Page 59 of Inescapable Ties
“The Italian Mafia controls what, twenty percent of the market? We specialize in opiates; no use in including anything else.” I paused, rolling up my sleeves to my elbows. “My best guess is an entire market shake up. But who fucking knows with Leone?”
“I wish he wasn’t so untouchable,” Felix said, scowling in his usual overly emotional manner. “Everyone hates him, yet there’s always someone who will protect him.”
“When you have that type of money, people will do anything for you,” Rocco responded.
Facing their frustration and simmering anger, I knew it was time to end the meeting. We were heading in circles, and the longer I stayed, the more worried I would get about Luciana. “Let’s head out.”
Stepping out of the dimly lit room into the chill of the winter night, I resolved to collect Luciana immediately. Her father shouldn’t be home yet, but I wanted to get there as fast as possible so there were no surprises. The wind rushed past my face and my heart pounded in my chest as I walked towards my car.
When I was five minutes away, I texted Luciana to let her know I was almost there. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as I waited for the light to turn green, eager to get back to her.
As soon as I arrived, she was already standing on the front porch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest to ward off the cold. Her stance was tense, her expression troubled. My insides twisted at the thought of what she may have gone through. Had her father come home unexpectedly, unleashing his wrath upon her?
She all but jumped in the car when I pulled up.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Are you ok? Did Gennaro come home?”
“No, I just,” she hesitated, “Got into a fight with Rolando. It looks like my father is rubbing off on him.”
Why was my wife lying to me? I felt an odd sense of betrayal as I looked at Luciana; her face a mask hiding whatever secrets she was hiding.
Years of honing my skills as an interrogator had taught me to read the subtle signs of deception, and they were all there. The twitch of her eye, the slight tremble in her voice, the way her fingers fidgeted nervously. Despite her attempts to hide it, I knew she was lying to me.
“You sure that’s it?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Can we just…go home?”
I hesitated, wondering if I should push her for more information. We had just started to feel like an actual couple, like this marriage wasn’t only for show. I didn’t want to scare her away by questioning her.
“Ok,” I said.
Luciana didn’t respond. She just stared out the window, lost in her own thoughts.
“Have you eaten dinner?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
“Do you want to get something or cook at home?”
“Hmm,” she bit her lower lip, weighing her options. “I got food for lunch. I can cook us dinner at home.”
“Do you want me to cook for us?” I wiggled my eyebrows playfully.
To say I wasn’t a natural born cook was putting it lightly. My attempts at cooking usually resulted in burnt pans and undercooked meals. Before Luciana came into my life, I survived on prepackaged meal delivery services and takeout dinners from local restaurants.
“I don’t have a death wish,” she giggled, finally breaking free from the trance that she had been in.
“Ok, I’ll let you supervise,” I said, placing my hand on her upper thigh.
I drove us home in silence, allowing the soft melodies of the radio to fill the car. The familiar roads leading to our apartment were jam-packed with rush hour traffic, making the drive home longer than usual.
As soon as we reached home, Luciana headed straight to the kitchen. She looked into the fridge, staring so hard one might think she was contemplating the meaning of life rather than deciding what to make for dinner.
“Any thoughts?” I asked.
“Pasta,” she responded, grabbing some ingredients out of the fridge and placing them on the counter.
I watched her flit to the cabinets and pull flour and salt out, adding them to her stack of ingredients.
