Mr. and Mrs. Rossi

“Why don’t we all go inside my café and have a hot cup of coffee,” Alfaro interjected, “I’m dying to find out all the details. Starting with what the fuck y’all are doing in my hood.”

Dante growled in Christopher’s direction, “Watch the language.”

Harley steadied her breath while Alfaro’s eyes glanced over her shoulder toward Hannah. He offered an apology in Spanish. She appreciated his attempt of respect but maybe right now with no less than twenty guns pointed at their heads, now the sincerity behind it was hard to absorb. With everyone being pushed forward, Harley took the opportunity to reach into her back pocket and finger the gold band back on her finger. Since Dante just blew any chance she had on being one of Alfaro’s Girls, she had to play the part of doting wife. But she looked on the bright side, five weeks of working with the local police with hopes of gaining access to Alfaro and she was here.

Finally in Alfaro’s presence and so close to putting an end to his work only to be accompanied by all people, Dante. Had this opportunity presented itself sooner, she’d find herself on the arm of Alfaro’s instead of in front of his gunmen. It was hard to believe a man barely five-eight stirred up such a ruckus. So far, if you got past the hired guns, Christopher Alfaro seemed to be the perfect host.

The surveillance cameras did not do him justice. Christopher was a good-looking man in his own right. Sharp curly hair, clearly in shape with broad shoulders to counter his stocky legs and he was a sharp dresser. What was with the suits these days? Perhaps he was even a ladies’ man, judging from the women surrounding him outside before the hail of gunfire.

“My apologies, please, let us go inside. No need to ruin the rest of everyone else’s afternoon.”

Not like they had a choice, Hannah, Harley, Dante and his giant biker friend with the sub machine gun followed Alfaro into his café. More men stood against the wall with their weapons drawn. The leader of this band waved them at ease. Harley’s eyes scanned the room for an exit. A red sign hung just beyond the pastry window case. Ceiling fans cooled the room but not enough. No amount of fans during the months of June, July, and August would be able to squelch the heat. Sweat dripped down the neck of the bartenders standing behind the bar. No way had she planned on ordering anything.

“Sit,” Christopher demanded.

As long as they all stuck to the same story, no one would get busted. Javier’s foolish attempted murder on this man’s life put them in a precarious position. Though Harley had a three hour head start on Dante, she spent her time riding up and down the streets, cruising by each block party as well as getting stuck in a few. She’d driven almost to the pier when she spotted Hannah standing at a bus stop crying. Javier wisely dropped her off before his stupid stunt. Hannah spilled the beans on Javier’s plans and they drove like crazy hoping to stop him, but they were too late. Her plan was to ram the back of his impala but he was too far ahead. Sacrificing the side of her car was the only way to save him. As of right now, everything was a coincidence. Hopefully Christopher believed in coincidences. She didn’t. Her plan would have worked if her darling new husband hadn’t shown up.

Dante dipped his head close to hers and inhaled the curve of her neck as he held out her seat for him. A chill spread down to her knees. Hannah and Dante’s friend shared the same quizzical smirks on their faces at the two of them. What made matters worse, or perhaps better follow-through, Dante reached for her hand when he took his seat next to her. With Hannah on one side of her and Dante’s friend on the other side of him, Christopher Alfaro sat across from them with his eyebrows raised at the gesture. How in hell was she going to gain Alfaro’s adoration with Dante hanging on to her like this?

“You two are newlyweds?”

“Brand new,” Dante gave a tight smile. “We married last night.”

As Alfaro nodded his head he squinted his eyes and studied them. He cocked his head to the side and admired the gesture. A pink tongue darted out of his mouth. Under the little bit of light that came through the top windows, the red tint of his Aztec history showed through. “National Decided to Get Married Day?”

Surprised he heard of it, she stretched her eyes and nodded. Who came up with that kind of shit?

“The minute our eyes locked,” Dante brought Harley’s hand to his lips. The warmth of his mouth sent a chill down her spine, “and I didn’t want to be without her. I can’t wait to start our own little family together.” He gave her hand a little squeeze.

For a moment Harley’s body swayed into his. His words sounded so sincere, but she remembered he lied for a living.

“This is so sweet! I’ve always wanted her to give me a cousin,” Hannah sighed. She held her chin with the palm of her hands while resting her elbows on the blue and gold Talavera patterned tile.

r /> Harley rolled her eyes and fought the stabbing in her heart. She was going to be thirty-three soon and in this career, she did not have time for children. No, she thought to herself, she had her chance and gave it up. To keep from showing any emotion, Harley inhaled deeply and averted her eyes around the room.

Since the windows were closed with western shutters, a metal looking star hung over the table, lighting the small space from the various points. The twenty men outside dwindled inside down to five who all started cleaning the glass off the floor. A larger man, dressed in a suit much like Alfaro’s, came out from the back and took a seat on the barstool behind Christopher. He stood out from the typical stature of the men in the room. She didn’t take him to be of Mexican or Aztec, possible Puerto Rican or Dominican.

“You,” Christopher said turning his attention to the teen and drawing Harley’s attention away from the henchman, “You weren’t there for the wedding?”

“We eloped,” Dante said.

“And you weren’t there because you were,” the drug lord’s tongue raked over a gold canine tooth, “where?”

Harley’s heart flashed panic. The photograph. Damn that stupid photo-bombing! Did Alfaro figure out what happened? Stupid instant media. Why did these kids have to have their every thought and action posted for the world to see.

“I was with my boyfriend.”

“Why are we here answering questions?” asked Dante.

Christopher’s brown eyes turned toward Dante. “Because right after someone came here and shot up my place and your wife coincidently drove her car onto the curb, you walk up calling my name like you’re about to arrest me. Got something to say about any of that?”

“You know women, Mr. Alfaro, they can’t drive for shi-nothing,” said Dante’s friend.

“Who are you and how do you know my name?”

“Who doesn’t know who runs things down here?” The man held out a large hand for Christopher to take, which he didn’t and two seconds later, he withdrew his hand. “I’m Roman, best man of the happy couple.” Roman nodded his head and in doing so, a lock of dark hair fell over his shoulders.

Hannah craned her neck up at him. Even in his seat he was tall. Harley took in the man’s details quickly. His frame suggested an agent’s regime, like Dante’s—just taller. Despite the same type of suit Dante wore earlier, his wildly long hair suggested biker crew. Harley chalked him up to being a part of the STB and wondered when the two of them would break out their badges. Oh wait, she thought sarcastically, they’re undercover. If they were anything like her and Tai, they’ll keep the lie up until the last resort.