my father.

Fuuuuuck.

I fall forward to cradle my throbbing head in my hands. I swear I didn’t even drink that much. Just a few glasses of whatever the hell he kept giving me.

“Dan— Mr. Hart?”

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