Sweet Release (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) (6 page)

“Nothin,” Tony said, offended at the idea. “Luchese ain’t like that…”

“But…?”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe it would be best if you told him yourself. You know, direct. So he gets the whole story.”

“No,” I said. “No, Tony—I do not want to talk to Luchese. Are you crazy?”

Tony was already dialing. “He likes you, Mikey, you got nothing to worry about. You look like Ma, you got her pretty eyes and shit, you know how he liked Ma. Come on, just—Hiya, Mac!” Someone had answered. I groaned, and rubbed my face. “Yeah, it’s Tony Frazetta… yeah, I got him right here. Eh, we’ll see. The Don around? Great, yeah. I’ll wait.”

He covered the receiver with this fingers, “The Don just finished dinner. Perfect, he’s always in a good mood after he eats.”

What would happen if he were in a bad mood, I wondered?

A moment later Tony brightened. He did love Luchese. More like hero worship, maybe, but truth was the Don couldn’t have asked for a more loyal man. Probably that was why he took such good care of Tony, even though it sounded like lately my brother had cost him.

“Don Luchese! I heard you just had dinner. Yeah? Aw, sounds like heaven. I love Maria’s food,” he kissed his fingers, Italian Chef style, “perfection. You know I said I’d have dinner with Mikey? Yeah, he’s here now. You know what? I’ll put you on with him; it’s been a long time since you two talked. Yeah, and to you, Don. I love you too, sir.”

He passed me the phone, and mouthed, “Be polite,” As though I needed the coaching.

“Don Luchese,” I said. I had to relax my jaw to keep from talking through gritted teeth.

“Michael Frazetta,” the Don said. He had just a hint of an old Italian accent, left over from when he came to the states as a boy. He sounded old, now, and tired. Not like I remembered. Losing is son had taken a toll. “So glad to hear that you are with us again.”

“Yes, sir… well, I’m out, anyway.”

“Ah. I see. So, Tony told you of my interest in securing your future?” That was a way to put it, I supposed.

“He did, sir. No disrespect to you, or the Family—you took good care of my Ma and Pa, but… I don’t think this life is right for me.”

The Don was quiet for a long moment. Then. “So be it. I cannot fault you for your conscience. I know that you were pressured to discuss my business while you were in prison.”

“I had nothing to say on that count, sir,” I told him. Pembry had pestered me until the warden had to call him off, in fact. They’d even offered me reduced sentencing if I turned over. But, I never did. For one, Don Luchese would have had me strung up when I got out. But, on the other hand, it seemed to me that whatever I felt about the Family Business and its moral center—or lack thereof—in some parts of the city it did more harm than good on balance.

“I do not forget the friends of the Family,” Luchese said. “I wish you well, my boy. Give my love to your mother.” I blinked, and frowned, and then gave Tony a sidelong look.

“Uh… I will sir. Thank you for thinking of her. Have a goodnight, Don Luchese.” I paused. Oh. I was rusty. “My regards to Maria, and to Lydia.”

“I will pass them along,” Luchese said. And then he hung up.

My Ma died ten years ago.

“Tony,” I said, “is Don Luchese still… you know… all there?”

He shrugged. “Most of the time. Comes and goes. That’s why he’s got me recruiting. Wants Tommy to take over, and thinks he needs a good loyal circle. It’s a shame, too,” he said. “Brilliant man in his prime. It’s a real shame.”

I sighed. Only Tony would have said a thing like about a man like Don Luchese.

The rest of the meal was, thankfully, focused more on actual catching up, those most of that was shop talk. I cut it short about midnight, on the excuse—even though it was a true one—that I had to get up early tomorrow and train. Tony kissed both my cheeks and promised to come see my place soon—a subtle indication that I should let him know where it actually was, even though there was half a chance someone would follow me home.

To someone who didn’t know, it was stalking.

To Tony, it was just looking out for his little brother. Kinda like how a cat leaves dead mice on your doorstep. That was Tony. A giant, fluffy killer.

Dinner with Tony, and his proposal to work for the Don, was mostly out of my system the next day. It was good—like a weight was off my shoulders. Now that it was out of the way, I could focus on my own path. I woke up the next morning feeling practically like a new man, and bounced down the stairs ready to train hard and maybe get another massage from Ella.

That didn’t last long.

As soon as I came through the back door of the gym space, all that positive energy drained away, twisted up, and became a knot of nervous anger.

Hitting the heavy bag I normally warmed up on, chatting up Jarome as he did, was the very last man on God’s green Earth I ever wanted to see again.

Officer Jason Pembry had, it seemed, decided that now was the time in his pathetic life to start getting back into shape. And he’d coincidentally, I was sure, decided to do so in the very gym I’d started to rebuild my life in.

He caught sight of me when I stared at him, seething, and winked.

Fuck my life.

Ella

Mike didn’t call me over the weekend. I half expected him to, but then maybe I had mis-read his request for my phone number after all. Monday arrived, the start of a fresh week. I resolved myself to be the aloof, uncaring lady who didn’t notice he hadn’t called. Oh, me? I was so busy anyway, I didn’t even remember you had my number.

I’m not a terribly observant person. Not all the time, anyway. But I did notice a new… addition to the the gym fauna when I got to work that day.

The usual fare at the gym were people who actually came in already in good shape. They were fighters and fitness enthusiasts who came to this place in order to up their game, not get started. Not that Jarome would have turned those people away, but he had a reputation for taking amateurs and turning them into professionals and so that’s what he attracted.

Recently, though, it seemed that he’d attracted the comparatively rare mid-life crisis.

I spotted him immediately; he stood out like a sore thumb. He was a balding, forty-something guy with a porn ‘stache and a gut. Well, they do say that you have to burn fat to build muscle fast. I expected Jarome or Mike or somebody would have him ‘swole’, as I heard a few of the bigger meat-heads say, in no time at all. Still, if you wanted to get into shape there were less expensive gyms with much more patient trainers. This guy was either brave, stupid, or desperate.

But I tried to offer him a friendly wave when he caught me walking through the gym toward my massage room. After all, everyone deserved the chance to be whoever they wanted to be.

It was met with an overt, hungry leer of male appreciation that made my skin try to crawl right off my body and hide under the mat. I know I’m not quite a supermodel or anything; but really, did he think that would work? Maybe he knew it wouldn’t and didn’t care because of it. I supposed if your chances started at zero you couldn’t get any lower than that. I tried to ignore him, but found myself praying he didn’t notice the gym had an in house massage therapist.

Between the first two sessions this continued. Each time I came out, Mr. Mustache spotted me and gave me clear signals of his unwanted interest. Each time he looked a little more ragged, until finally after my third massage it looked like he was gone. I took the opportunity to pull Jarome aside.

“What’s up, Ella?” He asked. Jarome never called me ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling or ‘hon’. A calm oasis amid all this masculine braggado.

“Your new man, with the mustache,” I said.

“Jason,” Jarome provided.

“Yeah, him… I don’t want to make a big deal about it yet, but he’s been giving me the creeper vibe all day.” I sighed. Now that it was out of my mouth, I must have sounded like such a preening, whiny drama queen. That man was looking at me, tell him to stop.

“Say no more,” Jarome said seriously, however. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Everyone should be comfortable here. And, I noticed him looking at some of the other students. Even Mike.” He chuckled. “So maybe he swings both ways. I’ll remind him of the rules here; no worries. But, if he tries anything…”

“I’ll come to you straight away,” I said, relieved to have him on my side. “Thanks, Jarome.”

“Anytime.”

I saw Mike on the way back to my room to clean up, wiping down gym equipment. “Hey, Mike,” I said, playing it entirely cool. “How’re those shoulders?” Hint hint.

He rolled them to find out. Mounds of muscle corded and flexed under his shirt. I almost offered to check it out myself but that could only come off one way and the reality of Jarome’s rules were that they went both directions. No double standards here.

“Getting tense,” he said. No mention of another massage, though. He looked… nervous? I wondered if maybe pretty women made him shy. That hadn’t seemed like the case before.

“Well, you know where to find me,” I said.

He smiled, and then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay. Well, later then. Got work.”

He saluted, and I left him there, feeling like an idiot. Seriously? I was wildly out of practice, obviously. Though, on reflection, I hadn’t actually been very aggressive with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, and he was pretty much the extent of my experience with men. Not a sparkling track record. But, then, that’s why they call it practice, right?

The next day was much the same. I did get fewer openly leering looks from Jason, so maybe Jarome had talked to him. Or, maybe today’s trainer, Jessie, was intent on driving Jason to the quitting point. She was certainly giving him a hard time. I hid a private smile when I saw the middle aged man already soaked with sweat and shaking as he planked and Jessie barked his time at him like a drill sergeant.

Come to think of it, I was pretty sure I recalled that she was a drill sergeant.

Three morning sessions went off without a hitch. I saw Neema again, and we chatted about men. Neema was old-school when it came to the opposite sex, and rarely dated. “In Nigeria,” she said, “you don’t get much choice. Not where I am from, anyway. In the city, it is better but only a little. Here, if I don’t like a man I just tell him. Sometimes, I tell him just because I can.” She giggled at that. “I am still, all these years later, just happy to be able to be my own person. I am not in a hurry. Neither should you be.”

I had told Neema a little about my destructive marriage, and the six years it had taken me to work up the nerve to talk to a guy again. I didn’t specify who, but wondered if she had any wisdom from her native culture that might give me some inspiration. There was something so tribal about her accent the exotic look of her that I guess I assumed there was some ancient African ritual of courtship. Turned out Nigeria was pretty much like it was anywhere else. Pretty women got dirty looks until someone snapped them up and whisked them away. Disappointing.

After Neema’s session, I got in a little workout of my own until lunch. Mike was there, and he obviously noticed me, and he even smiled and waved a little. I tried to be extra sexy but… there’s only so much swagger you can manage doing burpees and hammering a heavy-bag. I felt like every part of me jiggled unattractively.

Still, maybe that’s what did it for him, because I did happen to notice that he couldn’t quite keep his eyes off me. Score one for the badass chick vibe.

I noticed something else, though, when Mike left the gym floor to shower off. Jason, Mr. Mustache, poking around a bag under the bench that lined one wall and looking shady as hell. I watched him from the corner of my eye. What was he up to? He knelt, and made a show of moving the bag around like he was looking for something behind it, but his fingers dipped into the outside pocket and a few seconds later he left it alone without actually finding anything. In fact, he walked down to the end of the bench and pulled his phone out of his own bag.

Call it an instinct or an intuition, but there was something seriously wrong with that scene and all I could think was that Jarome needs to know this. I made my way to his office, and knocked lightly.

“Come in,” he said.

“Hey, Jarome?” I poked my head around the door. “Got a second?”

“Sure, what’s up?” He took his hands away from the keyboard of the office computer and pulled his glasses off. Huh. Hadn’t seen those before. They gave him a kind of professorly look.

I sighed. Here I was, again, sounding the alarm over maybe nothing, and for the same guy. Still, I couldn’t let it lie. “Probably it’s nothing but… that Jason guy was messing with a gym bag a second ago. I think he might have slipped something in it? The red and black one.”

“That’s Mike’s,” Jarome muttered. “You sure you saw this?”

“Pretty sure.”

Jarome frowned, and then stood up. “Do me a favor. I know you’re going to hate this, but it’s important. Talk to Jason a little. He’s a cop. Just distract him for a minute. Can you do that?”

Confused, but suddenly excited—it was a little like some kind of cat and mouse spy game—I nodded, and left the office.

Jason was minding his own business at the end of the bench near his own bag, sipping from a water bottle. Ew, this was going to be awful. I could smell him from a couple of yards away.

“Hi,” I said as I came close to him. “I’m Ella. The massage therapist here at the gym. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” I stuck out my hand.

Jason took it with his fat, sweaty hand, but I masterfully avoided retching when he accompanied it with one of those nasty once-overs. God, he was going to think I was hitting on him. I could at least mitigate that. I need to get him facing away from Mike’s bag…

Neema saved me, in fact. She walked past us, and I sidled out of the way toward the wall to make space for her. Officer Jason turned to keep his eyes on me. So predictable. I tried not to look passed him to where Jarome made his way over and knelt by Mike’s bag.

“I’m Jason Pembry,” Jason said. “Officer Jason Pembry, ECPD.”

“A cop,” I said, wincing internally at my fake enthusiasm. “Thank you for your service. Well, Jarome just wants me to make sure everyone who joins knows that my services are available at a discount to gym members. Part of the fee you pay includes two massages a month with me. I work up a regimine based on your goals, and sessions are just twenty bucks for the first two in a month. After that they’re sixty for a fifty minute sports massage. It can help tremendously to insure maximum muscle recovery, maintain good circulation, flexibility, and help prevent injuries while exercising.” I rattled off my spiel just a little slower than I normally did. Beyond Pembry’s shoulder, Jarome seemed to have found something. He slipped it into his pocket and then vanished into the back hall where the bathrooms were. Mission accomplished? I hoped so.

“That’s real sweet of you to let me know,” Pembry said, smiling lasciviously. Great. I’d almost certainly end up with him on my table now. “Maybe I’ll come in after work one day, in uniform. So you know I’m really a cop.”

I laughed nervously, and shrugged because I couldn’t think of another gesture to make at that very moment. “Yeah… well, anyway, it was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.” I could feel him watching my ass when I walked away. For once, I hoped it was sweaty and gross looking. I was careful not to sway my hips even a little.

To say I hid in my room after that wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate, but it would be close. I didn’t actually have another client lined up before lunch. What I wanted was to go shower. The film I felt on my skin was more than just oil and sweat; I could still feel Pembry’s gaze, like it had left grease wherever it touched.

A few minutes later, there was some kind of commotion outside. I peeked through my door and saw a big black lady holding up a badge and requesting that everyone please stay where they are for just a few minutes.

“It will only take a moment,” she said, world-weary and clearly disappointed to be here. A badge. Was she a cop?

She waved someone over that I couldn’t see. Mike walked into view, looking this close to losing his shit. He was red faced, and his hands were balled into fists. What the hell was going on?

She spoke to him quietly enough that no one could hear. A few feet away, Pembry had an ugly, smug grin on his face.

The woman patted Mike down in front of God and everyone, checked his pockets and his shirt, even grimaced as she felt around the band of his jock strap. Then she pointed, and he picked up his bag to let her search that as well. When she found nothing, she let him put it back down.

Pembry’s face twisted to near-rage, but he put a hand up over it and smoothed it down. His eyes traveled the room and he looked like he might explode. He followed the woman out, snatching his bag from the ground as he did.

And just like that, the day resumed.

It was none of my business. I had done my part, and that was all I really needed to do as a good citizen and neighbor, but when the world started moving again I left my room and went to Mike where he was talking quietly with Jarome. I heard just the tail end of it.

“I got you, man. But he’s a cop. Can’t throw him out like that; needs to play itself out. We’ll play it smart. Plus, you got an ally.” He pointed past Mike to me as I walked up to them. “This lady just kept you outta cuffs.”