Page 13 of His Passerotta

I shake my head. “Definitely not.”

I like to think I have enough sense to sniff out a cop. Even one coated in vanilla.

“What makes you so sure you’ve never seen her?”

Her image enters my mind, zeroing in on those pouty pink lips she smudged my face with. Blood pours into my dick.

“I would remember.”

“You sure?” he asks.

I nod, Settimo coming into my sight. He’s leaned against a wall staring off at the street, probably contemplating murder.

“Not a doubt in my mind.”

3

BAILEY

My head bobs in sync with Yung Gravy’s new mix as I pull into the parking garage next to La Divina, my lips moving fast with the lyrics I haven’t quite learned. I’m fumbling but having fun with it. It worked out to be a damn good day.

Well, not for everyone…

Turns out, I wasn’t the only one late to the sunflower lady’s wedding (she earned the nickname the moment I walked into the brown and yellow cloaked sanctuary). So was she. When I got to the church, people inside were chucking sunflowers into trash bags, a thick fog of gloom cast over the room. The bride had stood up the groom, and as bad as I felt for the man, he’s better off. We all are.

Love is overrated. You fall for someone only to get burned, whether that means a quick dump through a text or not showing up to the wedding you invited everyone you know to.

You try meeting someone in a bar, they end up married.

You try online dating, you end up being let down by the person who bears no resemblance to who their profile says they are. I once went out with a ‘Bon Jovi lover’ who only knew one of his songs. He did indeed give love a bad name.

You try and try and try, but the fact of the matter is, it takes blood to love unconditionally. My brother has my whole heart and soul, delinquent or not, but if I notice a guy doesn’t brush his teeth before bed, I’m gone.

Shallow, right? That’s because the love between family is the only kind that’s real. Romance can be fun, lots of fun. Sex is not only imperative to our mental health, it’s necessary to our survival as a human race. But when your mother has three children with three different fathers, and every last one of them promised to love and take care of her, you take off the blinders.

So… At least the groom got let loose earlier than when he’s dying of cancer or loses a leg or job or faces any other hardship and needs someone the most. At least he’s been wounded at his highest moment instead of shattered at his lowest.

Okay, I’m done with the cynicism.

I shut off the car, the sudden silence sharpening my senses, and pull up my hood before grabbing my lock pick from my purse.

The sound of my door creaking echoes in the empty space, momentarily drowning out the buzzing overhead lights I use to guide my steps.

When I reach the back alleyway, I duck my head in case there’s a camera pointed at the back door. I doubt there is, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. If I hadn’t noticed the chosen lock for the place and recognized how easy it would be to pick, I might not be here at all.

I like to think I can go one night without my phone, but I have work due for that stupid data collection job, and this is a simple in and out mission. Even if I’m caught on a camera or something, I can claim the door was unlocked. That’s how quick this will be.

And quick it is.

I insert the lock pick, giving it a two-second finesse before it clicks and I twist the knob.

I leave the door open so the moonlight can give me just enough sight to get to the lockers. After three tries, I find the one I left my phone in.

My phone screen illuminates, flooding the tiny room with light, and shows I have five missed calls from Corey and six texts asking where the hell I am. He must not have been too concerned because he wasn’t at either of our apartments when I stopped by. Or worse, he was out looking for me.

Sorry, forgot my phone at the restaurant, I send.

Before I can put the phone in my pocket, his smiling image I captured on my last birthday appears on the screen.

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