Page 235 of Vicious Saint
Hendrix
“Signorina…” Carlo calls out to me in his all business protective voice. “Basta.”
“‘Enough’ is a subjective word, my dear Carlo.” I sway side to side with the music, a glass of champagne in hand. “Besides, we’re on a damn boat off a secluded beach, what harm is there in having a drink or two?”
Or twenty.
We’ve been at Archer’s yacht party for hours, spending the entire day sightseeing foliage and city landscapes before ending up here, just off Crescent Point. Where, in spite of my hesitation with large bodies of water, I’ve been more than comfortable letting my guard down since Archer came through on his promise to keep the invites low key.
I.E. Royal Heathen fucking free.
The sun has set over us just enough to cast orange and pink hues across the sky, marking not only my favorite time of day but our soon-to-be migration onto the small private beach.
Not because the yacht isn’t big enough to continue through the night: it’s got two levels, indoor and outdoor, bar, kitchen, jacuzzi, comfy beach chairs lining the deck.
All the makings for one hell of a party any time of day.
No, it’s because my forever extra best friend can never tone down one thing without enhancing something else. Something else being the huge gazebo bar, lights, DJ, and bonfire he’s set up for us to keep warm as the fall temp drops.
“You really outdid yourself this time, Arch,” Bex says through a sip of her Sex on the Beach. Such a basic hoe drink…but my soon-to-be diminishing inhibitions choose to allow it.
“Bitch you’ve either been blind or out of the loop for too long because I’m shocked not to see stilt walkers or…” I stop, trying to figure out who the hell those peeps are who flip torches around. “Fire jugglers?”
Bex scrunches her nose. “Fire flippers?”
“Fire dancers,” Archer deadpans. “And I thought about it…”
“But?” I wait.
“Too Caribbean for fall in the city.”
“Oh, yeah, dude. Total blasphemy.” I chuckle through a sip of my drink. Bex does the same.
“Anyway…” Archer clears his throat. “Cap said he’s almost ready to dock. So finish those drinks, miladies, because shit’s about to get even better.”
Archer takes off, announcing the same thing to the twenty other people with us, while Carlo—being Carlo—is already demanding in Italian for me to stay on the boat until he does a sweep of the area.
You know…in case any squirrels decide to attack from the woods surrounding the beach.
“He’s pretty intense, huh?”
“Meh. Carlo’s doing his job.” Shrugging, I add, “And he’s kinda becoming a Hendrix staple.”
As for Bex, Archer, and the Lavell situation with the mafia, I decided to keep the nitty gritty details quiet.
And to be honest…there’s not much to say.
They already know the Salvinis are involved. Our families are on high alert, and whatever Vic did must be bad enough for Carlo and Stanley to watch Theory and me like hawks. As for villains in the story, either Carlo’s got The Flash’s speed getting rid of them, or nothing of substance is actually happening.
At least around me.
My only hope is that this shit will blow over soon so I can go back to typical teenage drama…and maybe demote Carlo from hawk to papa mafia bear.
“Look at you…all social and shit.” Bex nudges my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
“Well someone had to play the role of fish out of water now that you’re homeschooling it.”
“Yeah, def not being voted best friend of the year.”
