Okay, here it is, just like i promised... and now to sleep. *snores*
any questions or comments please leave a review or pm me. i will GLADLY answer back. you know i luv you guys :D
happy reading!
I – November 25, 1998
When the doorbell jingled, I didn't have to turn around to know who had entered the restaurant. The sharp, musky aroma of cigar smoke immediately flooded the storefront where I had stood wiping down the wooden counter top with an old rag. Of course, I had only smelled it once before, but that unique of a scent stays with you forever. In addition, the heavy, neatly placed footsteps and tell-tale, business-portraying aura gave way to an unmistakable persona.
"Dean, m'boy, that you?"
I looked up at that man who had entered, avoiding his steely gaze with a faux smile and my current work. "Yes, Mr. Boutreau. How can I help you this evening?"
"Is Giovanni here? I need to speak with him.
"On what terms?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Terms? I didn't know Colucci had gotten so confidential."
"Well, considering the last time you two 'spoke'," I dropped the rag and raised my fingers in air quotations, "it didn't blow over so well."
Thomas Boutreau, a French entrepreneur, was an old friend of Giovanni's. Key word – was. The two had hit it off as great friends while the old Italian was still living in Venice when Thomas came to the beautiful city for some sort of studying, or so I had heard. Years later, after the newly wedded Giovanni Colucci and his long time girlfriend, Eliana Rossi, moved to New York to start a life together, Boutreau caught up and did a little… damage. On what grounds, I was never told. But I didn't pry. Giovanni Colucci would NEVER disown such a relationship lightly, no matter how bad the situation.
Boutreau narrowed his gaze and nodded subtly in what I perceived to have been silent approval. "Just news on a hunt he might take an interest in."
With one last glance at him, I turned around and walked into the kitchen where Eliana was flipping through an old recipe box. Next to her, leaning against a table, was their nephew, Armando, eyeing a thawing turkey hungrily.
"Is Giovanni here?" I asked as Eliana looked up from her index cards.
"He's upstairs. Should be down in a minute," she replied. "Armando, put that away." She smacked his hand away from the turkey as he reached for a leg.
At that moment, Giovanni came down from the stairs leading up into the loft in which the family lived. "Couldn't find the table cloth. You think Teresa has it?"
"Maybe."
"Um, Giovanni?"
He looked to me with a warm smile. "Yes, Dean?"
"Thomas is here."
The grin faded and the Italian briskly stalked back into the storefront. Instinctively I followed, trying to ignore the pained worry that flooded Eliana's dark eyes.
Boutreau still stood next to the front counter, elbow resting on the oaktop and eyes tediously searching the restaurant. As we walked in, his gaze switched to us and he smiled. "Ah, Giovanni. Long time no see, my old friend."
Thomas held out a calloused hand, but the Italian refused to take it.
"Why are you here Thomas?"
"I've got a business proposition for you."
Giovanni made no insinuation of what he was feeling, but I knew for a fact he was pissed Boutreau had even shown his face at the establishment.
"Dean, could you excuse us for a moment?"
I nodded and returned to the kitchen, grabbing a full bag of trash on my way to drop it off in the dumpster out back in the alley way. I swung the stretched black plastic into the metal bin, hearing the waste clunk and rattle against other bags. Something stumbled behind me, and I was about to turn around to see what it was, before I was stopped.
I was stopped by the cold, iron barrel of a pistol pressed into the small of my back and the hushed, vitriolic words of, "Make a sound and I'll blow a hole through you."
Life just kept getting better and better.
