“So, lately I’ve been having some trouble here at the shop,” I begin, launching into an explanation of the mafia activity threatening my barely-afloat business. I describe the ‘rough types’ who have been hanging around causing trouble, telling her all about the bright red graffiti.
“Holy cow,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s crazy, chica. How are you getting by? Have you gone to the cops? And, uh, is that guy standing outside the shop one of those ‘rough types’ you mentioned? Because he definitely looks a little intimidating.”
I snort. “Oh, Bruno? No, he’s actually...been helping me, believe it or not. He’s an old friend.”
“Wait,” she says, squinting as she stares at him through the window. “Oh my God, is that the same guy you came to the bar with the other night?”
I start to blush, my cheeks burning. “Yep. That’s the guy.”
“Nice catch,” she says, giving me a cheesy wink. “He’s a stud.”
“Oh my God, stop,” I laugh, rolling my eyes.
And almost as though he knew were talking about him, Bruno walks into the shop, shrugging off his jacket and folding it over his arm as he walks by, giving us both a nod. Rafaela wiggles her fingers in a faux-flirtatious wave.
“Bruno,” I say, “this is Rafaela. We met in college. She’s my best friend.”
Bruno shakes her hand and smiles. “Nice to meet you.”
“Encantada,” she responds, grinning.
“Oh! And she came bearing the very best of gifts: food. I saved half my burrito for you if you want it,” I offer, handing the bag to Bruno.
“Thanks,” he says, taking a massive bite before heading into the back room to give Rafaela and I more privacy to keep chatting. He’s still within earshot, but I know he doesn’t want to hover.
He’s so cute, Rafaela mouths silently at me. I nod emphatically.
“I know, right?” I whisper back.
Rafaela clears her throat. “So, anyway, wanna hear something weird?”
“Of course. You know I do,” I laugh.
“Well, I mean, I guess it’s not really funny. It’s sad, actually. But it is definitely super weird, too. So, you know how my cousin Alejandro is a vet tech? Well, yesterday he told me that his office has been getting, like, an abnormal amount of injured dogs. Like, way more than they usually get. Everyone in his office thinks there might be some kind of dogfighting ring going down somewhere in the city. Isn’t that horrible?” she says, shaking her head as she eats another chip.
“Oh, wow. That is awful. Is there anyone looking into it? Cops? ASPCA?” I ask, concerned. I’m a huge animal lover despite the fact that my mom has never allowed pets in our household, and the idea of all these hurt dogs breaks my heart.
Rafaela shrugs. “I have no idea. I don’t know if they would even know how to help, honestly. The cops probably don’t care, and the ASPCA is so overworked already. They might not have the resources to do much of anything about it.”
“Well, Alejandro’s office probably has all the dogs’ information on file, right? That’s got to be a good start,” I suggest.
Before long, the topic moves away from this tragedy and we spend the next hour just catching up and talking about when we should meet up for a girls’ night out. We’re both so busy that we rarely get the chance to just relax and hang out like we did in college. I hope that when Rafaela graduates we’ll have more opportunities.
“Oh shit, I gotta head to the bar,” she says suddenly, looking at the digital time on her cell phone screen. “That shady dude Nico hired to help out on weekday afternoons has been really flaky about showing up for shifts lately. Nico’s too forgiving to fire him just yet, so take a wild guess who’s been picking up the slack?” She gestures toward herself with a sigh.
I giggle and give her a hug. “Tell Nico I said hi. It was really, really good to see you, Raf. I’ll come by the bar sometime this week to hang out. Text me.”
“I will, I will. Have a good day, chica. Hasta luego.”
“Hasta luego,” I call as she walks out the door.
Moments later, Bruno comes out of the back room with a stormy expression on his handsome face, and I know he’s heard our conversation. Something is bothering him, and I have a feeling I know what it is.
“The dog fights,” I murmur, biting my lip. He nods.
“Yes. It’s pretty damn low, even for the Cleaners. Must be those East Harlem boys.”
“I wonder what to do. I wish I could help somehow. I hate to think of those innocent dogs being abused for sport like that. Just horrible.”
“It’s inexcusable,” Bruno agrees, his voice low and gruff. There’s a flash of terrifying anger in his gorgeous green eyes. He puts his leather jacket back on and adds, “I’m going out. Can you hold down the fort today? You’ve made enough sales already, I’m sure, that you could close up shop and head home if you need to.”
I shake my head and reach out to take his hand. “I’ll be fine. But...will you be okay?”
He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it softly, sending a pleasurable shiver down my spine.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve just got some business to take care of. I’ll come back to you when the smoke has cleared,” Bruno assures me.
“Be careful,” I tell him, a pleading note in my voice.
He gives me a devilish smirk. “I can’t promise that, but I promise I will come back to you.”
BRUNO
T ony’s driving. I’m in the passenger seat. Mike and Paul are in the back. I’m loading the last of the 9mm pistols I have on my person. I can hear the two in the back doing the same, but there’s an uneasy feeling in the car.
“Not much farther now,” says Tony, keeping his eyes on the road, windshield wipers pushing aside the gentle rain that’s been falling. It’s not nearly enough to flush out an outside event like the one we’re going to, but it’s enough to give us the cover of darkness.
We couldn’t ask for better conditions.
I put out feelers when I heard about the dogfighting rumors, calling a few friends of friends who owed me favors. And in this business, a good tip is as good as money.
My hunch was right. There’s a junkyard on the southeast side of town, right on the border of the territory the Cleaners are trying to make their own. If the word from my contact is good—and this guy doesn’t disappoint—there’s something going down there tonight.
We won’t tolerate it. Not on our turf.
At least, that’s what the bosses said. When I told them what I’d found out, I expected to be going in hot with a half-dozen men and a lot more firepower.
The bosses decided I could handle it with these two. Tony stays in the car, we’ll need a quick getaway. I’d almost rather go in on my own.
“So, remind me what we know about these guys besides that we’re gonna go fuck up anything they got goin’ on,” Mike says as he straps the gun to his side. They’re are packed like sardines back there, but we’re all used to getting ready in tight conditions.
“Not as much as I’d like,” Paul grumbles.
“Shit, you’re tellin’ me,” Mike says, his hand reaching for a cigarette he doesn’t have. “Ever get the impression your boss is tryin’ to kill you?”