Page 1 of Bulletproof Baby

1

LIA

The sound of jackhammers busting a hole into asphalt and concrete isn’t loud enough to block out the whistles of two guys in hard hats. It’s nearly an hour after their lunch break, and these two are still goofing off.

“Isn’t there some scaffolding you guys need to secure or a pipe that needs to be laid?” I ask them, shaking my head.

“I know exactly where I want to lay my pipe,” one responds while grabbing his crotch toward me.

I roll my eyes because neither one of them sees what’s coming. The slap to the back of their heads as my foreman, Patrick “Pattie” Buchannon, walks up behind them.

“You talk to your mothers with mouths like that?” Pattie asks. “You show Miss Bonetti some respect.”

The men glance at each other and then back at me, eyes wide and ready to do a double take. It's obvious they have no idea I'm their office manager because it's not often they see me outside of the site's claustrophobic trailer office. Of course, the formfitting jeans clutching to every vivacious inch of my frame with an even tighter top leaves little to the imagination.

“Damn, Lia, I didn’t know you were stacked like that.” The younger of the two brings his fist to his mouth, clenching his teeth, and waving his other hand like I’m hot to the touch.

A slight giggle slips from me with a smile at their admiration. “Boys, get back to work. I was serious about securing that scaffolding. There’s been a few ties loosening since y’all like to do pull-up contests for the shittiest jobs of the day. We also need most of the track laid for the gas line today. Any more delays and my father’s going to torch?—”

I stop myself from saying anything further because I remember everyone doesn’t have my sense of humor. We already have enough crimes to cover up. If something mysteriously happens at this site, I don’t want to be on the record linking my family to any wrongdoing; joking or not.

“Get to work, fellas.” Pattie encourages them with light shoves back onto the site and a tip of his hard hat to me. I leave the men to their work for the stifling confines of the construction site office. The smell of broken cement and noxious steam pluming from New York City's underground sewer mixes with the alluring aromas of a halal cart fire- roasting meat.

A wink from one whistler after a glance over my shoulder tells me I need to go back to oversized clothes that hide my 48-38-44 figure. I’m not blind to the power my curves have over men and some women. There have been a few times where cars stop, horns blare, and eyes follow the sway of my hips in whatever direction I’m heading. However, that’s where the adoration stops.

Most men are intimidated, either by my looks or by my reputation as the no-nonsense office manager for the Bonetti Brothers Construction Company. My office happens to be the ten-by-fourteen trailer full of filing cabinets, a private bathroom, and a desk full of invoices. There are vendors to call, sales to approve, and contractors to confirm. However, all of that has to wait when the booming rattle of three hard knocks against the door steals my attention.

Saul Caputo has an energy around him that screams death and chaos. As the don of the Caputo crime family, he shows up to the site every Friday like clockwork.

“Afternoon, Lia.” Saul grins a toothy grin that reaches his sunken, dark brown eyes. The sparse strands of black hair are smoothed back, greasy under the dim yellow lights even as he takes a heavy step inside the trailer.

When he moves to close the door, my words stop him. “Leave it open. You won’t be here long. I have this for you.”

There’s only one drawer in the desk that has a lock on it. The cash drawer is there for employees eager to cash their checks, and it holds a special envelope that Saul is here to collect. It’s thick, and I never bother to look inside to see how much money we’re giving to this animal. All I know is that my father leaves it in the cash drawer every Thursday night for Saul to collect every Friday afternoon.

“You know, Lia, I can be an excellent thing for you and your family. It doesn’t have to be this way,” Saul says.

I pretend to busy myself with the invoices scattered across my desk. I don’t want to give him the opportunity for conversation. Yet, Saul Caputo is the type of man that takes what he wants.

He’s relentless, telling me, “These envelopes don’t have to be a weekly event if you’re willing to give me your time.”

The stench of cigar smoke taints the air around my nose as he leans on the desk to get closer. The yellow staining on his teeth is clear as his grimy tongue swipes across them. A waft of his pungent cologne punches me in the face, and the dirt under his fingernails makes my stomach churn.

Words come out as a defense mechanism. I need to get this guy out of the office and away from me. “We’re very busy, Mr. Caputo. I’m sorry, but?—”

He cuts me off, reaching to hook his meaty finger under my chin. My body reacts immediately, backing away abruptly with my hands up, which causes him to mimic the same gesture.

“Whoa, take it easy, Lia. I’m just trying to ask you out to dinner. Dating me, being with me; it will make these Friday afternoons obsolete.”

I roll my eyes. “Somehow, paying you one way or another doesn’t seem like a good deal. Thanks for thinking of me. Um, if there’s nothing else, I really have to get back to work.”

The rage of rejection plumes from him like a six-alarm fire. He looks around the office for a moment. I imagine he's trying to find something to hit or throw at me, and then he turns to me. I can see he’s trying to say something, but it only comes out in a grunt of frustration before he stalks out of the office.

A sigh of relief fills the silence of his absence as I get back to work. The only way to get through the day is to keep my head down, glued to the documents we need to operate our business.

Once 6 o’clock rolls around, there are nearly a dozen guys lined up at my desk to receive their weekly paychecks. One after another, I hand out envelopes. When the last worker collects their pay, I stretch out, ready to head home. However, the pair of people I get my darling good looks from darken the doorway.

Milo and Edith Bonetti step into the trailer as if they’re up to something. For them to show up at the end of the workday means they’re about to ask me to do something that will stop me from enjoying the night off. When they pull up chairs to sit in front of the desk, my skin tingles with dread.

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