Page 15 of Till Death Do Us Part

Felice glanced at the crowd and then at the road. The direction of his eyes turned mine forward, and I slammed on the brakes before I bumped the car in front of us. Felice was clutching his coffee cup when I looked at him again.

“Mob tour,” he said.

I almost laughed, thinking he was making a joke, but there was nothing humorous about his face.

He tapped on the window once with a knuckle, which I took as the same as him pointing out of it. “This used to be called The Biograph Theater. John Dillinger, head of the Dillinger Gang, was ambushed and killed here by FBI Agents. My great-grandfather was there when it happened.”

“When was this?”

“Sometime during the early 1930s. During the Great Depression.”

“Was your family involved in…what you are?”

“Both sides, but more prevalent on my mom’s side.”

Maybe I needed to take one of these tours. I wasn’t all that well versed in mob history.

Silence fell between us as I continued to drive unless he had to give me directions. A few minutes later, he directed me to turn into a parking lot. We were at a warehouse. He pointed to an open spot.

His head came forward a little when I hit the brake, and he groaned. Or maybe growled. It was hard to tell. It was somewhat muffled, like he was trying to hide it.

“That one was on me.” I lifted my hands. “These brakes are sensitive.”

He held out his hand for the keys after I shut the ignition off. “Who taught you how to drive?”

I took a breath and grabbed for my coffee. “Mostly my mamma. Why?”

“You’re a fucking danger to the roads.” He stepped out and shut the door before I could argue. He smoothly moved to the driver’s side and opened my door. “You need a tank, but I can’t imagine the destruction if you had one.”

He took my free hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world, leading me to a side door. I couldn’t help but notice how warm and big his hand was. It engulfed mine.

It took me a second to focus on what he’d said and to stop focusing on how my hand felt in his and how, when he touched me, my pulse raced. “I resent that! My driving is fine.”

“Fine?” He laughed, and it was sarcastic to the bone.

“Yes,fine. Good, actually. Better than good.Excellent.”

“Who gave you a driver’s license? Someone with a death wish?”

I pretended to laugh. “You’re such a wise guy.”

He was, so I shut up.

“I take it back,” he said. “Not someone with a death wish. A man.”

“What does the sex of the teacher have to do with anything?” I refused to move, staring up at him, while we stood on the outskirts of the warehouse.

“You look in the mirror lately, Dino?”

“What a crummy thing to imply.” I huffed past him when he motioned me in with his arm.

He followed behind, setting his hand on the small of my back. I could feel his warmth against my skin, and I shivered. Maybe he felt it. The pressure increased, and so did the heat.

It felt better than it should have. I told myself it was because the inside of the warehouse seemed much colder than it had outside.

The front area was separated from the rest by particle board that resembled stained wood. A man at the reception desk nodded at Felice and buzzed us into the back of the place. It was open, with men in white aprons and hairnets walking around. Some of them were loading sides of beef onto trucks backed up to the openings of the warehouse.

“Where are we?” I asked.

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