Protected By the Monster

“Luca.”

“I’m Clair.”

“Good to meet you, Clair.”

“I still think you’re a mafia asshole,” she said. “But chicken parm sounds really, really good.”

“Fair enough,” I said, walking to the steps. “So long as you don’t run away, we’ll get along just fine.”

She watched me head to the stairs. I looked back over my shoulder and smirked at her, unable to help myself. The girl was pretty, and I could tell she was interested, even if she was doing a pretty good job of pretending like she wasn’t.

She bent over, picked up the duffel bag. I caught a glimpse of her breasts as her shirt fell open. She stood up again, glared at me, shut the door, and disappeared back into her room.

I headed downstairs, whistling a little tune. I didn’t hear her push the bureau back into position, which I took as a good sign.4ClairThe duffel had some clean clothes, clean underwear, hair products, toothbrush, face wash, and some soap. It was about as bare bones as it got, but it was enough to make it through a couple days at least.

I took a shower and tried not to think about the mobster downstairs.

Luca didn’t look anything like the mafia guys I remembered. They were all older men with slicked-back hair or big fat bald spots. They wore baggy suits and gold bracelets.

Luca was trim and muscular with dark eyes, dark hair, full lips. His hair was messy, pushed off to the side with his fingers, almost too perfectly casual. He wore slim jeans, not too tight, not too loose, and a black long-sleeved Henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

He looked like he belonged in a fashion magazine. He had the body for it, the face for it, but I knew he was mafia as soon as he opened his mouth.

He had that sound to him, that cadence, like everything was some big joke and he couldn’t be bothered to care about anything.

When I got out of the shower, I toweled off, and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a light crewneck sweatshirt, the neckline ripped to be a frayed V, the sleeves pushed up along my arms. I opened the bedroom door just a crack and breathed deep. I could smell something cooking downstairs, and my stomach rumbled like a monster.

I shut the door again and bit my lip. I could just stay in my room and eat something later. He’d have to go to sleep eventually, or I could order something with my phone. But I didn’t know the address of the house I was in, and I had a feeling getting stuff delivered wouldn’t go over too well with Luca.

I clenched my jaw and resigned myself. Hunger won out as I left the room and shut the door behind me. I walked down the steps and into the living room. The TV was playing some basketball game as I headed back to the kitchen, the smell of cooking garlic and chicken wafting through the air.

I stopped as I looked at the coffee table.

A gun sat there, the barrel pointing toward the far wall.

I stared at the gun and a strange feeling came over me. I felt like my hands were shaking again and a cold sweat broke out over my skin. I grew up in a house without guns, never shot one in my life, learned to respect and fear them.

Guns were machines that killed people.

I walked over to the coffee table, knelt down, and lifted it up. I was surprised at how heavy and solid it felt in my hand. I stood back up, staring at the thing, and carried it over to the kitchen.

Luca stood in front of the stove, whistling to himself, a wooden spoon in his hand. Breaded chicken was frying in a pan while water boiled for pasta. Packages of pasta were lined up on the counter and a few store-bought jars of pasta were set up in front of them. He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled a handsome, crooked little grin, which melted away the instant he saw the gun in my hands.

I held it flat on my palms like an offering.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“You left this out,” I said. “Just sitting on the coffee table.”

He slowly put the wooden spoon down, his face hard, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I did,” he said. “I left it there on purpose.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s uncomfortable to carry it around all the time, and I don’t think anyone’s coming for you tonight.”

“Right.” I held it out to him. “You probably shouldn’t leave it where I can get it, right?”

He cocked his head like he didn’t understand the question.

“You going to shoot me, Clair?”

“No,” I said and stared at the thing in my hands with wide eyes. “I’ve never even touched one of these before.”