Page 59 of Heaven Help Me

“Oh, you can count on me, darlin’. After all that hubbub with Mary London last year, I wouldn’t dare be gossiping about this. This is too important.” Birdie pats his hand.

“Thank you.”

Birdie turns to me with a sly smile. “I can’t believe I hired a mobster to run the Battle of the Boutiques.” She winks. “You did good, kid.”

Her compliment means more than the scant few I’ve received from Bettina. “Thank you. I do have more useful skills from my time with the Barzettis than just torture techniques or money-laundering tactics.”

Deuce rolls his eyes, and I know what he’s thinking. Don’t bring up mob details in front of the town gossip, but it’s not like she doesn’t already know, or can at least guess that’s what I was involved in.

“Think you could teach an old lady how to throw a knife?”

I grin from ear to ear. “Definitely. Could show you how to use a throwing star too, if you’d like.”

Birdie’s penciled-in eyebrows dance up and down. “Oh, I’d like.”

Deuce puts his hands on her shoulders and spins her around, gently guiding her to the door of the boutique. “If you think of any other details about the man you spoke to that might help us, please call me, okay?”

Birdie pauses at the doorway to reach up and pat his cheek. “Oh, I will, don’t you worry. Might even do a few patrols around the neighborhood to see if I can find him.”

She walks out of the boutique with a bounce in her step while Deuce groans.

“She’s gonna get herself killed.”

I shrug and walk up to him, my hand sliding across his muscular back. It’s nice to be able to touch him anytime I want. “Yeah, but she’ll do it having fun at least.”

After Lottie came in to handle the late afternoon shoppers and closing the shop, we headed for Marcel’s condo. Deuce acted sheepish about it, but I could tell he wanted to show his father the trophy he received from winning the Battle of the Boutiques.

“I saw it, son.” It takes a bit for Marcel to push out of the recliner, but he wants to stand while he hugs his son. Honestly, it’s adorable to watch the way these two interact. It makes me wonder what it would have been like to grow up with a father of my own.

“You did? I thought you weren’t feeling well.”

Marcel sinks back into the recliner. He does look worn out. Then again, he’s in the middle of chemotherapy treatment, not exactly a walk in the park. “I know, but I couldn’t miss it. I had Tommy come over with that wheelchair he used when he broke his hip two years ago. He wheeled me over close enough to watch. Here, look.”

Marcel pulls out his cell phone and turns the screen to me and Deuce. Sure enough, there’s a shaky video recording of the moment the mayor announced Deuce the winner. He looks so handsome in his fancy suit taking the trophy into his hands. And then he calls my name in the microphone, claiming I’m somehow partially responsible for his success.

I elbow Deuce. “You shouldn’t have called me up there.”

Marcel’s face lights up as he looks at us. “He’s a smart man, my son. Knows it’s always a good idea to keep the good ones by your side.” He turns to Deuce. “I’m proud of you, son.”

I glance at Deuce and see that his eyes have gone glassy. Instead of elbowing him again, I snuggle into his arm, dropping my head to his shoulder. I’m so happy for him. For winning this year, but also because his father got to see it and then tell him how he feels. It’s so dang sweet it’s making my tear ducts overreact.

If roles were reversed, would Bettina be proud of me? For some reason, I don’t think she would. She’d think the Battle of the Boutiques was a distraction from the shit that really matters. The threats, the money laundering, the power plays…that’s all that matters in Bettina’s world.

Deuce clears his throat and tells his father what’s going on with the man around town. We throw out a few guesses as to who the man is, but Deuce seems to think it’s just some goon following orders, which it probably is. We need Bettina to find out who’s behind this latest coup. Cut it off at the head. Marcel nods along, used to hearing about the ways of the mob, I guess.

“She told me she wants me to take over the Barzettis again,” I add.

Deuce’s head whips in my direction. I can’t read his eyes, but they cut into me with their intensity.

Marcel turns his tired eyes my way while Deuce clenches his jaw.

“Don’t you let Bettina tell you what to do, honey. That woman’ll run your life until you’re both in the grave.” He lifts his gnarled hand, finger extended to the ceiling. “Or until you stand up to her and mean it.”

His green eyes, so like Deuce’s, make me want to tell him the truth. The way kindness emanates from him is so enticing, I can’t help but lay it all out there.

“I don’t really know what I want,” I admit. Which is strange because I’ve always known what I want. I wanted to follow Bettina’s marching orders. I wanted to make money, retain power, see fear leak into a person’s eyes when they saw me. But now I’m wondering if that’s what I wanted or simply what was expected of me.

Marcel pats my hand where it lies on his son’s arm. “Then you need to take some quiet time to reflect and search for who you are now and what you want to be. It’s okay to change, Valentina. Okay to choose something different.”