Page 27 of Blood Money

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it,” I assured them before waving them off.

The buzzer on the back door sounded as they all exited, and I smiled, picking up where they’d left off. Just as I crouched down to wipe the bottom shelf of the glass display cabinets, the bell rang up front.

“One second,” I told the customer. “We’re pretty well picked over, but I’ll see what we still have in the back.”

When I stood, I found two young men just inside the door. One stood with his back to me, watching out the huge plate-glass window. The other gave me a sly grin as he approached the counter.

“What were you hoping we had?” I asked, pretending like they didn’t make me nervous.

“I have a list,” the guy in front of me explained as he reached in his pocket. Except it wasn’t a piece of paper or a phone he pulled out. The guy had a pistol, which he pointed at me. “It says give me everything in your register,” he whispered as he gave me a creepy smirk.

Paralyzed with fear, I stood there blinking at him. My heart seized, and I swallowed the giant lump in my throat. “Y-Y-You can’t just come in here and rob the bakery,” I stuttered, my brain short-circuiting.

“The fuck we can’t. Word has it you made this place fair game. Move!” he urged as he waved the gun between me and the register.

Cautiously, I walked over and entered my code to open the drawer. With trembling hands, I pulled the day’s cash out. I hadn’t even counted it yet, so I had no idea how much there was, but it had been a decent day. Thankfully, I’d already given the girls their tips from the jar.

“Put it in one of those donut bags,” he snapped.

I nodded rapidly and did as he asked.

He snatched it from my hand, and before I could process what was happening, he swung his arm and hit me in the temple with the gun.

I dropped like a sack of flour, and everything went black.

“OverMyHead”—TheFray

Sixteen Years Old….

My hand was warm where Vittorio held it in his larger one. My heart was pounding, and I was sure he could hear it. Especially in the reverently quiet Art Institute of Chicago.

“Did you know they have one of the largest impressionist collections besides what’s in France?” he asked as we stood in front of an encased bronze statue of a ballerina.

“Really? How do you know that?” I glanced his way. His profile was classically beautiful, and I couldn’t help thinking he should’ve been on display with the other works of art. He turned his attention to me, and I inhaled a stuttering breath. He was so handsome he literally took my breath away.

He smirked, and for a moment, he dropped his brilliant blue gaze. Then he hit me with the power of it, and I couldn’t think. “I read it on the website,” he whispered.

My teeth captured my lower lip as I tried not to laugh. “And here I thought maybe you were a closet artist.”

“I couldn’t draw a stick figure if my life depended on it,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I just haven’t been here since I was kid.”

“You came here as a kid?” I asked, a bit surprised.

“Hey, I’m a cultured non-drawing guy,” he said with mock affront. Then he went serious, and his face looked wistful as he stared back at the statue. “This is one of my mom’s favorite places. She used to bring me and my brothers here a lot. I think it’s why my younger brother was inspired to be an artist.”

“Really? Is he good?” I was curious about the family of such an enigmatic but gorgeous guy.

“He’s… incredible.” The way he said it told me he was very proud of his younger brother.

“We’ve never discussed it, but have you already graduated?” I asked as we moved to the next exhibit. He was friends with Luciano, and I knew he graduated this year, but I didn’t know if they were in the same grade or if Vittorio was older or younger.

“Yes. Just graduated. Why? Does that mean you can’t go out with me because I’m not in high school anymore?” he teased as he bumped against me playfully.

“No, I was just wondering. So you graduated with Luciano?”

“Yes. We both went to St. Ignatius.”

“Good little Catholic school boy, huh?” I smirked as I gave him a sidelong glance.

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