A/n: This is going to be a transitional chapter – there's very little dialog in the first half. I'm not getting lazy, I just thought the story was better served by paving the plot for the next scene. I hope it reads as easy as I tried to write it.
A pall had been cast over Trenton, New Jersey. Myra Costanza was, if not beloved, at least a happy fixture in her neighborhood. Her death sent shockwaves through the community and planted the seed of fear in the heart of its citizens. If the wife of a police officer was susceptible to the invisible dangers out there, was anyone among them safe? The general herd-like mentality of the 'Burg residents was heightened greatly by poor Myra's abduction and murder and all the locals vowed to be even more vigilant than usual.
A neighborhood watch was organized in the living room of old Mrs. Markowitz, the Plum's neighbor. She worked up quite a sweat baking enough coffee cake for all the attendants, which was a good thing considering the entire neighborhood showed up. The local hardware store sold out of 60 watt bulbs because people flocked to stock up, wanting to ensure all their porch lights were burning bright. Motion sensor lights, a safety measure most 'Burg residents forewent because of the nuisance of stray cats and escaped dogs setting them off constantly, became standard in every home's back yard. Every strange parked car was reported to the police department, and vigilant neighbors wrote down each passing license plate number. The Kerner's had out of state visitors that nearly set the neighbors into a tailspin – the Pennsylvania plates on a strange car had every 'Burg dweller on high alert until Mr. Kerner spread the word that they were cousins from Philadelphia.
The people of Chambersburg took the loss of one of their own to violence very seriously, and since Trenton Police Department had no leads in the case – none that they were sharing, anyway – the inhabitants of the small hamlet took matters into their own hands. They felt notably safer, but not settled.
Rangeman, likewise, was extraordinarily circumspect both internally and externally. Giana, Vaughn, and Charlene all received guards, like Hector promised. Stephanie was strongly encouraged to remain inside the headquarters on Haywood Avenue and would be for the foreseeable future; every man that wasn't watching her was one more man available to keep looking for Hector's would-be assassins, a factor that encouraged Stephanie to mind her handlers. Every favor, every marker, had been called in and all angles were being investigated, but it was like the Koreans were smoke, ghosting in and out of whatever building they occupied. No one was able to get a bead on their location and a general pissed-off attitude permeated the building.
Hector had been holed up with a couple of his most trustworthy and discreet former Mara brothers, diligently searching for informants or connections that would clue them in to the person responsible for the ordered hit. At this point, they were unable to find even new recruits, which was puzzling since the newer, younger gang members were not generally known for being smart enough to evade capture or notice. It was too organized, too secretive…it felt less like gang activity and more like old-school mob activity.
While Ranger worked his overseas contacts for a clue as to who the leader was, Hector spent his hours in a windowless room with a secure door and a small arsenal in arm's reach, hacking databases and files to try and glean some sense of origin for this chapter of the Korean Dragon Crew. He longed to return to his everyday life; until recently, it hadn't been anything to speak of and under normal circumstances, it would make no difference where he worked from or how long. But knowing Vaughn was home, worried about him, with a guard posted to keep some fucking banger from killing him to send a message to Hector…well, he had a lot of guilt about all of it. However, he pressed onward, knowing that the sooner they eliminated the threat, the sooner he could return to a life he was growing to love very much.
Charlene, true to her word, had held a vigil that night, and each of the three nights since they were informed of this threat. She felt strongly that Hector would be fine, and she was rarely wrong about these things – she and God had had a very close relationship for a number of years now and she was fairly adept at hearing His voice when praying. Still, it didn't stop her from lighting candles and praying for Hector's safe delivery on the other side of this, nor did it stop her from daily reminding her children to do the same. Hector occupied a very special place in her heart; what mother wouldn't love the person who filled her child so completely, who grounded them and settled them? She owed Hector a debt of gratitude as far as she was concerned, and her daily pleas to her Savior were the least she could do.
There were currently two men rotating shifts with her, and they were both well-fed and cared for while in Charlene's employ. She insisted on cooking for them, it being 'the hospitable thing to do', and referred to them by their given names, rather than their professional nicknames. Snake and Junior, or Gary and Samuel, were in Virginia Beach for the duration with Charlene. The thought was that threat would be minimal, so they felt reasonably safe while dutifully following her about on errands and such. She was determined that this cloud hanging overhead would not affect her ability to be congenial, so they were spending a very comfortable few days guarding a very welcoming client.
Vaughn sat, sullen and cross, inside the studio space he used for composing. His writing partner had left, having lost her patience with him after he snapped at her for skipping a freshly written stanza, telling him to 'have a Coke and a smile and call me when you get the stick out of your ass!'. He was seated in his favorite overstuffed wingchair, arms folded tightly over his chest as he glared at the door. He knew that on the other side stood one of the men Hector assigned to keep him safe. He also knew, on some level, his bearish demeanor was fueled by his fear for Hector's safety, but by damn, he was well and good into his pout and he was going to ride it out. The way Vaughn saw it, being obstinate and grouchy was preferable to letting himself sink into a pile of worry and fear.
Giana accepted her 'safety companion', as she jokingly referred to the Rangemen who guarded her, with much more grace than her brother. She tried to stick to work and home as much as possible to alleviate the strain on Rangeman's resources. Hector had also requested that she allow Rangeman to install a few panic buttons inside her home that would alert the person on monitors at Haywood when pressed, and a security system. She readily agreed, eager to ease his mind.
Mindful of the manpower it took to keep her safe in the city at large, she shyly asked Stephanie one afternoon if Steph thought she might be able to use Rangeman's gym; her own had been deemed 'too hard to secure' and the lethargy was getting to her. Swimming was fine, but her pool was small and didn't allow for any lap swimming. Ranger gave her permission, and so the fourth day after Myra Costanza's death and the third after Hector left, Giana found herself in her most modest workout clothes in the gym at Rangeman, Trenton.
She was initially uncomfortable, seeing that she wasn't an employee and the gym had an entirely male population. Stephanie offered to work out with her, a generous bid to make her comfortable considering Steph hated working out. Gia stretched next to Stephanie, who, she noted, groaned and winced a lot while warming up. Her professionalism took over and she helped Stephanie stretch individual muscle groups without straining them. Gia felt herself brighten; this was her forte. Physical therapy was something she loved and something she was good at, and resting on her laurels seemed to brighten her spirits. The two women jumped on the treadmill for a warm-up, Gia setting off at a brisk jog and Stephanie at a rambling walk. After 30 minutes, Stephanie was ready for a nap and Giana was ready for the weight machines. She managed to drag Steph over with her and set her up on the machine next to Lester's.
After standing to the side and helping Steph correct her posture and stance, Gia's attention drifted to the mats where Hal and Vince were sparring. Her eyes focused wholly on Hal and followed him across the mats, dissecting and closely observing him. When Stephanie finished her reps, she asked cheekily if Gia wanted an introduction. With a laugh and an embarrassed shake of her head, Giana explained, "No, it's a trade habit – his posture is bad and he's straining when he uses his right hip for support." while gesturing toward Hal with her head.
Bobby wandered up just in time to hear her comment, and called a time-out for the match. He gestured toward the mats, and with a "Shall we?" and a smile, guided Giana toward Hal.
Lester was broodingly silent as he observed their interaction, stoic as he watched Giana and Bobby lead Hal in a few range of motion exercises. He was uncomfortable with the jealousy burning deep in his belly, but knew he had no recourse in the matter…for now.
Stephanie placed her hand on his tricep and said, softly, "You doing okay there, Les?"
When he only nodded, she rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah, really convincing." She stood with him, shifting her weight from foot to foot and debating on whether or not to keep her big mouth shut, when Lester sighed almost inaudibly and said, "Go ahead, say whatever it is you're dying to say."
Debating on how to proceed, inspiration struck Stephanie and she said, solemnly, "I feel a shaking of the ground I stand on. The nature of life is not permanence, but flux. Things are changing." She met Lester's surprised expression head-on and said, "You can't be afraid to change, too, Les."
It took him a moment to find any words. "Geez, Beautiful, that was…beautiful."
She nodded, somberly before saying, "Carson said it last week on 'Downton Abbey.'"
Les gaped at her, then threw his head back and laughed. That was so, so…Stephanie, to quote a TV show to make her point and actually have it make sense. He looked at her and affectionately asked, "Do you really believe that? That changing is just that easy?" He didn't ask rhetorically; he was genuinely curious about her answer. He was also amused that this was the second quote a friend had thrown at him recently. He wondered, sardonically, if he needed to start paying royalties for the advice he was getting.
Stephanie snorted. "Nope. Changing is hard and sometimes it sucks. But if you don't change the limits you've imposed on yourself, Vince is going to go after your girl." And here she nodded towards the mats. Gia was showing Hal an exercise to strengthen a small muscle group in his lower back and Vince was blatantly staring at her ass.
All humor bled out of him in an instant and Lester stalked forward to stand imposingly in Vince's line of sight, leaving a widely grinning Stephanie behind him. He waited, silent and ominous, until Giana was through talking with Hal. When Bobby asked if she thought the men could benefit from an
PT assessment, she shrugged one shoulder.
"You're the medic; I only noticed Hal favoring the one leg. I'm happy to help you assess everyone if you think it would help." She offered.
Bobby mulled it over for a moment. "I think it wouldn't hurt; we tend to focus on physical ability and not always on physical wellness here." He said sheepishly. "We're men. We're taught at an early age to suck it up."
Gia rolled her eyes and said, "No shit. If the patients I treat, who are all ex-military, would just tell me what hurts the first time I asked, it would make my life a lot easier."
Les chuffed and said, "My abuelo used to tell me, 'If you're not barfing or bleeding, you're fine'." Gia laughed, turning toward Les and effectively shutting Vince out of the conversation. Lester was equally pleased at her amusement and at the scowl on Vince's face.
"Ooh, little Lester stories! Is abuelo free for lunch?" she teased.
Les smiled and shook his head. "He passed away about 11 years ago."
Gia flushed and closed her eyes in mortification. "Of course he did. I'm sorry, I should have thought before I spoke." She murmured.
Lester smiled a sweet smile at her as inspiration struck him – a chance to spend a little time with Giana, with no distractions. He said, "It's no problem; I like talking about my grandfather. But if you're finished here, I can take you home and take the next shift." She needed coverage anyway, and volunteering was a sure way to whisk her away from Vince and had the added bonus of sharing downtime with her.
At her grateful nod and smile, Les said, "Wait here for me; I'm going to grab a change of clothes and check in with the front desk." Emboldened by her earlier teasing and wanting to ensure Vince got the fucking message, Lester lowered his voice and asked her, "Okay if I shower at your place?" and was pleased when she squeaked out a 'sure' while turning a bruising shade of red.
Ten minutes later, they were belted into Lester's GT and headed toward her home.
"I'm surprised Ranger has a sports car in his fleet." She mused, running her fingers over the soft leather of the seats.
"This isn't a Rangeman car, this one's mine. I like a car with a lot of power. Your little rice burner is cute, though." He winked at her and was gratified, again, by the slight flush of her cheeks and her chuckle. He wondered….feigning a misjudged grab for the gear shifter, he let his hand graze hers and felt the same zing he'd felt the very first time he heard her voice. He chose to ignore the warning bells clanging in his head, singing Hector! Hector! and just revel in this moment, in being enclosed in his car with the only woman he found himself wanting to spent time with in recent months. With mild surprise, he realized how long it had been since he picked up a woman at a bar or called any of the women he normally used to relieve his tension.
He was pulled out of his reverie when Gia said, "My little Acura may not have 550hp, but it's zippy and cute." She nodded decisively and stuck her tongue out at Lester when he laughed at her.
After disabling her alarm and ensuring that the house was still sound, Lester escorted Giana inside the house. They made their way to the two separate bathrooms with minimal awkwardness. As Lester stood under the pounding water, he remembered with clarity the way Gia looked while stretching in the Rangeman gym. With a soft groan, he decided to take the edge off so he wouldn't be distracted all evening. He gripped himself tightly and dropped his head, visions of the woman who was currently also showering less than 30 feet away from him flashing through his mind.
After Lester exited the shower, his nose led him to the kitchen where Gia was feeding halved lemons into a machine.
"Juicer." She explained. "I thought I'd make us chicken piccata. Is that okay?"
Lester smiled and nodded gratefully. "Sounds perfect. Definitely better than the cup o' noodles I had planned." He wrinkled his nose for effect and offered to help.
After instructing him to wash and slice some red peppers and broccoli for the steamer, she returned to their earlier playful banter.
"So you're getting dinner; do I get a show?" she asked, smiling. Upon seeing Lester's lascivious grin, she rolled her eyes and flipped her dish towel toward him.
"Mind out of the gutter, Santos! I was hoping for a funny story, an anecdote, some dirt I can use on Tate later…" She made a 'come on with it!' motion and, for once, Lester opted for levity over humor.
"You asked about my grandfather earlier." Gia flicked a glance at him and nodded. "My grandfather's name was Mateo. Mateo Luis Santos. He came over, from Cuba, on a small raft with 42 other people, hoping for asylum from Batista. He was a smart man, involved in politics and educated as much as a laborer could be, and he knew that Castro's takeover was imminent. So he fled.
"He arrived in Florida, made his way to Miami and married white girl on vacation with her family from Kentucky. Met, married, whole deal in under two months. Her family was furious and disowned her, of course, for marrying a Cuban immigrant. My abuelo wasn't married long, a little under two years, when his wife died in childbirth. My mother was his only child; he never remarried."
Gia reached across the counter and covered Lester's hand with hers.
"I'm sorry; that's so tragic. He must have been crushed. What was her name, do you mind me asking?"
Lester raised his eyes to hers and held her gaze, unblinking.
"Joan." His voice was thick, low. "Her name was Joan. The Americanized version of 'Giana'."
Her soft intake of breath broke the silence as Lester let this information sink in. It was a bit of trivia he'd been turning over in his mind for a while; he wasn't sure what made him share it now. The significance of this woman sharing the name of a grandmother he'd never known, whose love held his revered grandfather captive for his entire life and made impossible the option of him ever remarrying, held such a myriad of emotions for Lester that he hadn't yet felt able to delve into them.
He smiled and patted her hand with his free one reassuringly, then released it so she could return to her cooking. He cleared his throat to continue and did his utmost to ignore the bereft feeling of his hand, naked without hers to cover it.
"He was a good man. He was granted citizenship after my grandmother died, since their child was an American and there was no one else to take her. He wasn't able to find work – he painted a prettier picture when I was small, but Miami in the 50s? Immigrants were disposable. So, he joined the Army. He chose to defend the country he loved, the one who didn't want him here, and left my mother with his family in Miami."
"So he's a hero, like you." Gia offered softly, keeping her eyes on the simmering dish in front of her. She had learned through her practice and work experience that most military men were taught to downplay the importance of the role they assumed, and she guessed Les wouldn't be an exception.
He simply scoffed and shook his head. "Abuelo was a hero. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross." There was no small amount of satisfaction in Lester's voice, Gia noted.
"When Ranger and I were kids, he used to let us hold his medal. We thought that was the coolest thing." Les smiled, remembering. "I think it fed the need to be successful in the Army later in life. Ric used to tell me he was going to have a medal like that someday, and I thought he was implying he was going to take Abuelo's medal. I took a nail and scratched my name into the back of the cross one day so Ric would never have it."
Giana sucked in a breath through her teeth and winced; Les nodded and said, "Yup. Got the hiding of a lifetime for that. But my grandfather told me later – much later – that he was actually touched that I wanted to keep it so much I marked it. It was the thing he was proudest of so I placed a lot of value in it."
"You must be so proud of him; he sounds like he was a good man, Les." She said, smiling warmly at her dinner companion.
Les nodded thoughtfully. "He was. He made it out of the Army alive, though he shouldn't have. He walked through a minefield, carrying two men across his shoulders and came out the other side with two bullets in his thigh from enemy fire." Lester had gained access to his grandfather's military records, thanks in large part to Hector, and the situation was unreal. The confirmed active minefield was impossible to cross, a fact undisputed by anyone, yet Mateo Santos had passed through it without setting off a single bomb.
"How'd he manage that?" Gia asked as she plated their dinner. Her voice clearly showed her awe, and Lester once again felt his heart warm in tender affection for this woman. They settled at the table before Les answered her.
"No idea. Abuelo says he wrapped his rosary beads around his wrist and recited the Lord's Prayer while he crossed the field. He always believed, without question, that an angel guided him safely across."
"And you don't believe that?" She asked.
Lester shrugged and said, "I don't know. I believe my grandfather was a good man. He joined the military to take care of my mother when he didn't have to. He supported his family with his paychecks. He risked his life to save two men in a minefield. He took care of me when my mom dumped me on his doorstep 5 days out of 7 so she could go party, and he took me in permanently after she left me with him and never came back for me when I was eleven. So if anyone deserved to have an angel guarding him…yeah. I guess I do believe it." Surprise colored his voice. They finished dinner in companionable silence, breaking the quiet to comment only on the mundane.
After clearing the dishes, Gia offered Lester wine, which he regretfully declined, citing the fact that he was currently on duty, and invited him to make himself at home. He wandered into the living room and, grinning, grabbed the photo album he recognized from the drunken girl's night last weekend.
"Are these the pictures of Mark you guys were looking at?" he called toward the kitchen. Gia popped her head out and grinned when she saw the album.
"They are. There are some good ones in there; why do you think he's so nice to me? Threat of blackmail." She winked and joined him on the couch, and they spent a fun fifteen minutes flipping through the album. Finished, Lester reached for the next binder and Gia spent a happy few minutes explaining the timeline of the photos – Vaughn playing piano at their family home as a teenager, Charlene hugging a man that Gia explained was her father, and 'the baby', Richard, playing peewee baseball.
Next came a page that housed several pictures of her extended family.
"Aunt Nancy, mom's sister." She stated, pointing to an attractive brunette that Les guessed was in her mid-to-late 40s. "She's a tomcat. Likes younger men, always moving with one guy or another." Gia rolled her eyes, not amused. "She and Vaughn are close but I'm not a big fan. I was closer to Uncle Carl." Here, she pointed to a picture of a younger man with red hair.
"He passed when Diya and Dev –" she gestured toward two dark skinned young teenagers, both with beautiful bright eyes and blindingly white teeth "- were around 10. His wife took them back to India so we didn't see them until they moved here for college. Diya's studying at Ole' Miss; she's working on an organic food preservative now, it's pretty neat. And Dev is at NYU." Les nodded, vaguely remembering this story from their first Shorty's night together.
She turned the page and made a face, then removed a photo of Dev smiling next to a good-looking Indian man wearing trendy black-framed eyeglasses. "I forgot this was in here." She murmured, went to fold the photo in half to cut the offending man out of the picture.
"Who is that?" Les asked, shooting for casual and crossing his fingers that the stab of jealousy didn't seep through his voice.
"An ex." She said shortly, then rolled her eyes. "He was – is – a friend of Dev's. He was finishing his financing degree when Dev was starting. Dev introduced us, we dated a while, he got rich and dumped me for a bigger set of boobs. The idiot still calls every once in a while to hint that he wouldn't mind a booty call." She rolled her eyes and inserted the picture, with the ex now hidden, back into the album.
"Do you need me to talk to him?" Les growled. She smiled and shook her head, patting his knee.
"Thanks, but no. He's not dangerous, he's just an ass. Ravi was lauded as some financial wiz kid so he's got an inflated ego." She waved a hand dismissively and closed the album, asking if he needed anything before they turned in. The guest room had fresh sheets, she reminded him, in case he got tired. After bidding her good night, Les watched her hips sway as she made her way down the hall toward her bedroom and relaxed into the couch, reclining his head and closing his eyes.
So, he mused, there's a rich ex-boyfriend in the city that's still after Giana. She doesn't seem like the type to be impressed by money…but neither did Michelle.
He shook his head harshly, as though flinging unwanted thoughts off. Giana wasn't Michelle; the two were nothing alike. Still, a small, suspicious, and ugly part of him whispered, You sure about that? You were fooled once before. She could be a heartless liar who wants to use you for sex and money, just like Michelle.
Les pinched the bridge of his nose and did a few breathing exercises to center himself. Thinking of that awful bitch always put him in a foul mood, and he wanted desperately to stave it off. Besides his past – his dark and checkered past – this was the other reason he'd tried to avoid growing attached to Gia. She was a good person, deserving of a man who could trust her totally. Lester had an inherent distrust of women and doubted it would ever change. After his mother abandoned him and after his first love…well, after Michelle, he decided and had been well served with the philosophy that women were unilaterally untrustworthy.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to look into this guy, to make sure he wasn't a threat to Giana. Ravi…even with only a first name, it shouldn't be hard to locate him in the city and just check to ensure he wasn't crazy. Or still in love with your girl, the hateful voice whispered.
With a sigh, Lester stood and let himself out of the house, locking Gia tightly inside while he checked the perimeter.
*The Distinguished Service Cross is the second highest military award that can be given to a member of the United States Army for extreme gallantry and risk of life in actual combat with an armed enemy force. I'm not from a military family so I wasn't familiar with military medals and their meanings, but it's an extremely interesting topic to research if anyone is so inclined.