Dario Page 8

  Ava was calm. Her attention shifted slowly from my mouth to my eyes as she moved closer, tilting her head to the side while she openly stared at me. Then, she opened that pastry box, took out the tart and smashed it right in my face.

  “Please, Mr. Carelli,” she said, dusting her hands clean. “Get the hell out of my bakery.” Ava turned to the men behind me, jerking her chin toward the door and those assholes hustled to follow her lead. “We’re closed.”

  6

  Dario

  It was easy to do spy work standing in the back of my parents’ restaurant. The patio catered to brave souls who wanted a quiet outside table during the spring, and the idiots who thought al fresco dining could be remotely attempted in the winter. From the patio I could make out the front of Ava’s bakery and monitor who came and went.

  And spot how many of my brother’s men were slipping two of Mrs. Reynold’s nephews some cash to duck into Ava’s bakery and come out with full bags.

  “Pathetic,” I said when I spotted Ricky leading Manny and his cousin Louis around the side of Ava’s building, and they all dipped into those bags like crackheads just getting back from their dealer. A good week after the fiasco where I’d been outed as a Carelli, those assholes were still acting sweet on Ava.

  “She still not budging?” Dino asked, coming to my side, his hand already in the jacket pocket pulling out a pack of smokes.

  We stood shoulder to shoulder, both of our gazes moving around the street and along the sidewalk. Then, back to Ava’s shop as three more guys met Ricky and his crew around the side of the building. I leaned on the large post to my left, taking a cigarette from Dino when he offered it. “You need to talk to those assholes.”

  He lit his smoke, cupping the flame, his gaze slipping to the bakery across the street. “I did. Talked to the boss too.”

  “And?” I picked a piece of tobacco from my tongue after I exhaled a plume of gray smoke.

  “He says if I catch them, then call them out. They know they’re supposed to stay away.”

  I jerked my head to the corner where the boys were scarfing down scones and biscuits. “That looks like red-fucking-handed.”

  Dino shrugged, nodding once. “They’re slick and not for nothing, she’s a damn fine baker.”

  “Fuck’s sake.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, my attention got distracted when Ava opened the door leading out Mr. Hoàng and his two granddaughters. “Look at this shit!” The man waved to her, holding up two pastry bags in his hands and wearing a wide smile that could have been a laugh. “Unbelievable.”

  Ava watched the old man walk down the sidewalk then stopped, pulling her sweater around her body before she paused, the pleased grin she wore dropping when she noticed me staring. She shook her head then straightened her shoulders, sending me a one-finger salute before she shut the bakery door behind her.

  “Shit,” Dino said, not bothering to hide his laugh. “She’s a firecracker.”

  “She’s a pain in my ass.” I flicked the cigarette butt into the ashtray next to the garbage can, scrubbing my face as I folded my arms, my back against the post behind me. “There’s no way she’s going to fall in line.”

  Dino looked down at his cigarette, pinching it between his middle finger and thumb. “That’s the only job Smoke gave you, am I right?” I wasn’t the man’s boss. I’d been in prison while my brother took on more men and built up his gray-area business, as he liked to call it. But Dino still kept his tone light, seeming like he was trying to not piss me off, though he spoke the truth.

  “That was it.”

  “For now,” he said, when I glared at him. “I’m not paid to have an opinion.”

  “But you got one, I’m sure.” I stood straight, stuffing my hands in my pockets, ready to hear Dino out. He was my brother’s employee, but I’d learned not to climb on any pedestals. They just made you a mark to get knocked off. “What are you thinking?”

  “She’s stubborn. You’re not going to get her to relent by bullying her.” He glanced back toward the bakery, head tilted when Mrs. Blake and her sister Miss Wheeler moved down the sidewalk, glancing at Ava’s bakery before they shook their heads and walked past it. “Seems to me it’s gonna take some dirty work to get her to open her wallet.”

  I frowned at the man, not sure what he was talking about until he nodded toward the two old women shooting glances at the people they met or saw on their walk. No one was saved from their scrutiny. And later, if something in particular caught their eye, no one would be saved from their gossip.

  “Holy shit.” The irritation that had taken root in my chest since the day I left Ava’s bakery, wiping apple tart from my face, began to fracture. “Dino, my man, I think you’re on to something.”

  “That right?” he asked, about to tug on his pack of smokes again before I moved across the patio floor.

  “Yeah,” I answered. “I think I got the perfect angle…” Then I hurried after the two old women as they stared, whispered, and judged every person that passed them on the sidewalk.

  Two days later, the old biddies had worked their magic. Dino didn’t join me as I smoked half a pack of Marlboros, perched next to the back post on the patio, keeping a careful watch on the bakery across the street.

  “I told Carol Billingsley, we don’t know anything about her, now do we?” Mrs. Blake stood on the corner near the intersection, her loud, thick Jersey accent coming out like a foghorn as she spoke to old man Ricks who ran the hardware store. “No one could replace Ethel Watson, especially not some strange redhead with no people or past.”

  “And she won’t pay the community fee,” Ricks said, adjusting his ball cap as he and Mrs. Blake shot daggers across the street at the bakery. “You know my grandson’s soccer team got to play on a new field because of that fee.”

  “That Dario Carelli, bless him, told me,” Mrs. Blake said, and the pair of them turn toward me, offering waves I quickly returned. “He’s trying so hard to keep his nose clean.”

  I snorted under my breath at the compliment. Mrs. Blake had been the loudest voice dogging me when I first got out of prison. But, ya know, bygones. As far as the bakery and my plan to mess with Ava went, I’d only given the old woman a suggestion. “I don’t know so much about this Ava Anderson.” That was all it took for the gossips to circle like buzzards after a barely dead carcass. If she hadn’t been such a stubborn ass, I might feel worse for Ava. The shop had been empty this week and I doubted it would pick up. But there was no great wave of guilt that ceased up inside me when I thought about Ava and her small business. I did warn her.

  I’d managed to beat back the flash of memory from our date—when the lights had cut out and she went all caged bunny on me. That reaction had done something to my primal protector instinct but a face full of tart had mostly eradicated the feeling.

  Blake and Ricks abandoned their spot at the intersection, taking their time to move across the street and even more time appraising the front of the bakery.

  Laughing, I turned on my heels, moving into the restaurant. An hour later, I was back on the patio, sipping a mug of coffee and puffing on a cigarette as I sat on the metal chairs surrounding the small tables.

  My guess was that Ava hadn’t seen Blake and Ricks walking near her bakery. Hell, she probably got tied down with all the cleanup and the unsold pastries to pack away into boxes she’d have to get rid of. Then, just as I let the hot mug warm my fingers, and took another drag of my Marlboro, letting the smoke invade my lungs, Mrs. Blake and old man Ricks poured out of Ava’s place, their arms heavy with boxes and bags.

  My neck heated as Mrs. Blake patted Ava’s back and Ricks tipped his cap to her. I abandoned the mug and stood, flicking ash over the patio as the cherry on my cigarette grew hotter. “Son of a bitch,” I whispered, my eyes sharp on the old couple as they came closer toward the patio.

  “Oh, Dario,” Mrs. Blake called, waving a slip of paper between her fingers. “Tell your ma Ava might give her a run for her money with this deli
cious potato soup she’s selling.” She gave the paper a flourish. “Ricks and I had two bowls and that sweet girl was kind enough to give me the recipe.”

  What the hell was Ava brewing in her kitchen? If I didn’t know any better the woman was doing her level best to get under my skin. Just then, the curtain on the bakery door pushed back and I made out Ava’s smiling face taking her time as she bit into a croissant.

  “Fine,” I told myself, the muscles around my mouth pinching. “Hard ball it is…”

  Then I moved toward the little office past the kitchen. Ava Anderson was playing like a pro. It was time I pulled myself out of the minors.

  * * *

  Beth Waverly had sat in the back of Mrs. Jackson’s third hour World History class, two rows from me during senior year. She’d been an awkward, mildly cross-eyed scrawny girl who spent most of that class period glancing in my direction, far as I could tell, while the old history teacher waved her thick arms in the direction of the world map stuffed in the corner. By the end of the second semester Beth had moved a row closer and I got an A in the class because she let me look off her final. Then, I took her into the eraser room and tried my best to uncross her eyes.

  Now Beth Waverly was Beth Clermont, editor of the Cuoricino Herald. The paper’s circulation was decent for our Podunk town, mainly because theirs was the only one for two counties. Turned out, no matter how many accountants the former Miss Waverly married, she was still just a little bit sweet on me.

  “If there’s anything else you need, Dario…” She let the offer hang, filling up the crackling phone line with an opportunity I wouldn’t take. I might be an asshole. I might be an ex-con, but I wasn’t a son of a bitch. I’d stuck to the strict “no married women” rule since I was fifteen. No way would I break it for a pissant, barely subtle, bad-mouthing article on our new bakery owner.

  “Ah, Beth, you’re too sweet. And a lifesaver.”

  Her laugh was heavy, sounded worse than mine, both of us still sucking down cigarettes like guppies out of water. “You know I’m here for whatever you need.”

  From what my sister Toni told me, Beth’s man spent most of his afterhours at his dentist’s office, not getting anything fixed but his need to see the hygienist naked. Beth knew it. The whole town did but that wasn’t excuse enough for me to jump in the middle of their drama.

  “I appreciate that. Really.”

  Through the line I could make out the clack of her keyboard and a few clicks from her mouse. “We got some good comments. Folks in town are definitely going to think twice before they step foot in that bakery again.”

  The section with the review was on the table next to me. The headline, “Ava’s Confections: A Bad Batch” was just the tip of an iceberg-sized list of complaints. Beth had done her best to downplay Ava’s talent. It was a little scary how rude the woman could be, but I couldn’t think about that shit.

  “Thanks again.”

  I hurried off the phone before the woman could ask for a return on her favor and left the small office, my attention on the bakery across the street. The traffic at Ava’s place hadn’t lessened in the past week, no thanks, I was sure, to the hype she’d gotten from Mrs. Blake and her daughter. Those old biddies had been in the bakery at least four times by the time I stopped paying attention.

  “She’s still busy?” I heard, jerking a look over my shoulder as Dimitri moved next to me, holding a cup of coffee.

  “I’m working on it.” The low grunt he made was quiet, but I caught the irritation in his tone. Head shaking, I stuffed my hands in my pockets to keep the tremor calm. “It’ll take a day or two for the bad review to get around.”

  Just as I said that three of my brother’s men came out of the bakery and Dimitri’s grunting got deeper. “Do better,” he said, moving away from the window.

  “It would help if your men weren’t kissing her ass.”

  “Dario!” my ma called, waving to the table behind me where Maggie had settled Mateo down for a snack. That loud ringing she made with her mouth had me grinning, reminding me of being in the restaurant—the only place I could really relax since I’d been home— as a kid, sneaking in girls to the storage room and swiping bottles of whiskey from Nat, the old barkeep.

  “Sorr—” I started, an apology ready until I spotted what the kid was eating. Apple tart. And next to his sippy cup on the table was a white pastry wrapper with Ava’s Confections across the front. “Are you serious, Maggie?”

  She looked from me to Dimitri, ignoring how he sucked on his teeth, his gaze on the wrapper. “Sorry, chico. Ava can bake her tail off.”

  My head aching, I left the dining room ignoring my mother’s grin as I moved into the office I’d been using to work a few ideas out. Ava had gotten smart, flattering the town gossip and her friends, and keeping her prices low. She couldn’t be making any money yet, not the way she handed out samples and I hoped the biting review Beth had written for today’s edition of the Herald would put a kink in the traffic coming into her shop.

  If she hadn’t been so smug and taunting, flipping me off every time she caught me watching her from the back patio, I might feel bad for her. But she’d maintained her distance, and that tight fucking grip on her cash. Dimitri was getting restless, and I was running out of ideas.

  Passing my ma’s office, I stopped after catching sight of the huge basket on her desk. It was large and filled to the brim with cookies and tarts, a few biscuits, and several scones.

  “Ma!” I called, sticking my head out of the office door.

  “What?” She came down the hallway, waving her hands at me. “Why are you yelling?”

  “What the hell is this?” When I nodded to the basket on her desk my mother held up her palms, a small wave to get me to calm down.

  “Bambino, it’s nothing,” she tried, pulling me by the arm out of her office and away from that basket.

  “Nothing? You know what I’ve been trying to do. I know you do. Jesus, Ma…”

  “Hush.” Ma moved us into my office, and she filled a cup of coffee from the pot near the bookshelf. “I don’t know why you and Dimitri are making such a fuss.” She sat me down, stirring in two teaspoons of sugar before she handed it to me. “That sweet Ava is a gem. Everyone in town thinks so.” She fiddled with my collar, ignoring me when I swatted at her hand. “She’s sent a basket with all her best baked goods, soups and even homemade cocoa to every shop owner in town.” She slipped out of the office, returning with two cookies that she handed to me. When I refused to take them, Ma pulled a clean napkin from the stack in boxes lining the bookshelf and set the cookies in front of me. “Everything is delicious, and she’s made so many new friends in the few weeks she’s been open.” She smiled at me, nodding to the cookies, her expression turning hard for a second. “I don’t think your little review with that loose editor will change that.”

  My own mother? My flesh and blood had been bought with a basket of pastries. Frowning, I took a bite, irritated when that sweet taste hit my tongue. Fucking delicious. Probably the best cookie I’ve ever had.

  From the window at the end of the office I spotted Ricky and Manny, their arms heavy with a few baskets just like the one on my ma’s desk and I jerked out of the office, still downing what remained of the cookie, to dart from the restaurant and catch those assholes before they got too far away.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I asked them, glancing back into the restaurant to see if Dimitri was still watching.

  Ricky followed my glance then stopped in the middle of the street. “What? We didn’t go into the bakery. But Ava…well, she gave the kids the extras she had… These have the pumpkin bread. You have that yet?”

  “No, I haven’t—” I waved that asshole off, ignoring his blank look.

  To my right, I spotted Ava, her smile wide and beautiful, and I cursed myself for the thought. Then she looked both ways down the street and moved toward the intersection. Like an idiot, I followed, stopping just in front of the restaur
ant’s entrance, forcing my attention away from her face and the small traces of flour left on her cheek.

  “Come to gloat?” I pulled out a cigarette, lighting it before she could answer.

  Ava crinkled her nose, stepping back when I blew a stream of smoke away from her. “Not my style, though I gotta say, I thought you’d bring your A game.”

  “My A game…” The article had been mean, downright insulting. There was even an insinuation about her dirty kitchen and filthy restroom. That had been plenty harsh enough.

  “A bad review? Outright lies about how clean my shop is? I have to admit, I’m disappointed.”

  When she laughed, I shook my head, already tired of the bullshit she was shoveling. “You done?”

  “Not even close.”

  She laughed, waving a hand in my direction, fanning the smoke from her face. It seemed for a second that Ava had forgotten what an ass I’d been to her. Her smile came easy despite her not liking me smoking. But she kept her distance. Still seemed irritated with me just taking up space next to her. If I put too much thought into it, I guess I couldn’t blame her. I’d lie to her and still hadn’t apologized.

  The small inkling of guilt I still felt about that lie bubbled in my gut and I took another drag from my smoke, just to keep my eyes from drifting back to her pretty face.

  “You know, you should really quit.” She stepped back but didn’t fan the smoke away. Ava watched as I flicked my piercing, her attention on my mouth and not my bad habit.

  “I like smoking.”

  She blinked, like there was something in her eye she tried to fan away. She stepped back, her fingers going to her neck, covered the faint scar there. It was only after I took another drag that she moved away from me completely. Two steps back, her gaze on my face before she turned, giving me her back. “That’s a pity.” It was a nice view—that small waist exaggerated by the apron she still wore. Ava tugged her red hair into a knot, not bothering to look back at me as she walked away. “Smoking is the one thing about you that isn’t attractive.”