Lacey Luzzi: Sprinkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 1) (16 page)

Michael was a slight shade lighter than moments before, but I couldn’t blame him; I was ninety nine percent certain that Lorenzo was serious.

I gave Michael’s hand a squeeze, and then I pointed out the row of photos that lined the wall, showing him the few places I’d managed to hop in front of the camera as a kid. The pictures of me had been added after my mom died. Another ‘Save Box’ find.

There was a picture of Carlos, straight faced as usual, and of Clay, wearing shorts much too short for even a ten-year-old. Then there was me – holding an ice cream cone. Another one: me – licking Gelato straight from the scooper. The next: me – shoving a Panini into my mouth… Alright, enough of me; I latched my arm through Michael’s and led him to the buffet-esque line where we picked out our antipasto, main dish and dessert amid cheek kisses and Ciaos.

“Tutto bene, Dominic?” I asked. “e tu, Ricardo?”

“Si, e Carlos? Dov’e Carlos?”

“Carlos is busy right now, but he’ll be in on the weekend, I expect,” I said. “Just saw him this morning. He’s great.”

Michael insisted on paying for both of our meals, and I didn’t argue. Not only had he asked me out, but Luca himself had heavily discounted our meal upon introduction.

“It’s his first time!” Luca said. “Gelato e’ un caffe’ on me.”

We carried our plates and sat on the rooftop deck, overlooking the cities. We shared a pleasant lunch and my stomach thanked me for refueling it with good carbs and even some salad, a rarity in my diet of pasta, pasta, and more noodles.

We spoke of trivial, surface things, but the conversation was easy and light, his laugh quick and hearty. I couldn’t help but glance at him while he surveyed the skyline to our left. His jaw was strong and defined, and the five o’clock shadow he kept held just the right amount of rugged manliness.

When he turned back and caught me watching him, his cheeks showed deep dimples as he smiled, his lips quirking upwards in a lopsided, endearing way.

“Beautiful,” he said.

“Yeah, I love this city,” I agreed.

“Well… that too.” He winked. “Shall we?”

I nodded and dipped my head in order to mask my pink cheeks. He gathered my plate without asking. We bid the Marinello’s staff goodbye, retrieved Michael’s car and made the drive back in an easy, relaxed silence.

Halfway to home, he reached over with a quick grin, and slid his hand in mine. His thumb made soft circles on the back of my palm, and I resisted the urge to lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes, basking in the afterglow of a successful first date.

The deceleration of the car signaled our return to the front of my place, and I realized that I
had
laid my head back and rested my eyes.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he said softly, “but we’re here.”

“Thank you for a wonderful date.” I turned towards him, not letting go of his hand.

He looked out the window.

“What? Did you not have fun?” I pulled my hand back and twisted them in my lap.

When he turned towards me, his face showed genuine confusion. “Quite the contrary. I was wondering if it was too forward to ask you to have dinner with me tonight.”

I hesitated, and he took my hesitation as a negative.

“It’s fine if not, I was just thinking of cooking a little something at home.” He shrugged and looked like a helpless puppy. “You know, new to town and all, just figured if you wanted to stop by I’d love the company.”

How could I say no to those handsome brown eyes? Especially if he kissed anything like he did… well, the rest of stuff.

“I’d like that,” I said. “I’m going to go take a nap now since I had a tough workout this morning, but I don’t have plans for later. I’ll give you a call on my way over, if you text me your address.”

“Fantastic.” His eyes lit up. “I’m really looking forward to it. Thanks for giving me another shot.”

I grabbed my flowers and chocolates (which had been sorely tempting me to eat them all afternoon) and retreated inside my apartment with a wave over my shoulder. I felt like I floated right over that nasty artwork.

Lacey – 1, Michael – 1. I think we’d both taken a win for the lunch.

After a long nap and three quarters of a bag of Lindt truffles, I wriggled into a deep red v-neck which was nice and flowy around the waist, just in case he was a good cook.

I was looking forward to a nice, home-cooked meal; one that was edible and didn’t involve pasta or gravy of any sorts. I’d offered to bring something, but thankfully he’d declined and said just to bring an appetite. An appetite for what? I wondered lazily as I curled my hair. I could think of a few things I was craving.

“Bye. I’ll be back… sometime.” I waved to Clay who had no less than nine wires wrapped around his body.

“Be careful,” he said.

I stopped. “Why are you telling me to be careful tonight? Why is
everyone
telling me to be careful?”

“Only because you have a habit of ruining everything.” He gave me an unmistakable glare.

“Sorry.” I tried for an innocent smile. “At least I try.”

“Wait – who’s everyone?” Clay asked.

“Bye!” I closed the door, pretending I hadn’t heard.

I flipped the bird to Clay’s creep-mobile which had recouped the best parking spots and hobbled in my heels to the Kia. As I drove across the Twin Cities towards Uptown, butterflies knocked around in my stomach. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Anthony had gotten in my head, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t totally suppress the twinge of uneasiness that accompanied the butterflies. Because first of all, why did he care? And second of all, why was he so worried?

I pulled up outside a small home in the midst of Russian territory, just blocks away from the bar where I’d met Michael. The glittering lights did little to sooth my nerves. I took a few deep breaths, put the Kia into park in a legal space, and approached the front door. I knocked and wondered if showing up was the worst decision I’d made today, out of a whole slew of bad ones.

“Lacey.” The door clicked open. “Welcome.”

Chapter 14

I entered the small, modest home – perfect for someone just out of college or recently moved to the area. It was just enough space for one person, and with a few personal touches could be considered quaint. Right now, however, it was more sterile than quaint. Boxes lined the walls of the foyer, a spindly little table identified the dining room and I imagined his bathroom wouldn’t contain more than a bar of soap and roll of toilet paper.

“This is great,” I said. “Still moving in, huh?”

He smiled. “No, I thought the boxes gave it a bit of a feng shui vibe. You disagree?”

“As long as you’ve got the necessities. Food, toilet paper and a bed.”

“In that order?” He winked at me.

I blushed. “I didn’t mean – oh, you’re joking. Ha ha.”

I followed him into the kitchen where some juicy smells piqued my interest.

“What are you making?” I sniffed.

“Some homemade pasta. Is that alright with you? I figured – you’re Italian, I’m Italian…”

I’d hoped for anything
but
pasta. “That sounds delicious.”

“Great. Take a seat,
dahling
.” He pulled out my chair and uncorked a bottle of wine, pouring me a healthy glass of the stuff.

I took a deep gulp, and the smooth red slid down my throat and warmed me all the way to my core. “Wow, this is good stuff.”

Michael didn’t answer as he was too busy pulling a pan of steaming lasagna from the oven.

He set the sizzling mass on the tiny table and lit two tall candlesticks. The whole dinner had an air of naïve optimism about it, as if we were two college kids trying to make a romantic date out of takeout food and discount candles in our dorm room.

“This is really sweet,” I said. “Thank you for going through all the effort.”

He came round and kissed my cheek before taking a seat and scooting his chair to the same side of the table. “It was nothing. Shall we?”

I nodded, and he heaped a delicious-looking pile of noodles and sauce onto my plate and topped off my glass of wine before helping himself.

“Cheers.” He raised his glass.

“To what?” I asked, trying to radiate sexy vibes in his direction.

“To finding whatever it is you’re looking for,” he said, then clinked my glass before I could react.

There was an awkward pause that followed and I took a larger gulp than I normally would have.

“Uh, okay,” I lied. “Thanks?”

I wondered where his curiosity stemmed from, especially as I hadn’t even mentioned that it was bothering me. He didn’t even know what they stole. And he
definitely
didn’t know the stakes riding on getting it back.

But when I met his eyes, his gaze was so crestfallen that I softened like butter in a microwave.

“I’m sorry.” He reached over and put a hand on mine. “I’m
way
overstepping my boundaries. Please, forget I said that. I’m here for you if you need it, but I promise to stop prying.”

I nodded, but couldn’t quite think of what to say.

“I just get, like,
really
nervous when I like somebody, and I can’t think of anything to say,” he confessed. “What I’d really like to cheers to, is kissing you again, but I feel like that’s also too forward.”

I gave him a small smile. “Quite the opposite. That’s a welcome toast.”

I winked, and he looked relieved. Standing, he strode to the stove, opening and shutting it for no apparent reason, grumbling up a storm. Twirling around, he rested both hands on the edge of the stove, a pained expression on his face. “The truth is, I just care about you already, admittedly more than I should. And I can’t stand to see people stealing from you, when you’re so nice and you’ve done nothing wrong.”

He came close and sat in his chair once more. Resting his elbows on his knees, he looked me into the eye. “I tend to move too quickly, fall too fast in relationships. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it with you, and now I’ve gone and spoiled everything.”

“You haven’t spoiled everything,” I said, a little taken aback. “I just don’t want to involve you in complicated problems that aren’t yours.”   

“I haven’t ruined it?” He looked so hopeful, I cracked a smile.

“Of course not. Not even close. It’s sweet you care so much.”

He sat next to me and began eating once more, urging me to do so as well with a nudge of his hand. “Glad to hear it.”

I nodded, mouth full of fresh ricotta cheese. “This is delicious.”

“Just promise me you’ll be safe. I’ve heard some stories about the Russians in this part of town.”

“What sort of stories?” I asked.

“You’re sure you wanna talk about this now?”

“Oh, I’m just curious. You know, it might help me to be safe.” I tried for nonchalance.

“Well, the Russians have set up a nice little business here. Using bars as covers for money laundering ops, running drugs and weapons, some sports betting, the works. Well, recently, it was rumored that there’s a mole in the operation. Someone really close to the boss-”

I frowned, thinking how perfectly his information was lining up with the information Clay’d overheard in his van. “But how do you know all this?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m new to town, as you know.” He gestured to the boxes. “I’m trying to meet people, so I go watch the sports games at bars around town. Kind of how I met you.”

I smiled, but it was a fake one. “Right. And?”

“And they’re big on betting on sports. I took this one guy up on a bet, just a few bucks you know, not realizing who he was. Lost of course, the Vikes couldn’t catch a football if I set it in their hands.”

He hurried on, seeing my glazed eyes. “There was a table of them behind me. I wasn’t eavesdropping, but we were the only people in the bar, and I heard about half of their conversation. Seemed they weren’t trying to be real quiet. Knew the bartenders and whatnot. They were talking about a mole in their organization.”

“Did you hear their names?”

“Hmmm.” He took a bite and chewed, staring thoughtfully at the empty wall. “Andy something. That doesn’t sound right, not Russian enough. Andrea, or Andrew or…”

“Andrey, maybe?” I asked.

“Andrey. Yeah. He was there with an older guy – Andrey called him Uncle something – and a few others I couldn’t catch their names. Didn’t seem to me they had any idea who the mole was.”

I nodded. This date was more productive than I’d ever imagined – and we hadn’t even hit the bedroom yet.

** **

“I wonder if the mole is working with the cops or something. Wonder how they even found out about him…” I mused.

“He was stealing,” Michael said. “I mean, that’s what the Uncle was saying. To be exact, the ‘dirty little traitor’ stole a shipment.”

My spine went rigid.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yep. I’m betting that shipment refers to drugs, right?” I dug back into the lasagna if for no other reason than to give me a chance to chew and think.
Plus, this was my chance to get confirmation.
If the mole stole the same thing missing from Carlos – maybe it
wasn’t
the Russians who’d stolen it to begin with. Maybe it was the traitor who stole it, trying to pin it on the Russians.

“Probably,” Michael said. “I wouldn’t know.”

“What if the mole stole our stuff?” I voiced aloud.

“What stuff? Sorry.” He shook his head. “Shouldn’t ask.”

I heaved a deep breath. Could I confide in Michael? I exhaled. If he was mixed up in this mess in any way, especially for the wrong team, he wouldn’t be giving me this info – would he?

“I trust you,” I said. “Are you sure you want to hear about everything? It’s a little…unconventional.”

He gave a nod. “I’m serious about you.”

“Okay, then.” I filled him in on the general, broad story, including the spying with Clay. He chuckled at a few parts, held his breath at the suspenseful moments. Though, I did leave out the part about accepting a date with Andrey. And the fact that Blake was an ex-boyfriend. And the small detail that I was involved with the Mafia. That was a conversation for a different day.