Page 11 of Dreadful
“Mi dispiace. What do you need?”
“Does the dessert case need to be filled?”
I glance at the glass display cooler that I restocked right in front of him less than thirty minutes ago. It’s still full of gorgeous cakes, pies, cannoli, and cookies.
“Looks like we’re stocked, Gio. No more procrastinating.”
“I’m not procrastinating!” he huffs in Italian. “It was a very important question! Tony and I will be setting the ribbon of spun sugar around the four tiers, and we can’t be distracted. No headphones and no nose in your sketchbook.”
“Amore mio, be nice,” Tony chides in Italian from inside the kitchen.
“It’s okay, I know how Gio gets,” I yell back and smirk.
Gio’s harrumphs. “You know, I was cutting up the fruit today and realized you stole the good knife again.”
I roll my eyes. “Gio, that’smyknife. You and Tony gave it tomewhen I graduated college.”
“But it’s the good knife! You have to tell me if you’re going to take it.”
“Ugh, fine, it’s in there.” I nod to the canvas messenger bag tucked away underneath the counter.
Gio sputters as he runs to my bag like he’s rescuing the blade from danger. “You keep a three-hundred-dollar knife with a gorgeous pearl handle inthis? It’s the same pocket you use for a water bottle! Now I know I need to wash it.”
“It’s my knife, Gio,” I reply in a sing-songy voice before making a show of putting my headphone back in my ear.
“When was the last time you even used it, huh? What’re you going to go and use it for in your bag?”
I shrug. “Nothing, yet. I just like having it around. You know, for safekeeping.”
He grumbles at my smirk and waves it at me as he leaves through the swinging door. I turn up my music, but I can still hear him shouting a few choice Italian curses. I one hundred percent get my attitude from him.
He and Tony have loved me unconditionally from the moment Antonella dropped me off on their doorstep, barely alive. According to official records, Chiara died in the same car “accident” that killed her parents. No one knew I was alive, so no one cared when I almost died. No one except Antonella, Gio, and Tony.
Mynonniunofficially adopted a child that had to stay “dead” to the public. They safely kept me that way, giving me a new name and homeschooling me until my scars healed. Once I was ready, they put me in public school, well away from St. Catherine’s, where all the children of malavitosi, the made men of the Family, go. By the time I left for college down south, everyone had forgotten about poor little Chiara. But it won’t be until I’m finished with my list that she’ll be able to finally rest.
I turn up the music on my phone, inviting Florence + The Machine to croon into my soul. After settling into my seat, I take another bite of my cookie and get back to my sketch.
This costume doesn’t have a deadline on it, but with everything that happened this morning, the urge to create it burns in my veins. It should be fairly straightforward, and I already have all the fabric upstairs in my apartment.
Gio and Tony have a one-room apartment and a studio apartment on the second floor. Before I came around, they used to rent the studio out, but once I hit my unruly teenage years, they gave it to me. They’re not big spaces, but they work for us. Plus, my new job now lets me relieve the pressure of their mortgage by paying my own rent.
With the bakery’s success, they should’ve been able to pay the building off years ago. In fact, they shouldberetiredand living their best life vacationing in Tuscany. They would be if Vincelli and his thugs didn’t “protect” this part of the neighborhood out of fucking house and home.
The mob has been shaking mynonnidown for decades, but the boss before Claudio didn’t have nearly as high a rate. The price has been steeper than ever since I got back from college. I can’t wait to mark that Vincelli bastard off my list.
“Arrogantfiglio di puttana,” I mutter under my breath.
“Excuse me?”
I jolt so hard at the sound of the man’s voice that I tumble from my seat. My sketchbook plops onto the ground, but strong hands catch me around the waist before I land with it.
The world is a dizzy whirlwind as I’m placed back on my feet. I grip the broad chest of the man in front of me, strangling his soft black cotton shirt to steady myself. His large embrace easily envelops my five foot nine frame, and his black leather jacket makes him look even bigger than he is. I have to lean back to meet his eyes so I can yell at him for surprising and manhandling me. The last time I even hugged anyone besides mynonniwas fifteen years ago.
But shock makes me choke on angry retort.
His wavy black hair is brushed back, though a short curl has escaped. It hangs over eyes the same shade as burnt caramel—with just as much heat. I swallow down my objections as he opens his mouth.
“You okay, Tallie?”
