Protected By the Monster

“Be careful,” he said. “Clair’s mother won’t be easy on you.”

“No, I don’t think she will be,” I said with a little smile, then left his office, my mind buzzing.

Things were happening fast. The Don wanted this wrapped up, but he seemed to think the Jalisco were going to hit and hit hard. But we were in the safest place in the city, so it was hard to imagine that they could reach us within these walls.

Don Leone seemed to think it was possible, and so I had to be on guard.

It was troubling though. I didn’t want to push Clair into something she wasn’t comfortable with, at least not faster than she was ready for. And I knew her mother wasn’t going to come along for the ride willingly.

But they were my responsibility, and I’d do what I could.

I walked back to our little private wing, Clair’s taste back on my lips, as I struggled with the path forward.17ClairI woke up late the next morning, my head groggy and spinning, the feeling of Luca’s tongue still lingering between my legs. I rubbed my feet along the buttery soft sheets and stretched my legs, trying to get him out of my brain.

But he was stuck there, so deeply, so fully, that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to stop thinking about the way he could make me feel.

I got up, showered, dressed. It smelled like perfume, whiskey, and honey in my room. I considered calling down for breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry. Instead, I found a little single-use coffee machine lodged in the corner next to the alcohol bottles and made myself a cup.

I drank it down, steaming hot, burned my tongue and throat.

It woke me up enough to leave my room. The hallway was silent, the kind of silent only hotels managed. The carpet was thick, lush in a way that exuded wealth. I turned left out my door and walked to the far end, letting my eyes skip over landscape oil paintings, majestic mountains with heavy light rolling down their peaks, lakes with idyllic little rowboat bobbing near green rotten docks, before I stopped in front of my mother’s room.

I knocked twice, waited, knocked two more times. I heard someone move inside before the door unlocked and opened.

My mother stood there, her short hair bedraggled and messy, her eyes bleary-red and puffy, wearing a long plaid robe hanging open, an old t-shirt, and a pair of flannel pants.

“Hi, hon,” she said.

“Morning, Mom. You look awful.”

She grunted and looked at my yoga pants and tank top. “You’re not much better.”

“Can we talk?”

“Probably should.” She gestured for me to follow as she turned and walked back inside.

I went in and shut the door behind me.

Her room was the mirror image of my own, though a little bit larger. There was an extra couch around the fireplace, set off against the far wall, and her coffee table was a modern glass style that looked like it was almost floating in the air.

She walked over to the couch and sat down. There was a tray with a silver carafe and two mugs sitting on it. She leaned forward and poured herself some coffee before offering me some.

I sat on the chair next to the couch and took the coffee. I sipped and stifled a sigh. It was delicious, and I really should’ve just called down for something before coming over.

“I’m sorry I pulled you into this,” I said.

She sighed and shook her head. “It isn’t your fault,” she said.

“I think it is, at least a little bit,” I said.

“Fazio never should’ve left you that money.” She put her coffee down and shifted in her seat, turning her body toward me. “I don’t know why he did it. I think he was trying to help someone, in his own odd way.”

“Were you close with him?” I asked.

“Before your father,” she said.

That was how things were: before my father then after him, a line in the sand, a split in the middle of her life.

When things were good, and when things weren’t good anymore.

“I wish I’d met him,” I said.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “He was a cranky old asshole. We got along because I was one of the few people that didn’t take his crap, but he wasn’t pleasant, not even a little bit.”

“Still, I wish I knew more of my family, you know?” I sipped my coffee, let it sit on my tongue, swallowed. I felt like the air in the room was heavy, like the Philly humidity leaked in through the walls.

“Why?” she asked. “My family’s a bunch of thieves and gangsters. Your father’s side wasn’t much better.”

“You say that, but I still don’t know them,” I said. “Shouldn’t I get the chance to at least decide?”

She shook her head, picked up her coffee, put it down again. “Where is all this coming from?” she asked finally.