Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
2
One week later
Marra grabbed the two croissants, placed them on her tray, and made two cappuccinos. She took her tray to one of the small tables on the patio, and then cleaned off one of the empty tables. The sun was pretty potent today even though it was the end of September.
The small café she worked at was on the corner of two old streets, Franneli and Gretatta. They were streets that were prominently homes to Italian descendants, and because of that everyone pretty much knew everyone. They were close, stuck together, and ran in the same circles.
“Marra, can you watch these while I take a call in the back?” Henrietta, the wife of the owner of this small café, called out through the small window.
Marra asked her table if they needed anything else, and then headed inside. Francesco, the owner of Vincenzo’s Bakery and Café, was a man in his seventies and worked harder than any person she had ever met. She may have only moved to the small and almost intimate Italian town of Bourbon a year ago, but thanks to him she had a job, made decent money, and could support herself and her dream of one day going back to college.
Marra wasn’t Italian, and although to some in this small community that might have been frowned upon, Francesco treated her as if she were blood. But her grandmother had lived here years ago, and Marra had visited Bourbon back in the day. It wasn’t until her mother remarried and moved overseas and forgot all about Marra that she decided to come back to the only place that had ever held any meaningful memories. She couldn’t even use the excuse that she had a broken childhood and that was why she never felt like she belonged anywhere, because that wasn’t the truth.
Her mom was just not the mothering type, and certainly shouldn’t have had the unprotected one night stand that ended in Marra being conceived. She had been a mistake, and her mom made sure to let her know that on more than one occasion.
Marra set her tray down, pushed her memories of a neglectful past away, and waved to Henrietta right before she slipped behind the back door. Vincenzo’s was known in the neighborhood for their homemade baked goods and imported Italian coffee.
Henrietta and Francesco were Sicilian, coming over here when they were in their teens with their parents, and meeting right in this very neighborhood.
She took out the Biscotti Regina and set them aside. The sound of the bell above the door opening alerted her to a customer. “Welcome to Vincenzo’s,” she said and then turned around. The customers that walked in had her heart immediately dropping to her stomach. The four men that entered the small café came in here several times a week, and although she had been seeing them for the last year regularly, she would never get used to “seeing them”.
Niklo, the man in front, tipped his chin in acknowledgment to her greeting, but other than that they stayed silent. She stood still as she watched them walk over to the small table they always sat in when they came to the café. The four of them all wore suits, and when they removed their jackets and sat down she finally breathed in. Marra stayed still for a second and stared at Joey, the ruthless, dangerous, and violent boss of the Bacelli crime family. Living in this small Italian community meant she heard a lot about who ran things, and because most of it was spoken inside of these four walls, it was not something she could escape.
She exhaled deeply, not sure why she felt this attraction to a man that was so wrong for her on every level. And she wasn’t sure why he wanted her either. He could have any woman he wanted, thin and gorgeous, and the total opposite of her. She was thick and curvy, and a size sixteen to boot.
And then Joey lifted his gaze to her, and it was like everything else faded away. She turned from Joey and gathered the espressos and cannolis that the men always had when they came here. Although she knew they were part of organized crime—everyone who even uttered or heard their names knew, in fact—no one talked about it. It was just known, and that was that. She brought the items to them, but didn’t make eye contact.
These men were dangerous, and she did feel a slight sliver of fear at being around them. They may protect everyone in this town, watch over how things ran, and made sure no one screwed with anyone in their protection, but that didn’t mean that their reputation wasn’t something that nightmares were made of.
Marra set the espresso and cannoli in front of Joey, and just as she was about to turn away he grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She looked at him, her heart in her throat, and sweat starting to bead between her breasts.