Mobbed Up

Chapter 1 — Monica

A Shot in the Dark

Monica woke to the sound of voices. She flung the covers off and padded to the window of her Staten Island townhome. Shafts of pale gold radiating from an early fall moon bathed the street below. Cool air rushed inside, ruffling the pale-yellow lace curtains. Her nostrils filled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle drifting up from the hedgerows bordering the house. Two dark shapes across the alleyway caught her attention as they vaulted over the neighbor’s fence. Snatching her cell phone from the nightstand, she dialed 911.

A woman’s voice asked, “What’s your emergency?”

Screw it, she thought and hung up. Pete Mackey probably owes money to some bookie again.

Settling back into bed, she curled up underneath the floral comforter. A loud crack echoed outside. Monica bolted up. Tiptoeing to the window, she swept the tumble of long, ebony curls away from her face and peered out. The exact two figures leapt back over the fence, landing square on the sidewalk below a streetlamp. One of them glanced up, the light catching his face. Monica drew the curtains and inched away. It was Eddie. Eddie Marconi. What craziness did he get himself tangled up in?

Moments later, the doorbell rang. Monica’s pulse skipped. The ringing grew quicker, more frantic. She slipped into her robe, dashed to the living room, and hit the wall switch. Cautious, she checked the peephole and drew back. Her full lips formed an angry pout.

“Come on, Monica, I know you’re there,” a male voice said. “Please open the door.”

Her body tensed. A flush swept through her. After everything he had done, she vowed she would never speak to him again. Almost involuntarily, her hand turned the lock.

Eddie sailed past her, collapsing onto the sofa. “Thanks,” he said between rapid breaths.

Her eyes swept over his black attire, the black knit cap on his head, and the gun in his hand. This couldn’t be good. “Eddie, what the hell is going on?”

He glanced up, his face the picture of innocence. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Nothing for me to worry about! Are you for real? You bang on my door at three in the morning, dressed like a ninja and carrying a gun.”

“It’s not what it looks like. Calm down, and I’ll explain.”

Monica cursed herself for letting him in. Eddie, the permanent thorn in her side, but also once the love of her life. Together for almost four years after high school, she tossed him out after it became clear she needed the ring, the house, and the kids. Eddie wanted free nookie and a place to hang out.

Hands on her hips, she said, “Well, I’m waiting.”

“Pete’s in deep with my Uncle Sal,” Eddie blurted. “Owes him quite a bit of cash. He asked Brazo and me to give him a scare. You know, just a little one.”

She motioned toward the gun. “Please put that thing down.”

He placed it on the coffee table and got up. “Pete’s dead.”

“Dead?” Monica reared backward, picturing poor Pete, the neighborhood idiot. Every neighborhood has one. Skilled at getting himself into trouble, Pete might have been dumb, but he was harmless.

A nerve pulsed inside her chest. “You … killed him?”

“Hell no.” Eddie faced her. “I didn’t do it. Brazo didn’t either. We arrived too late.”

“Impossible. I heard what sounded like a gunshot. You were still over there.”

“That’s about the time we split.”

“Then how do you know he’s dead?”

“We got a glimpse into the window. Pete lay sprawled on the floor with some big goon standing over him.” Eddie’s brow furrowed. “Never seen the guy before.”

“Eddie, are you sure? Maybe, Pete’s alive. We need to call an ambulance.”

“Oh, he’s dead, all right.” Eddie formed the shape of a gun with his hand, raised it to his temple, and pulled an imaginary trigger.

“For God’s sake, Eddie!” About to tell him off, she stopped at the sound of police sirens outside. Gunshots were rare in this part of the borough. The front of her attached townhouse in the Sunnyside neighborhood faced the quiet of Clove Lake Park, one of the main reasons she chose this house.

Eddie crossed the room and killed the lights.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Monica demanded. She stomped after him feeling for the switch. Eddie’s hand caught hers.

“Keep them off, Monica. If the cops notice them, they’ll figure someone’s awake. Interviewing witnesses is one of their specialties.”

“Witness? But I didn’t see anything except you —”

“Exactly,” Eddie cut in.

He trailed the tip of his finger across her lips. “Shush,” he whispered.

She flinched and brushed his fingers aside. “Shush yourself.”

The room, lit only by moonlight, cast a soft glow over his handsome face. Tall, lean, and olive-skinned, Eddie’s skills in the art of lovemaking went above and beyond the ordinary. Knowing he was up to his old tricks, she stalked off.

Eddie came up behind her. “Come on, Monica,” he pleaded. “Why waste the rest of the night?”

Monica spun around. “You just witnessed a man shot in the head, and you want to have sex? I think you should go, Eddie. Now.” She strode to the door, flinging it open.

Eddie glanced down at his clothes. “Not dressed like this. Especially with the cops outside.”

Leaning back against the doorframe, she eyed him for a second. He had made a good point. A flutter hit the pit of her stomach while her mind battled between wanting him to leave and wanting him to stay. Still uncertain, she found herself pushing the door closed.

“Okay, you can stay until they’re gone. But no funny business.”

Eddie pulled off his cap and dropped onto the sofa again. Watching him, the memory of his dark strands slipping between her fingers surfaced. She fought the urge to run her hand through his hair.

Wanting to change the subject, she asked, “So, working for your Uncle Sal again?”

He paused. “Well … kinda. No, not really.”

“What is it then, you are or aren’t?” Typical Eddie, never a straight answer.

“I was doing him a favor.” His forehead wrinkled, and he let out a slow whistle. “Wait till he finds out about Pete. He’s gonna be pissed.”

Eddie’s Uncle, known to most of Staten Island, was said to be ‘mobbed up’ or connected. Through no lack of trying, Eddie hadn’t been able to work his way into the inner sanctum yet.

The sirens wailed louder before slowly dying out. Monica rushed to the window. Across the way, flashing red lights lit up the block.

Eddie jumped up and pulled her away from the window. He pressed up against her. His naked muscular body flashed across her mind. The way he used to move his lips along the hollow of her neck and… no, she needed to stop thinking about all that.

“I miss you,” Eddie moaned. “Please, baby, let’s cuddle. I want to hold you. Gaze into your beautiful green eyes. I promise I’ll be good. You know you miss me too.”

Knowing he spoke the truth, she hated herself for even entertaining the idea.

His hand trailed along her cheek. She almost caved. Mustering all her resolve, she said, “Not a chance.” She stepped away and pointed her finger at him. “You stay put on the sofa.” Without glancing back, she closed the bedroom door behind her.

Hours later, Monica woke to Eddie’s body pressed up against hers. His arm draped over her waist, his palm resting on her breast, the way they used to sleep. All of it comforting, yet disconcerting at the same time. His bare chest's steady rise and fall against her back soothed the buried hurt. His warm breath fanned her neck. God, how she missed him.

Chapter 2 — Eddie

Big Tall Sal

Rock music blared. Eddie rolled over and hit the buzzer on Monica’s clock radio. He leaned back against the pillows trying to shake off the recurring nightmare. The steady hiss of the shower perked him up. Grinning, he tugged off his underwear. Creeping cat-like over to the bathroom door, he opened it and slipped inside. Desire escalating at the sight of Monica’s naked silhouette behind the steamy glass, he slid the shower door open. Monica whirled around.

She pushed him away with her soap-covered arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

Eddie laughed, grabbed her arm, and forced his way inside. “Come on, save some water. We can shower together.”

His nautical blue eyes traveled the length of her body. Water raced down on her, beating a path between her breasts. Why did he give up on them? He should have tried harder. Pulling her close, he kissed the hollow of her neck. Steam swirled around them. He pressed her up against the beige tile while inhaling the fragrance of mango body wash. His hands explored until they found their mark between her thighs. She moaned, and her legs parted. Her eyes closed, and after a few minutes, she orgasmed.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured. Drawing her closer into his arms, he tried to enter her.

Monica shoved him. He stumbled backward, almost falling onto the wet tiles as she charged past. Frustrated, Eddie steadied himself, grabbed some soap, and finished showering. He stepped out, swiping a towel from the rack.

Dressed in a bathrobe, Monica applied her make-up at the vanity. Wrapping the towel around his waist, his disappointment growing, Eddie inched up beside her. She hadn’t answered him back with I love you, too. He rested his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and got up.

“Monica, please, talk to me.” She wheeled around, and he cupped her chin. A tear splashed onto his hand, knocking the wind out of his sails. It killed him inside to see her cry.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

She swatted his hand away. Brushing at her tears, she said, “You’re making me late.” Without another word, she dried her hair and finished dressing.

“Come on, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded.

“I’ve got to go, Eddie.”

He couldn’t let her leave like this. “Baby, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. I miss us, babe. I really do.”

“You should have thought about that when you were out there screwing around.”

Her words jabbed at his gut. The pain he had caused ran deep. She was right, and he needed to own it.

“I wish it never happened. It was one time, Monica. One time and I regret it. If you only knew how much.”

“I can’t forget it, Eddie. I don’t trust you anymore.”

He dug for a comeback. “Maybe if you hadn’t taken that job in Maryland and gone away for so long, we could have worked things out. Admit it, Monica, you ran.” She fell silent for a moment. He caught a trace of guilt in her eyes.

“Let’s be real, Eddie. We never wanted the same things. Maybe I’m partly to blame for pushing us to get married. I’d never lie to you and say marriage wasn’t what I wanted just to keep you.” Her face clouded over. “But I never would have cheated on you.”

Monica gathered her purse and charged toward the front door. Eddie followed close behind. With each step, her dark curls bounced, her long beautiful legs pumping fast in her black stilettoes.

“Give me another chance. I’ll make it up to you,” Eddie called after her. “You’ll see.” Begging wasn’t his thing, but she was worth it.

“No,” she said, slamming the front door.

Defeated, he trudged back to the bedroom and dressed. He checked his cell phone. Six missed calls from his Uncle Sal. Cursing, he left Monica’s house. Twenty minutes later, exiting the Staten Island Expressway, he arrived at his uncle’s house.

Salvatore Marconi lived large. The massive English Tudor standing in the Todt Hill neighborhood, one of the most exclusive areas of Staten Island, screamed money. Over the years, Todt Hill had been home to a few residents of note. Among them, Gambino crime family boss, Paul Castellano.

Eddie drove up to the gates in his white BMW X6. He waved at the two bodyguards stationed outside, who buzzed him in. He pulled onto the circular drive, got out, and rang the bell before going inside.

“Uncle Sal!” Eddie called out.

“In here, kid,” a man’s voice boomed.

Eddie proceeded down the hallway toward the kitchen. His uncle, hunched over an eight-burner commercial stove, stirred a huge stainless-steel pot. Polished cherry wood cabinets lined the walls and the sides of the enormous center island. On top of the Carrera Marble, a cutting board held fresh garlic, chopped onion bits, and a platter of sweet Italian sausages. The warm, deep tones of the terra-cotta tiles on the floor offset the pale coral backsplash.

Eddie inhaled the heavy aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and Italian herbs floating in the air. His stomach growled. Gravy. The pot would be on all day, the sauce thickening hour by hour until his Aunt Teresa spooned it over homemade pasta at dinner.

Eddie loved this kitchen. It bore so many memories of family dinners. Orphaned at five years old, after his parents died, he had lived with Uncle Sal. His uncle and aunt became surrogate parents, raising him along with their twin daughters, Gina and Antonia. Spoiled as a child, Eddie embodied the son his uncle never had.

Sal set the wooden spoon on the rest. He lumbered toward him, his six-foot-three frame towering above Eddie’s five-foot-ten. Stocky and well-padded, with a full head of dark hair salted with grey, he wrapped his thick arms around Eddie’s shoulders, giving him a bear hug.

“How’s my favorite nephew?”

Eddie hugged him back, though his arms barely made it halfway around his uncle’s body. “Doing great, Uncle Sal.”

Sal stepped back. “So great you can’t answer your phone.”

“Sorry, I got distracted this morning.” Warmth crept up his face.

Sal laughed. “Oh, I see, fidanzata! A girlfriend. Out of all your women, I liked…what’s her name? Monica. Yeah, Monica. I liked her the best. Think you two might get back together?”

Eddie thought for a few seconds. “Maybe.”

“You either will or you won’t. There is no maybe.” He gestured for him to sit at the large kitchen table. “We need to talk about last night. I believe there was trouble.”

Eddie sucked in air between his teeth. “Yeah, big trouble. Pete’s dead. You told me to get the money he owed, maybe rough him up a bit, but that’s all.”

Sal rubbed the stubble under his chin. “I know. I found out this morning.” He rested his large hands on the table. “Tell me what happened.”

Eddie described last night’s events, what he and Brazo had witnessed through the window. He left out going to Monica’s. Uncle Sal wouldn’t appreciate that part of the story. Monica wasn’t supposed to know about anything he did for his uncle.

“Did you recognize this man?”

“No, it was too dark. Everything happened so quick.” Eddie waited, positive his uncle would explode.

“Are you sure he didn’t get a look at you?”

“I don’t think so,” Eddie said.

Sal’s face pinched. He cracked his knuckles, each pop filling the silence between them. This old habit usually surfaced when his uncle was anxious.

Eddie bit his lower lip. Should he confess? Tell Sal everything he didn’t tell Monica. Pete struggling with the guy who shot him, both wrestling for the gun. The guy getting the upper hand and shooting Pete before turning and looking straight at him and Brazo? His uncle would realize he messed up. He’d never become a made man.

Sal’s eyes pierced Eddie’s. “You need to be certain. If he knows you can identify him, there could be trouble.”

“I’m sure,” Eddie lied. “As soon as we heard the gunshot, we split. But I don’t understand who would want to kill Pete. Do you?”

Sal got up, returning to the stove without answering his question. “Let’s leave this alone for now.” He picked up the spoon and stirred. “I called Scalito’s Funeral Home. I’m going to pay for Pete’s funeral. The poor man had nobody. I forgave his debt. You must forgive the debts of the dead. We will all go to the funeral and pay our respects.”

Eddie didn’t pursue it. When his uncle wanted things left alone, the discussion ended. With the smell of the gravy fueling his hunger, he prepared to make his exit.

“You need anything else, Uncle Sal?”

“No, not now. Are you coming back for dinner later? Your aunt would be thrilled. Since you got your place, we miss you around here.”

“I’ll try.”

“Well, if not, I’ll see you at the funeral.” He glanced over his shoulder, giving Eddie a sly look. “And bring that fidanzata of yours.”

Eddie bear-hugged his uncle again before leaving. Was there something funny about this whole thing? Uncle Sal hadn’t seemed too upset over Pete, plus he never said who he thought might want to kill him. Eddie pictured the man he’d seen through Pete’s window, the light hitting his face just right. He didn’t recognize the guy, so chances are the guy didn’t know him either.

Deciding to forget about his conversation with his uncle, for now, he’d get something to eat before taking his best suit to the cleaners so it would be ready for the viewing. Afterward, he’d try to persuade Monica to come with him.

Recalling her tearful face, a heaviness settled in his chest. He needed her and needed to find a way to win her back.

Chapter 3 — Monica

Dressed in Black

Monica dodged the numerous potholes along the busy street. Native to Staten Island, potholes were a part of the ambiance of living in the so-called forgotten borough of New York City. A short trip anywhere around the island might blow a tire or destroy your shocks. She spotted an empty parking space directly in front of her store. Jackpot! No cruising the block today.

Before unlocking the front door, Monica admired the green awning above her flower shop on Victory Boulevard, a major thoroughfare chock-full of various businesses, including several well-known restaurants. The silhouette of a bride holding a bouquet and next to it in bold gold lettering the words, Brides, and Blooms, made her swell with pride. This was her baby.

She observed the windows, dressed for fall with various colorful mums, marigolds, and bright pink asters. Meaty orange pumpkins lounged among the maple leaves strewn about in patchwork hues of molten reds, golds, and rusts. A scarecrow sat in the middle, holding a small pot of begonias.

Three years of budgeting and saving enabled her to do it all on her own. After she found the perfect location, everything fell into place. But today, she found irony in the fact bridal flowers were her forte. She had dreamed of designing her wedding bouquet one day, her dream torn apart after Eddie cheated on her.

She shut off the alarm, switched on the lights, and flipped the door sign from closed to open. The spicy-sweet scent of lilacs and roses circulated in the air. Bright-colored hues mixed with soft pastels among the greenery. A round wooden table in the center held sample arrangements for customers to view. Monica gave them the once over to ensure the flowers displayed remained fresh. She checked the large glass coolers behind the cash register, making a mental note for future restocking.

Monica settled into the leather burgundy chair inside her office at the rear of the shop. She turned on the computer. Her fingers flying across the keyboard, she entered the purchases bought at the Flower Market on 28th Street in Manhattan the previous day. After several minutes, unable to concentrate, she stopped. She had a case of the ‘Eddies’. Angry at herself for giving in too easily this morning, she wanted him to suffer. Wanted him to realize what he had lost.

After they broke up, she tried dating again. Forcing herself to go on numerous blind dates with guys she met on the internet or set-ups courtesy of her best friend, Carlotta “Cookie” Asante.

“Forget Eddie,” Cookie had told her. “There’s a whole big world out there packed with guys.”

Cookie was right. Except most of the guys she dated were full of crap. They bragged about themselves, their jobs, and how much money they made. Puffed themselves up as a real catch. At the end of the night, they just wanted to get her in the sack, following up with the obligatory statement, ‘I’ll give you a call sometime.’ But most never called, and the ones who did wasted her time.

Determined to forget Eddie, she left Staten Island altogether to try something different, surprising herself when she fell in love with her new career, until her world imploded and the unexpected happened.

Her cell phone buzzed, forcing her back to reality. “Hello.”

“Hey, babe,” Eddie said. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean—

“Yeah, you never mean anything, do you?” she said, his voice rattling her.

“I really am sorry,” Eddie said. “You know, about us … in the shower this morning. I shouldn’t have done that, but you’re so sexy, I couldn’t help it.”

She ran a hand through her thick curls. “Listen, I think we should stop communicating. It doesn’t get us anywhere.”

“Hearing you speak those words is like a knife to my heart, baby.”

Monica inhaled to steady herself. Right now, she felt like twisting that so-called knife. “I think it’s for the best.”

“Well…if I agree, will you do one thing for me?”

Oh boy, here it comes. She braced herself. Eddie never made things easy. Why couldn’t he say, yes, you’re right and hang up the phone? “That depends.”

“Go to Pete’s wake with me.”

“What?” He could have been asking her to dinner the way he said it.

“Yeah, Uncle Sal would like to see you.”

“Oh, that clears things up. Is this a social occasion or a wake?”

“Come on. You know how we Italians are. Funerals and weddings are always special occasions for getting together.”

Monica clenched her teeth to stop herself from screaming into the phone. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

“Listen, babe, do me this favor. I won’t ask you to do anything else. We’re still friends, right?”

She cringed at the word friends. He was so cocky. “Is that what we are now, Eddie, friends?”

“Well, at the very least, I thought —’’

“You thought what?” Monica exclaimed. “That’s the trouble. You don’t think.” Trying hard not to lose it, she said, “Look, if I do this for you, no more communication afterward. Am I making myself clear enough for you?”

“Crystal, baby.”

Monica envisioned him smiling at the other end of the phone, claiming victory again.

“The viewing is at four this afternoon at Scalito’s,” Eddie said.

Monica sighed. “Where else would it be.” Anybody well-known in the neighborhood, including half the dead mobsters, was laid out at Scalito’s,

“I’ll pick you up at three-thirty.”

“No, I’ll meet you there.” Monica didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of riding in his car. Experience had taught her he wouldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Like I said, Eddie, I’ll see you there.” She hung up and slammed her cell phone down on the desk.

The bell on the front door of the shop jingled. Monica glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall. It must be Cookie. Best friends since high school, they shared a lot of history, and now they shared a workplace. Monica hired Cookie because she could trust her, besides being great with the customers.

“Monica!” Cookie called.

“Back here!”

Cookie’s heels tapped on the tile floor, the sound echoing off the walls. She stuck her head in the office door. “Hey girl, what’s up?”

Monica constantly amazed at how Cookie dressed, observed the tight sweater fitting snuggly over her ample breasts complemented by the shortest skirt Monica had ever seen. Her full lips were painted a brilliant ruby red. Doe-shaped eyes bore false eyelashes making her eyes look like bat wings when she blinked. Her long deep, auburn hair hung stick straight. A popping noise filled the room as Cookie’s jaw worked the wad of gum in her mouth.

“You wouldn’t believe what’s up,” Monica said. She told her about last night and, of course, about Pete’s wake.

Cookie’s face paled. “Poor Pete. He never hurt anybody. What a shame.” She tossed her purse down and plopped into the chair across from the desk.

Monica squinted at the sight of Cookie’s blue lace thong. “Cookie, not for nothing, but be careful how you sit. I can see your hoo-ha.”

A sly smile crossed Cookie’s lips. “I’m sorry, but that’s kinda the whole point.” She crossed her tanned legs. “Better?”

“Much.” Monica rested her elbows on the desk, cupping her chin in both hands. “What am I going to do about Eddie?”

Amusement glinted in Cookie’s eyes. “You know what to do, but you just don’t want to do it. But I get it. It should be a crime for a guy to be that good-looking. But I can’t understand how you still have feelings for him. He’s a rat fink cheater.”

“I know you’re right, Cookie.”

“You’re wasting time. We ain’t getting any younger.”

Chapter 1 — Monica

A Shot in the Dark

Monica woke to the sound of voices. She flung the covers off and padded to the window of her Staten Island townhome. Shafts of pale gold radiating from an early fall moon bathed the street below. Cool air rushed inside, ruffling the pale-yellow lace curtains. Her nostrils filled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle drifting up from the hedgerows bordering the house. Two dark shapes across the alleyway caught her attention as they vaulted over the neighbor’s fence. Snatching her cell phone from the nightstand, she dialed 911.

A woman’s voice asked, “What’s your emergency?”

Screw it, she thought and hung up. Pete Mackey probably owes money to some bookie again.

Settling back into bed, she curled up underneath the floral comforter. A loud crack echoed outside. Monica bolted up. Tiptoeing to the window, she swept the tumble of long, ebony curls away from her face and peered out. The exact two figures leapt back over the fence, landing square on the sidewalk below a streetlamp. One of them glanced up, the light catching his face. Monica drew the curtains and inched away. It was Eddie. Eddie Marconi. What craziness did he get himself tangled up in?

Moments later, the doorbell rang. Monica’s pulse skipped. The ringing grew quicker, more frantic. She slipped into her robe, dashed to the living room, and hit the wall switch. Cautious, she checked the peephole and drew back. Her full lips formed an angry pout.

“Come on, Monica, I know you’re there,” a male voice said. “Please open the door.”

Her body tensed. A flush swept through her. After everything he had done, she vowed she would never speak to him again. Almost involuntarily, her hand turned the lock.

Eddie sailed past her, collapsing onto the sofa. “Thanks,” he said between rapid breaths.

Her eyes swept over his black attire, the black knit cap on his head, and the gun in his hand. This couldn’t be good. “Eddie, what the hell is going on?”

He glanced up, his face the picture of innocence. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Nothing for me to worry about! Are you for real? You bang on my door at three in the morning, dressed like a ninja and carrying a gun.”

“It’s not what it looks like. Calm down, and I’ll explain.”

Monica cursed herself for letting him in. Eddie, the permanent thorn in her side, but also once the love of her life. Together for almost four years after high school, she tossed him out after it became clear she needed the ring, the house, and the kids. Eddie wanted free nookie and a place to hang out.

Hands on her hips, she said, “Well, I’m waiting.”

“Pete’s in deep with my Uncle Sal,” Eddie blurted. “Owes him quite a bit of cash. He asked Brazo and me to give him a scare. You know, just a little one.”

She motioned toward the gun. “Please put that thing down.”

He placed it on the coffee table and got up. “Pete’s dead.”

“Dead?” Monica reared backward, picturing poor Pete, the neighborhood idiot. Every neighborhood has one. Skilled at getting himself into trouble, Pete might have been dumb, but he was harmless.

A nerve pulsed inside her chest. “You … killed him?”

“Hell no.” Eddie faced her. “I didn’t do it. Brazo didn’t either. We arrived too late.”

“Impossible. I heard what sounded like a gunshot. You were still over there.”

“That’s about the time we split.”

“Then how do you know he’s dead?”

“We got a glimpse into the window. Pete lay sprawled on the floor with some big goon standing over him.” Eddie’s brow furrowed. “Never seen the guy before.”

“Eddie, are you sure? Maybe, Pete’s alive. We need to call an ambulance.”

“Oh, he’s dead, all right.” Eddie formed the shape of a gun with his hand, raised it to his temple, and pulled an imaginary trigger.

“For God’s sake, Eddie!” About to tell him off, she stopped at the sound of police sirens outside. Gunshots were rare in this part of the borough. The front of her attached townhouse in the Sunnyside neighborhood faced the quiet of Clove Lake Park, one of the main reasons she chose this house.

Eddie crossed the room and killed the lights.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Monica demanded. She stomped after him feeling for the switch. Eddie’s hand caught hers.

“Keep them off, Monica. If the cops notice them, they’ll figure someone’s awake. Interviewing witnesses is one of their specialties.”

“Witness? But I didn’t see anything except you —”

“Exactly,” Eddie cut in.

He trailed the tip of his finger across her lips. “Shush,” he whispered.

She flinched and brushed his fingers aside. “Shush yourself.”

The room, lit only by moonlight, cast a soft glow over his handsome face. Tall, lean, and olive-skinned, Eddie’s skills in the art of lovemaking went above and beyond the ordinary. Knowing he was up to his old tricks, she stalked off.

Eddie came up behind her. “Come on, Monica,” he pleaded. “Why waste the rest of the night?”

Monica spun around. “You just witnessed a man shot in the head, and you want to have sex? I think you should go, Eddie. Now.” She strode to the door, flinging it open.

Eddie glanced down at his clothes. “Not dressed like this. Especially with the cops outside.”

Leaning back against the doorframe, she eyed him for a second. He had made a good point. A flutter hit the pit of her stomach while her mind battled between wanting him to leave and wanting him to stay. Still uncertain, she found herself pushing the door closed.

“Okay, you can stay until they’re gone. But no funny business.”

Eddie pulled off his cap and dropped onto the sofa again. Watching him, the memory of his dark strands slipping between her fingers surfaced. She fought the urge to run her hand through his hair.

Wanting to change the subject, she asked, “So, working for your Uncle Sal again?”

He paused. “Well … kinda. No, not really.”

“What is it then, you are or aren’t?” Typical Eddie, never a straight answer.

“I was doing him a favor.” His forehead wrinkled, and he let out a slow whistle. “Wait till he finds out about Pete. He’s gonna be pissed.”

Eddie’s Uncle, known to most of Staten Island, was said to be ‘mobbed up’ or connected. Through no lack of trying, Eddie hadn’t been able to work his way into the inner sanctum yet.

The sirens wailed louder before slowly dying out. Monica rushed to the window. Across the way, flashing red lights lit up the block.

Eddie jumped up and pulled her away from the window. He pressed up against her. His naked muscular body flashed across her mind. The way he used to move his lips along the hollow of her neck and… no, she needed to stop thinking about all that.

“I miss you,” Eddie moaned. “Please, baby, let’s cuddle. I want to hold you. Gaze into your beautiful green eyes. I promise I’ll be good. You know you miss me too.”

Knowing he spoke the truth, she hated herself for even entertaining the idea.

His hand trailed along her cheek. She almost caved. Mustering all her resolve, she said, “Not a chance.” She stepped away and pointed her finger at him. “You stay put on the sofa.” Without glancing back, she closed the bedroom door behind her.

Hours later, Monica woke to Eddie’s body pressed up against hers. His arm draped over her waist, his palm resting on her breast, the way they used to sleep. All of it comforting, yet disconcerting at the same time. His bare chest's steady rise and fall against her back soothed the buried hurt. His warm breath fanned her neck. God, how she missed him.

Chapter 2 — Eddie

Big Tall Sal

Rock music blared. Eddie rolled over and hit the buzzer on Monica’s clock radio. He leaned back against the pillows trying to shake off the recurring nightmare. The steady hiss of the shower perked him up. Grinning, he tugged off his underwear. Creeping cat-like over to the bathroom door, he opened it and slipped inside. Desire escalating at the sight of Monica’s naked silhouette behind the steamy glass, he slid the shower door open. Monica whirled around.

She pushed him away with her soap-covered arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

Eddie laughed, grabbed her arm, and forced his way inside. “Come on, save some water. We can shower together.”

His nautical blue eyes traveled the length of her body. Water raced down on her, beating a path between her breasts. Why did he give up on them? He should have tried harder. Pulling her close, he kissed the hollow of her neck. Steam swirled around them. He pressed her up against the beige tile while inhaling the fragrance of mango body wash. His hands explored until they found their mark between her thighs. She moaned, and her legs parted. Her eyes closed, and after a few minutes, she orgasmed.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured. Drawing her closer into his arms, he tried to enter her.

Monica shoved him. He stumbled backward, almost falling onto the wet tiles as she charged past. Frustrated, Eddie steadied himself, grabbed some soap, and finished showering. He stepped out, swiping a towel from the rack.

Dressed in a bathrobe, Monica applied her make-up at the vanity. Wrapping the towel around his waist, his disappointment growing, Eddie inched up beside her. She hadn’t answered him back with I love you, too. He rested his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and got up.

“Monica, please, talk to me.” She wheeled around, and he cupped her chin. A tear splashed onto his hand, knocking the wind out of his sails. It killed him inside to see her cry.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

She swatted his hand away. Brushing at her tears, she said, “You’re making me late.” Without another word, she dried her hair and finished dressing.

“Come on, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded.

“I’ve got to go, Eddie.”

He couldn’t let her leave like this. “Baby, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. I miss us, babe. I really do.”

“You should have thought about that when you were out there screwing around.”

Her words jabbed at his gut. The pain he had caused ran deep. She was right, and he needed to own it.

“I wish it never happened. It was one time, Monica. One time and I regret it. If you only knew how much.”

“I can’t forget it, Eddie. I don’t trust you anymore.”

He dug for a comeback. “Maybe if you hadn’t taken that job in Maryland and gone away for so long, we could have worked things out. Admit it, Monica, you ran.” She fell silent for a moment. He caught a trace of guilt in her eyes.

“Let’s be real, Eddie. We never wanted the same things. Maybe I’m partly to blame for pushing us to get married. I’d never lie to you and say marriage wasn’t what I wanted just to keep you.” Her face clouded over. “But I never would have cheated on you.”

Monica gathered her purse and charged toward the front door. Eddie followed close behind. With each step, her dark curls bounced, her long beautiful legs pumping fast in her black stilettoes.

“Give me another chance. I’ll make it up to you,” Eddie called after her. “You’ll see.” Begging wasn’t his thing, but she was worth it.

“No,” she said, slamming the front door.

Defeated, he trudged back to the bedroom and dressed. He checked his cell phone. Six missed calls from his Uncle Sal. Cursing, he left Monica’s house. Twenty minutes later, exiting the Staten Island Expressway, he arrived at his uncle’s house.

Salvatore Marconi lived large. The massive English Tudor standing in the Todt Hill neighborhood, one of the most exclusive areas of Staten Island, screamed money. Over the years, Todt Hill had been home to a few residents of note. Among them, Gambino crime family boss, Paul Castellano.

Eddie drove up to the gates in his white BMW X6. He waved at the two bodyguards stationed outside, who buzzed him in. He pulled onto the circular drive, got out, and rang the bell before going inside.

“Uncle Sal!” Eddie called out.

“In here, kid,” a man’s voice boomed.

Eddie proceeded down the hallway toward the kitchen. His uncle, hunched over an eight-burner commercial stove, stirred a huge stainless-steel pot. Polished cherry wood cabinets lined the walls and the sides of the enormous center island. On top of the Carrera Marble, a cutting board held fresh garlic, chopped onion bits, and a platter of sweet Italian sausages. The warm, deep tones of the terra-cotta tiles on the floor offset the pale coral backsplash.

Eddie inhaled the heavy aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and Italian herbs floating in the air. His stomach growled. Gravy. The pot would be on all day, the sauce thickening hour by hour until his Aunt Teresa spooned it over homemade pasta at dinner.

Eddie loved this kitchen. It bore so many memories of family dinners. Orphaned at five years old, after his parents died, he had lived with Uncle Sal. His uncle and aunt became surrogate parents, raising him along with their twin daughters, Gina and Antonia. Spoiled as a child, Eddie embodied the son his uncle never had.

Sal set the wooden spoon on the rest. He lumbered toward him, his six-foot-three frame towering above Eddie’s five-foot-ten. Stocky and well-padded, with a full head of dark hair salted with grey, he wrapped his thick arms around Eddie’s shoulders, giving him a bear hug.

“How’s my favorite nephew?”

Eddie hugged him back, though his arms barely made it halfway around his uncle’s body. “Doing great, Uncle Sal.”

Sal stepped back. “So great you can’t answer your phone.”

“Sorry, I got distracted this morning.” Warmth crept up his face.

Sal laughed. “Oh, I see, fidanzata! A girlfriend. Out of all your women, I liked…what’s her name? Monica. Yeah, Monica. I liked her the best. Think you two might get back together?”

Eddie thought for a few seconds. “Maybe.”

“You either will or you won’t. There is no maybe.” He gestured for him to sit at the large kitchen table. “We need to talk about last night. I believe there was trouble.”

Eddie sucked in air between his teeth. “Yeah, big trouble. Pete’s dead. You told me to get the money he owed, maybe rough him up a bit, but that’s all.”

Sal rubbed the stubble under his chin. “I know. I found out this morning.” He rested his large hands on the table. “Tell me what happened.”

Eddie described last night’s events, what he and Brazo had witnessed through the window. He left out going to Monica’s. Uncle Sal wouldn’t appreciate that part of the story. Monica wasn’t supposed to know about anything he did for his uncle.

“Did you recognize this man?”

“No, it was too dark. Everything happened so quick.” Eddie waited, positive his uncle would explode.

“Are you sure he didn’t get a look at you?”

“I don’t think so,” Eddie said.

Sal’s face pinched. He cracked his knuckles, each pop filling the silence between them. This old habit usually surfaced when his uncle was anxious.

Eddie bit his lower lip. Should he confess? Tell Sal everything he didn’t tell Monica. Pete struggling with the guy who shot him, both wrestling for the gun. The guy getting the upper hand and shooting Pete before turning and looking straight at him and Brazo? His uncle would realize he messed up. He’d never become a made man.

Sal’s eyes pierced Eddie’s. “You need to be certain. If he knows you can identify him, there could be trouble.”

“I’m sure,” Eddie lied. “As soon as we heard the gunshot, we split. But I don’t understand who would want to kill Pete. Do you?”

Sal got up, returning to the stove without answering his question. “Let’s leave this alone for now.” He picked up the spoon and stirred. “I called Scalito’s Funeral Home. I’m going to pay for Pete’s funeral. The poor man had nobody. I forgave his debt. You must forgive the debts of the dead. We will all go to the funeral and pay our respects.”

Eddie didn’t pursue it. When his uncle wanted things left alone, the discussion ended. With the smell of the gravy fueling his hunger, he prepared to make his exit.

“You need anything else, Uncle Sal?”

“No, not now. Are you coming back for dinner later? Your aunt would be thrilled. Since you got your place, we miss you around here.”

“I’ll try.”

“Well, if not, I’ll see you at the funeral.” He glanced over his shoulder, giving Eddie a sly look. “And bring that fidanzata of yours.”

Eddie bear-hugged his uncle again before leaving. Was there something funny about this whole thing? Uncle Sal hadn’t seemed too upset over Pete, plus he never said who he thought might want to kill him. Eddie pictured the man he’d seen through Pete’s window, the light hitting his face just right. He didn’t recognize the guy, so chances are the guy didn’t know him either.

Deciding to forget about his conversation with his uncle, for now, he’d get something to eat before taking his best suit to the cleaners so it would be ready for the viewing. Afterward, he’d try to persuade Monica to come with him.

Recalling her tearful face, a heaviness settled in his chest. He needed her and needed to find a way to win her back.

Chapter 3 — Monica

Dressed in Black

Monica dodged the numerous potholes along the busy street. Native to Staten Island, potholes were a part of the ambiance of living in the so-called forgotten borough of New York City. A short trip anywhere around the island might blow a tire or destroy your shocks. She spotted an empty parking space directly in front of her store. Jackpot! No cruising the block today.

Before unlocking the front door, Monica admired the green awning above her flower shop on Victory Boulevard, a major thoroughfare chock-full of various businesses, including several well-known restaurants. The silhouette of a bride holding a bouquet and next to it in bold gold lettering the words, Brides, and Blooms, made her swell with pride. This was her baby.

She observed the windows, dressed for fall with various colorful mums, marigolds, and bright pink asters. Meaty orange pumpkins lounged among the maple leaves strewn about in patchwork hues of molten reds, golds, and rusts. A scarecrow sat in the middle, holding a small pot of begonias.

Three years of budgeting and saving enabled her to do it all on her own. After she found the perfect location, everything fell into place. But today, she found irony in the fact bridal flowers were her forte. She had dreamed of designing her wedding bouquet one day, her dream torn apart after Eddie cheated on her.

She shut off the alarm, switched on the lights, and flipped the door sign from closed to open. The spicy-sweet scent of lilacs and roses circulated in the air. Bright-colored hues mixed with soft pastels among the greenery. A round wooden table in the center held sample arrangements for customers to view. Monica gave them the once over to ensure the flowers displayed remained fresh. She checked the large glass coolers behind the cash register, making a mental note for future restocking.

Monica settled into the leather burgundy chair inside her office at the rear of the shop. She turned on the computer. Her fingers flying across the keyboard, she entered the purchases bought at the Flower Market on 28th Street in Manhattan the previous day. After several minutes, unable to concentrate, she stopped. She had a case of the ‘Eddies’. Angry at herself for giving in too easily this morning, she wanted him to suffer. Wanted him to realize what he had lost.

After they broke up, she tried dating again. Forcing herself to go on numerous blind dates with guys she met on the internet or set-ups courtesy of her best friend, Carlotta “Cookie” Asante.

“Forget Eddie,” Cookie had told her. “There’s a whole big world out there packed with guys.”

Cookie was right. Except most of the guys she dated were full of crap. They bragged about themselves, their jobs, and how much money they made. Puffed themselves up as a real catch. At the end of the night, they just wanted to get her in the sack, following up with the obligatory statement, ‘I’ll give you a call sometime.’ But most never called, and the ones who did wasted her time.

Determined to forget Eddie, she left Staten Island altogether to try something different, surprising herself when she fell in love with her new career, until her world imploded and the unexpected happened.

Her cell phone buzzed, forcing her back to reality. “Hello.”

“Hey, babe,” Eddie said. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean—

“Yeah, you never mean anything, do you?” she said, his voice rattling her.

“I really am sorry,” Eddie said. “You know, about us … in the shower this morning. I shouldn’t have done that, but you’re so sexy, I couldn’t help it.”

She ran a hand through her thick curls. “Listen, I think we should stop communicating. It doesn’t get us anywhere.”

“Hearing you speak those words is like a knife to my heart, baby.”

Monica inhaled to steady herself. Right now, she felt like twisting that so-called knife. “I think it’s for the best.”

“Well…if I agree, will you do one thing for me?”

Oh boy, here it comes. She braced herself. Eddie never made things easy. Why couldn’t he say, yes, you’re right and hang up the phone? “That depends.”

“Go to Pete’s wake with me.”

“What?” He could have been asking her to dinner the way he said it.

“Yeah, Uncle Sal would like to see you.”

“Oh, that clears things up. Is this a social occasion or a wake?”

“Come on. You know how we Italians are. Funerals and weddings are always special occasions for getting together.”

Monica clenched her teeth to stop herself from screaming into the phone. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

“Listen, babe, do me this favor. I won’t ask you to do anything else. We’re still friends, right?”

She cringed at the word friends. He was so cocky. “Is that what we are now, Eddie, friends?”

“Well, at the very least, I thought —’’

“You thought what?” Monica exclaimed. “That’s the trouble. You don’t think.” Trying hard not to lose it, she said, “Look, if I do this for you, no more communication afterward. Am I making myself clear enough for you?”

“Crystal, baby.”

Monica envisioned him smiling at the other end of the phone, claiming victory again.

“The viewing is at four this afternoon at Scalito’s,” Eddie said.

Monica sighed. “Where else would it be.” Anybody well-known in the neighborhood, including half the dead mobsters, was laid out at Scalito’s,

“I’ll pick you up at three-thirty.”

“No, I’ll meet you there.” Monica didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of riding in his car. Experience had taught her he wouldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Like I said, Eddie, I’ll see you there.” She hung up and slammed her cell phone down on the desk.

The bell on the front door of the shop jingled. Monica glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall. It must be Cookie. Best friends since high school, they shared a lot of history, and now they shared a workplace. Monica hired Cookie because she could trust her, besides being great with the customers.

“Monica!” Cookie called.

“Back here!”

Cookie’s heels tapped on the tile floor, the sound echoing off the walls. She stuck her head in the office door. “Hey girl, what’s up?”

Monica constantly amazed at how Cookie dressed, observed the tight sweater fitting snuggly over her ample breasts complemented by the shortest skirt Monica had ever seen. Her full lips were painted a brilliant ruby red. Doe-shaped eyes bore false eyelashes making her eyes look like bat wings when she blinked. Her long deep, auburn hair hung stick straight. A popping noise filled the room as Cookie’s jaw worked the wad of gum in her mouth.

“You wouldn’t believe what’s up,” Monica said. She told her about last night and, of course, about Pete’s wake.

Cookie’s face paled. “Poor Pete. He never hurt anybody. What a shame.” She tossed her purse down and plopped into the chair across from the desk.

Monica squinted at the sight of Cookie’s blue lace thong. “Cookie, not for nothing, but be careful how you sit. I can see your hoo-ha.”

A sly smile crossed Cookie’s lips. “I’m sorry, but that’s kinda the whole point.” She crossed her tanned legs. “Better?”

“Much.” Monica rested her elbows on the desk, cupping her chin in both hands. “What am I going to do about Eddie?”

Amusement glinted in Cookie’s eyes. “You know what to do, but you just don’t want to do it. But I get it. It should be a crime for a guy to be that good-looking. But I can’t understand how you still have feelings for him. He’s a rat fink cheater.”

“I know you’re right, Cookie.”

“You’re wasting time. We ain’t getting any younger.”