Page 14 of Choices

I get it now, his fascination with her. She's not at all what I expected. She's gorgeous. I knew that about her when I saw her in that alley. Even in the dark I could make out the shape of her curves, her auburn hair, her plush pink lips.

But meeting her in person? She's nothing like what I expected. Even our new recruits can't stand the sight of my scar, but she insists I show them.

She's fearless, brave, and compassionate to a literal stranger. She's an open book. She talks openly, freely, without pride or agenda.

I've been with Rico for ten years, and Matty for six, and never once did they ask, no, demand I learn to communicate with them. I've never met someone who cares about how I feel - that I'm grateful for my life, for my scar, for ability to communicate. My chest aches and my heart expands, moved by her words.

Hannah returns a moment later, slamming a book into my chest. I read the title and snort.

"ASL for dummies."

Her eyes take in mymouth, my smile, my relaxed shoulders, and she beams up at me as if I hung the moon.

My smile feels foreign, as if the muscles have forgotten how to make it, but she doesn't seem to mind.

Fuck it.

I wrap my hand around the back of her head, and drag her to my chest. She stumbles and let's out a cute little 'oof' at the contact, but her tiny arms wrap themselves around my waist as she pulls me against her. My hard muscles against her soft body. Her floral scent to my spice. Her heat to my cold.

I kiss the top of her head before releasing her. I know Rico is interested, but this woman has just turned my world on its head. And words, signed or typed, won't convey what I feel.

In the matter of an afternoon, this housewife, this stay-at-home-mom has inserted herself into my inner circle, and I'd protect her with my life.

She pulls away slightly, but also lingers, and that fact isn't missed by Rico.

He clears his throat, and she finally pulls back.

"Can I offer you guys something to drink?" Her formal upper class training kicking in.

"I'd love whatever you have available." Rico says, being way more civil than I've ever seen him.

"You?" She asks me.

No one ever asks me.

I nod. I don't care what she gives me, I'm just happy she asked.

She pours three glasses of sweet tea and hands them out.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" She asks.

Rico sits uncomfortably on thedining room chair, before pulling out his gun and dismantling it. Hannah's blood pressure increases at the sight of it and I want to kick him for his indelicacy, but he's the boss. I can't do that.

"I needed a change of scenery and figured I'd check on our little suburban Barbie to see if she's gotten her drug-seeking days out of her system."

Hannah blushes and grabs a notebook and pen from the small office nook in the corner of her kitchen and joins Rico at the table.

"Yes, I think I've gotten it out of my system. Getting high isn't going to change anything."

They sit together in comfortable silence while Rico continues his ministrations on his pistol.

"Do you clean it every time?" She asks in a whisper.

Rico shakes his head. "No, something about cleaning it, though, is calming...lets me think."

"What, exactly, does the head of the mafia do? What do mafias do?"

Hannah keeps her head down, scribbling in what looks like a planner. The juxtaposition of the sweet and innocent housewife organizing the logistics of domestic life and the hardened criminal cleaning his weapon makes my chest feel tight. Hannah's dressed in pastel leggings and a sweatshirt while Rico's in his typical black on black again. Her soft curves next to his hard muscles.

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