Page 17 of Protecting Charity

His grinding anger was apparent in the way his jaw muscle clenched and released. This was record-breaking. I was on a roll with all three Moreno men pissed at me today, and after sex no less—boy, if that doesn’t strike the ego down a notch. Besides Luca, we haven’t hit that level of complexity yet—we had enough problems right now.

“I don’t know the guard dog, but the one doing the talking was Elias Hernandez. Real bossy mother—”

“—Elias Hernandez talked to you today?”

“Yes…”

He said his name as if he knew who Elias was. Although, Elias acted like his name meant something to everyone. Maybe it did, just not to me.

“What did he say?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t stick around to find out, which is why I’m starving and need sustenance. So I’m going to head home and spoil myself with bruschetta.”

Besides that, I needed another shower, a goblet of liquor, and a movie with a kick-ass Keanu Reeves. It had been a long day so far, and I accomplished very little except to piss people off.

Nico knit his brows together as if he was trying to figure something out, but I wasn’t about to stick around until he did. He had a meeting to attend anyway, and my stomach was eating itself.

“Right, okay. Bye, Nico.”

He shook out of his thoughts and placed his hands on my shoulders, then pressed his lips to my forehead. “If you have the attention of Elias Hernandez, you did something very wrong. Especially if it’s a personal visit. I’ll come by tonight. Make sure you lock your doors.”

So Nico knew who he was then. Did that mean he wasn’t mad at me? And they say women are confusing. I got in my now ghetto car and drove away, watching Nico in the rear-view mirror with worry beating his brows. His concern had me edgy.

∞∞∞

The grocery store was jam-packed. Shouldn’t these moms be at soccer games or something? Beeps from the registers resounded loud and annoying across the small marketplace, filling the space with monotony and stale responsibilities.

My cart’s wheel shook, adding to the already chaotic atmosphere’s ambiance, making me paranoid and uneasy. I stopped before the tomatoes and squeezed a few of the large shiny fruits. Or were they vegetables? I’m sure there was a debate about this somewhere. I bagged a few, not giving a shit, then picked up some garlic and olive oil. If Luca was to kill me for anything, it would be purchasing olive oil from a grocery store chain and not having the “good shit,” as he calls it, imported. I wasn’t Italian, and it was a risk I was willing to take. If it worked, it worked—why change it? I just had a craving, and I was making it happen to the best of my ability. There was no time for customs and shipping.

I tossed a random baguette in my cart and strode towards the checkout counter. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Why was that? Couldn’t I just go around town now without having someone watching me? Since when did I become so important? Just let me be the invisible mouse in the corner.

The young girl working the checkout went agonizingly slow, adding to the sheer frustration I was already vibrating with. I tapped my finger on one hand and clenched my fist with the other. My aggravation bounced from looking over my shoulder to wanting to slap some urgency into her with my baguette.

I tossed some bills at her and took my bags, not waiting for her to finish her count—that would take another decade off my life—then threw them back into the cart. The last thing I wanted was someone to come upon me in the parking lot while my hands were full. You were just asking to become an easy mark. I tossed my bags in the passenger seat, then shoved the cart into the return. Whoever was watching me had to know I was aware. You could sense my unease from a mile away. I checked the back for any unwanted guests then sat in my seat, reassured to find no one standing by to garrote me.

∞∞∞

My house door was shut and locked. So that was a bonus, I hope. I threw my keys in their designated bowl and kicked off my shoes.

I’m tired. Tired of all the weight on my shoulders.

Tired of people out to get me.

Tired of needing to be the backbone for Josh.

Why can’t he be the responsible one? The resentment built the more I thought about how his life only became more comfortable as mine became more complicated. I risked my life. All for him. And where was he? Gallivanting around town, probably high or maybe even dead. Either way, he didn’t care enough to let someone know how he was doing.

I stumbled into my routine as soon as I entered my home. I fed Cannoli, but not before giving him a big scratch behind the ears, causing him to flop himself on my floor and purr while grabbing at my hands, begging for more. He acted deprived, but in truth, he received more love than I did from my family.

Digging out the ingredients, I set to work making the dish that was so painstaking for such a little reward: blanching tomatoes, julienne basil, toasting bread, and all for a snack.

My phone rang, and I wiped my dirty hands on my rag to answer. “Luca.”

“I need you to come in.”

I rolled my eyes. “No can do, boss. I’m calling it quits while I’m slightly behind.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

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