Mr. and Mrs. Rossi

Dante turned. His brothers all now sat in make shift areas in the living room since he’d broken the couch and the chairs, coffee table and what not. “Yeah, sorry about the mess.”

TJ, seated in a bar stool, reached over the counter for the bottle of rum Dante left yesterday evening when he mended Harley’s shoulder. He bit back the order for TJ to leave the bottle alone. The team would call him crazy for wanting to save the last bottle the two of them shared. Fuck it, let them think what they wanted.

“Don’t touch that bottle,” he barked. TJ held his hands up in surrender. The youngest of the group, TJ apologized. “My bad, there’s an unopened bottle of whiskey in the corner.”

Whiskey made for a better way to drown the blues. Understanding, TJ reached for the bottle. He stood and held the bottle for Dante to do the honors. The ring on his left hand clinked against the bottle. Dante felt his heart squeeze. She was gone. No, he refused to believe it. He had to believe. They’d made plans. They were going to continue being married and work this thing out. Of course their last conversation might have said something different, but Dante had faith. It had been a while since he went to confession. If Harley made it out all right, he swore he’d marry her all over again in church, priest, bans and all. Vowing to make things right, he took a sip and passed the bottle to his left. In misery and silence, the men split the bottle between the six of them.

“I’m real sorry about your girl,” Tito broke the silence. “She was pretty bad ass.”

“Is,” Dante corrected and tried to ignore the collective pitiful glances the others gave him. “What? She made that jump.”

Tito shook his head. “I saw the whole thing. Even if she made the jump, she was still shot.”

In his fog of anger, Dante understood the position Tito was put in. He could not risk blowing his cover in front of Alfaro or Leonardo without being killed himself in order to save Harley. Dante just had to have faith Harley made the jump. What the hell was she thinking leaving with Alfaro? She was an agent, a damn good one. Why the hell had she done something so fucking stupid? The anger Dante worked through reared again; he threw the bottle down. Liquid and glass shattered everywhere. “She made the damn jump and she’s okay.”

Someone banged on the door. Elliott got up with a curse, “Damn it, Dante, you’re about to get us kicked out of here.”

“You’re about to get your asses thrown out of here,” Dante yelled and pointed at Elliott. He was losing control again but did not want Roman to spear him again and fully break his ribs, if he hadn’t already. They hurt like hell. He pulled open his shirt without unbuttoning it. A large red mark scarred his bottom three ribs. As he inspected his ribs the collective sigh interrupted his inspection. Dante looked up, his heart dropping at the sight.

It didn’t surprise him to find Roman’s cousin, Julio, standing there. This was Villa San Juan. What did Harley say about running into a Torres? Julio still dressed in his suit now with the tie opened at his throat and jacket wrapped in his arms. What surprised him most was who was wrapped in his arms in his jacket—one frazzled, matted hair, torn dress, bruised but alive, Harley Tomasello Rossi.

****

Harley awoke to the ratchet singing voice humming the tune of Cinderella’s ‘Don’t Know What You Got Til It’s Gone’. Besides her ears, every inch of her body ached. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks. The humming stopped and a hand touched her forehead wiping away her hair from her face. The smile spreading across her face couldn’t be helped recognizing Dante’s touch.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he whispered close to her ear.

The material beneath differed from the backseat of the limousine she remembered passing out in. Cushions touched her back—couch cushions—Julio brought her back to the hotel. Harley’s eyes slowly fluttered. The back of her head ached so she tried to stay as still as possible. Dante sat in the curve of her belly and where her legs drew up while she slept. The coffee table she’d remembered from yesterday sat splintered and ready for firewood. Feathers spread across the floor like a fresh layer of snow. Six men stood watching. She registered the black gear they wore, black vests, black cargo pants and black boots. Black and silver handled weapons accessorized their work uniform. STB’s finest.

Harley immediately recognized Roman standing to the left. And then Tito. Her eyes flashed remembering his face seconds before she threw herself out the window. He also witnessed the intimate embrace Christopher held her in. What did he tell Dante? Her heart seized when Dante’s face came into focus.

“You look like shit,” she croaked.

“If I do, blame them,” he chucked his thumb at his team, “these guys over here beat the shit out of me to keep me from going out and ripping Leonardo Marchette’s face off.”

Strong hands tried to keep her lying down. “Let me get up, Dante.”

“No, you fell out of a five story building,” he argued.

“I jumped,” Harley gave a lopsided grin.

“What the hell were you thinking,” Tito asked leaning forward,

“The bullet hit you. You hit the glass and fell out of the window.”

Harley held up her ring finger. “I knew the windows over there are a piece of shit. One good hit with something hard and boom,” she pushed the gold band around her ring finger for viewing purposes. “And I anticipated Leonardo’s shot. I may have anticipated too soon because the back of my head helped crack the glass.”

The five men let out a collective sigh and whistle. Were they impressed or something? Harley rolled her eyes. They were in the wrong business. This job was also about self-preservation. She guessed they would have just gotten shot.

“I put a few staples in the back of your head,” said Dante. “Fortunately for you, Julio found you and held your head. It helped keep your scalp from splitting more.”

Julio! Harley remembered the man and her conversation. She cut her eyes to the end of the group of men. He stood behind the team, his button down oxford soaked with her blood. The color in his face began to come back. After free falling into the water she recalled Julio fishing her out and holding her to him, holding her head against his chest. Harley offered an apologetic smile, “Sorry about the blood.”

Julio’s dark brown eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? This is the least of my worries, Harley.”

A low growl, low enough for only Harley to hear rumbled in Dante’s throat. “Well, thanks for the save.”

“What were you doing out of the hotel, Julio?” asked Roman.