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19
YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KISS ME
CRISTINA
Frenchy, Severio, and I drank two bottles of wine between the three of us, which isn’t too bad for people who drink and dine regularly. They shared a glass of cognac, which I passed on. It’s now half past midnight, and Frenchy is telling us a story about Gio and my dad. It’s a story I’ve heard many times, but I don’t think Severio has, so I’m quietly chuckling as he laughs at the yacht incident when my dad and Gio both fell overboard and got lost at sea until Frenchy discovered them washed up on a raft near Sicily.
“We thought they’d died,” Frenchy says, laughing.
Severio laughs with him. “I wish.”
Frenchy laughs even harder.
Only mobsters laugh at these types of jokes.
“Where’s the yacht now?” Severio asks.
It’s a good thing he’s looking to Frenchy for answers, because he’d catch my reaction. I don’t want Severio to know about the yacht, because then he’d find out about the small boat moored in the marina next to it. Our getaway boat if we ever needed one.
“She’s at the marina,” Frenchy says.
Severio purses his lips. “Want to take her out tomorrow?” Blue eyes pierce mine, pressing for an answer. It was a casualquestion, but nothing about Severio is casual. Being near him sets my blood boiling.
Caught off guard, I mumble, “Sure. Um.” I twirl the bottom of the empty wineglass. “You do know that means you’ll have to put up with me all day long?”
“I must enjoy suffering.”
I avoid looking at him as I smile. In the absence of tequila, I blame enjoying his company on the wine.
Severio stands. “Thank you for the hospitality. It’s always the finest.”
We say our goodbyes, and I walk out of Frenchy’s, fully aware I’m on Severio’s arm. And I don’t mind. In fact, secretly, I like it. I squeeze his biceps. Rock hard. Okay, I’ll walk home and not think about his hard biceps, or abs, or other hard things.
The fresh air does me good, and I inhale the night’s cool breeze. “Do you want to hear something weird?” I ask.
“Mmhm.”
“It’s one in the morning, and we’re the only people on the street.”
“We are.”
“Don’t you find that odd?” This is usually a busy street at this hour.
“No.”
“No?” I look up at him and catch him scanning the street. “Well, it is odd. Where did the people go?”
“Elsewhere,” he says.
“You have an answer for everything.”
“I cleared the street.”
I stop and tug his arm, intent on telling him,“No way you can do that”and“How,”but when I tugged him back, he skipped a step. I remember he’s still healing from the gunshot wound. “Oh no, I’m sorry for pulling you.”
“It’s fine. Try not to do it again. I don’t want anyone who might be watching to notice that I’m hurt.”
I look around us, suddenly paranoid. “Someone is watching us?”
