Italian Stallions (6 page)

Slowly she rubbed her fingertips across it. Sweet wisps of ecstasy swept through her. Her hand moved faster. Her hips pressed into the air, her legs rigid and her back arched. She wanted more than what she could give herself, and for the first time, she felt no guilt, no shame in touching herself.

She had visions of Gabe raised above her, his big body naked, covered in slick perspiration as he slammed into her. Gianna’s breathing turned harsh and labored as her hand swept back and forth across her clitoris; her body rigid, feeling just out of reach of that place she so desperately wanted to go.

Just as she climbed the peak, the heat of her body almost too much to bear, the phone rang.

“Argh!” Gianna cried out. She rolled over, shoving her nightgown down, and grabbed the phone. “Hello,” she grumbled.

“Gia, are you all right?”

She sank back into the pillows. “I’m fine, Tress.”

“You sound…busy.”

“Nope, just lying here in my boring bed.”

“What happened with the Dirty Don?”

“Oh, he told me I had two weeks to cough up the hundred forty K my father owed him and that he’d knock some off for the pleasure of popping my cherry.”

“Oh, my God! What a pig!”

“I told him no on both accounts.”

“My God, then what happened?”

“I left.” Gianna didn’t tell her she was afraid he would hurt her family if she didn’t comply. She figured she had two weeks before she’d have to alert them. Maybe then she’d go to the cops. As a last resort. She didn’t trust them. Her father taught her that.

“I’m coming over!”

“No, Tress. I’m in bed, and I have to sleep. I’m opening tomorrow; then I decided I’m going to do some damage in Union Square.”

“Oh, yippy skippy! I don’t have to be in until five. I’ll pick you up at noon!”

“W
hat the fuck happened to you being just around the corner at Lucia’s?” Gabe demanded, getting real close to Gordo. His partner opened and closed his mouth like a floundering catfish gasping for breath.

“I got there, but those goons were just getting up from whatever the hell you did to them!”

“No shit, ’cause you weren’t there!”

Gordo pulled his shirt from Gabe’s grasp and looked around the darkness of the street. “Hey, I had to, uh, you know, use the can. I got a bug going through me.”

Gabe moved backward and shook his head. “Next time, when I call for backup, Gordo, you can shit your pants on the way. That girl was almost raped!”

Gordo perked up. “She want to press charges?”

“If it were so easy. She’s afraid of them. I don’t blame her.”

“Why didn’t you tell her you were a Fed?”

“And have her slam the door in my face permanently?” Gabe shook his head. He needed a drink. “No way. I’m playing this one close, real close. That slime bag Tucci wants her, and so do his gorillas.”

Gordo grinned. “Just how close you gonna play it?” He leaned toward Gabe and sniffed loudly. “Smells like you’ve already made some headway.”

Gabe shoved him away and started for his car. “Gordo, did it ever occur to you that the reason you don’t get laid more often is because the ladies smell the dog in you long before they see you?”

Gordo laughed. “Yeah, but when they find out this dog can hump like a lion, they come back until they can’t stand.”

Gabe hit the key fob and his car lights blinked on and his dick sprang up. “In your dreams, old man, in your dreams.”

Once settled in his car, Gabe called in to SFPD dispatch and asked for a detail to keep a sharp eye on Gianna’s addy. He doubted the gorillas would be back but didn’t want to take anything with Tucci for granted.

Gabe sped past his partner, who stood in the middle of the street giving him the finger.

Gabe raised his right hand to his nose. Essence of Gianna swirled about his senses. His dick swelled, and he wanted to turn around, climb up the fire escape, creep into Gianna’s apartment, and slip between her sheets. The urge to turn around was so powerful, he found himself braking, then signaling to turn right. He shook the urge off, and though it was fifty degrees outside, he turned the AC on full blast and cursed all the way to the Marina district, where he had an appropriate flat for his cover.

Once inside, Gabe poured himself a stiff bourbon, tossed it down, then poured another one. He paced the floor of his living room. What he knew was that Cappy Cipriani was into Tucci for a hundred forty large. He’d bet the meeting tonight was to discuss repayment options. Tucci would force Gianna to pay off her father’s debt. How the hell was she supposed to do that? The only thing of value she possessed was the restaurant.

Gabe snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” Quickly he put a call into the task force secretary’s voice mail.

“Hi, Jan, I need you to run a title search on Ciao Bella. It’s on Lombard, but start with Alberto Cipriani, then Gianna Cipriani, and find out the balance on the mortgage. I need that info like last night.” He hung up the phone.

If Tucci wanted the restaurant, that would explain why he let Cappy run up his pony bill so high. Most bookies would have cut him off at ten grand. He’d bet his hazard pay that the dirty don told Cheeks the bookie to let him ride. After all, when he dug himself in too deep, there would be only one recourse: hand over the restaurant and the property it sat on.

Gabe poured another bourbon. He moved to his panoramic window and gazed out over the bay and the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge.

A question niggled at his brain. Why Ciao Bella? He sipped his drink, this time savoring the smooth bite of it. The answer wasn’t what was important. Because in the end, it wouldn’t matter. His time to leave this city by the bay was near. Gianna was his ticket to Tucci, and once he was arrested, his work here would be done.

He tossed back the rest of his drink, which suddenly bit too hard. Another reason he couldn’t let things with Gianna go too far. He’d love her then have to leave her, and for a man who didn’t do morning coffee with aplomb and was more comfortable slipping out before there was any uncomfortable morning-after conversation, he didn’t want to hurt the innocent Gianna. She was a pawn, the key to the prize. And as such he owed it to her to leave her alone.

Gabe looked at the nearly empty bottle of JD. Enough was enough. He began to unbutton his shirt and head for the bathroom. He needed a shower. A really cold one.

Gianna spent a fitful night dreaming of Gabe coming to her, waking her with kisses, and roaming his hands over her body—only to be interrupted by Mario and Eddy bursting into her bedroom, their eyes wild, their teeth gnashing like rabid dogs and their hands, long furry claws like a monkey’s, reaching for her. Several times she woke wanting to call Gabe. But she had no way to reach him. Even if she did, she would not call him. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in her.

The next morning, Gianna jumped into the shower, then started to replicate what Tressie had done to her the night before. And though she tried, she could not make her hair look anything close to the miracle Tressie managed. Instead she settled for it hanging straight, letting the wispy edges frame her face and decided it didn’t look too bad. After she applied the few cosmetics she possessed, Gianna looked at herself in the mirror. Not bad. Better than before Tressie had her intervention but not the sultry siren who walked out of here last night.

Gianna found herself immersed in the daily operation of the restaurant. The cozy red and white checkered tablecloths beckoned her with friendly warmth. The bottles of Chianti that lined the wall behind the bar promised a smooth companion to the pasta dishes Marlene and Dante could whip up in their sleep. Gianna had taken more interest in the kitchen these last few years. She enjoyed the solitude of creating, but more than that, she enjoyed the sharing of her efforts. Several of her own recipes were featured on the menu, and every once in a while, when one of her chefs could not make it in, Gianna gladly put on the apron and spent the evening running between the kitchen and the hostess stand. One of her dreams was to go to Italy and spend a year working in various restaurants. In her entire life, she had never left the Bay Area. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to spread her wings. She smiled. Maybe. Someday.

The fresh scent of basil, thyme, and oregano wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the pungent scent of fresh garlic. It was perfume to her. She would never tire of the scents. As long as she lived, those herbs would give her comfort and joy. Like a teddy bear.

The restaurant was immaculate. Her family and guests who had cleaned up after the reception two nights before did a stellar job.

It was still early, not even seven-thirty. Paulie, her prep boy, would be arriving soon, followed by Marlene, who would make her fresh pastas from scratch. Soon the kitchen would be bustling with activity and scrumptious aromas.

And so the day went. At noon Tressie showed up, ready to melt Gianna’s credit card and leaving the hostess stand in Zia Cece’s capable hands. Gianna spent a whirlwind afternoon with her cousin trying on clothes, hats, and shoes and getting a full makeover at the MAC counter at Nordie’s. Gianna didn’t think of her dead father, Tucci, or his two goons, instead she thought of spreading her wings a little at a time, and, a certain dark-haired man who made her feel things she now craved more than any dish on the menu.

As the dinner hour rolled around, Gianna was dressed in a shirt and skirt, and not one that stopped at her ankles. While black, this skirt fell midthigh. She loved the shirt. The minute she’d spied the deep emerald-colored button-down cashmere form-fitting sweater in Nordstrom’s, she knew she had to have it. The color brought out the green in her hazel eyes. While it was form-fitting, it did not reveal too much of her ample cleavage but showed it off in simple classic tailored lines. She wore dark hose and three-inch Kate Spade peekaboo pumps Tressie insisted she buy.

Despite the smiles from her regulars, Gianna still felt like somehow she was an imposter. Not worthy of the smiles and looks she garnered. Even when old man Amato came in for his weekly penne all’Arrabbiata and Chianti fix, removed his glasses, cleaned them, then smiled and said, “I’m not seeing things. You are more beautiful than an angel, Gianna. Fie on Berto for keeping you hidden away all these years.” He took her freshly manicured hands into his gnarled ones and kissed them. “Don’t be afraid to go find a nice Italian boy. You deserve to live a little.” He patted her hand, then said almost to himself, “We all do.”

Gianna smiled. The door to the restaurant opened, and the regular courier stepped through. His eyes widened when he realized who he was looking at. “Dayum, Gianna, you look hot!”

Gianna laughed, the sound foreign to her. She was not feeling so light. “Thanks, Mark.”

He hurried and crossed himself. “Oh, sorry, I forgot. My condolences.” He dropped his shaggy blond head and handed her the box in his hand.

There was no label on the finely wrapped package. Smooth gold-toned vellum wrapped with creamy silk ribbon covered the heavy box. “You don’t have to sign for it, but I was told I had to give it directly to you.”

Gianna frowned. “Who sent it?”

Mark looked down at his clipboard and shrugged. “Dunno.” He turned from her and said over his shoulder, “Sorry I can’t chat. I have two more deliveries; then I get to go home. Ciao!”

“Ciao, Mark,” Gianna said as she turned with the box in her hand. She hurried over to the hostess stand. Excitement skittered through her. Was it from Gabe? Did he want to see her again?

A minute later, Gianna stood horrified, holding a crystal bowl full of big ripe blood colored cherries. “Oh, they look delicious, Gianna,” Zia Cece said as she ambled closer. Plucking a cherry from the crystal bowl, her aunt chewed and smiled. “So juicy. Who sent them?”

Gianna shoved the bowl into her aunt’s hands. “I have no idea, but you are welcome to them.”

Anger clouded her vision. How dare Tucci?
How dare he?
She didn’t have time to seethe, as several regulars came in. Quickly Gianna morphed into the hostess with the mostest. Until fifteen minutes later when Mario and Eddy walked in; but, she smirked, she was happy to see them sporting lumps on the sides of their heads.

Feeling safe on her home turf, Gianna strode up to the two thugs. “Get out of here before I call the cops.”

Mario smirked. “Better yet, call your boyfriend from last night. We got a score to settle with him.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” The minute the words left her mouth, Gianna wished she hadn’t said them. Let the two dumb-asses think she had a boyfriend who wasn’t afraid of them. Quickly she tried to retake the statement. “Not yet anyway.”

Eddy shrugged. “Don Tucci wanted to know how you liked the cherries.”

“Tell him I threw them in the trash.”

Mario shook his head, his great jowls slinging back and forth. “He’s not going to be very happy with you.”

Gianna watched the door open again and caught her breath when Gabe strode through like he owned the place. He was more handsome than she remembered. Her cheeks flushed hot. She turned to Tucci’s men. “You tell your boss, I’m not interested in any gifts from him or doing any business with him. Tell him if he continues to harass me, I’ll call the cops.”

Eddy stepped closer, so close she could see the dull beige flecks in his dung-colored eyes. “You go ahead and call the cops, girlie, but take a look around here before you do, ’cause every single person in this joint will be sleeping with your father if you do.”

Blood drained from her cheeks. The two men moved past her and settled into a round table for four in the center of the intimate dining room.

Gianna turned to Gabe, who stood behind her. “I can take out the trash if you’d like.” His warm breath caressed her ear. Gianna’s knees wobbled. Gabe took her elbow and turned her around to face him. “Jesus, Gianna, you’re as white as a ghost.” He steered her toward the back of the restaurant, out of the way of the goombahs’ prying eyes. Zia Cece bustled out of the kitchen with bread baskets in each hand.

Her brown eyes scoped out Gabe before they landed on Gianna. They quickly morphed from teasing to concern. She set the baskets down on a nearby table. “Gia,
stai bene
?”

“
Si,
Zia, I’m okay. Just felt a little light-headed for a moment.”

Cece clucked several times like a hen. “I told you it was too early for you to come back to work.” She raised her hands to Gabe. “Does she listen to me? She is like a daughter to me, but she is as stubborn as a goat.”

Gabe smiled. “I agree on the stubborn part.”

Cece narrowed her eyes and took a closer look at Gabe. “Calabrasi?”

“Siciliano.”

“Ah!” Cece cried, crossing herself. “No more Sicilians. Tina was Sicilian. She left a daughter and a husband. Shoo. Go away.”

“Hey,” Tressie said from the kitchen as she wrapped an apron around her tiny waist. “I’m Sicilian, too, don’t forget. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cece threw her hands up in the air, grabbed the baskets, and hurried out to the waiting diners.

An awkward silence fell between the three. Tressie stuck her hand out to Gabe. “My country cousin forgets that in the big city, it’s customary to introduce strangers. I’m Theresa Bellesi, fellow Sicilian, and damn proud of it.”

Gabe smiled and shook her hand. “Gabe LaMotta.” Then he handed her his card and grinned at Gianna when he said to Theresa, “Hold on to this for Gianna, she might need it.”

Gianna felt the heat rise in her cheeks again. “I’m sorry, I just—forgive my bad manners. Tress, Gabe, Gabe, Tress. Now, Gabe?” She turned a smile to him. “Did you come to eat dinner or annoy me?”

Gabe’s eyes twinkled, and Tressie crossed her arms over her ample breasts, not taking a step away. Gianna gave her cousin a look that said, Scram. Tressie smiled and slowly shook her head no. “Fine, you two can stand here and play games. I have a restaurant to run.”