Borgata - Book II #wattys2016

Chapter 24: Heirloom

"I would nibble on Fico's bruchetta," @Christrocks247 said, when asked what to put at the beginning of this chapter.

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            I knew damn well that Fico Vitali wasn't one of the good guys. Not by a long shot. I mean, let's face it, things that historically made men evil motivated Fico to excel, and things that made men look weak made Fico look like an android with a menacing eye patch.

He was a discreet detonator. If you said the wrong thing, he became reticent. Dismissed. Arrivederci, pal. The door would slam shut between you and him. Other times, Fico would get silent for no reason. And that was that. That's called being nine years old, by the way. Or an android. Or a soulless demon who occasionally eats women out in his sleep...

I'm not saying that I wanted to change Fico. Sure, in all honesty, there were many things about him that made me want to strangle him with one of those fancy wire things assassins use in TV shows, but I wasn't exactly the perfect individual myself. I was pretty fücking annoying and bitchy when I got right down to it.

Fico had found us a table nestled with the rest of the party, talked to a few of his guests around us, and then disappeared for a good ten minutes; resurfacing with a plate filled with bruschetta and other small food items. Nothing for himself. Then he leaned back in his chair, lit a cigarette, turned his head so that I couldn't tell if his attention was on the party, or on me. Sometimes he was readable, other times he was an absolute conundrum like he was now.

I took a large gulp of my fruity mixed drink and decided now was the time to start communicating instead of staring at his perfect jawline.

"So, about that incident earlier," I said, drawing the mobster's attention to me. He looked more relaxed than usual and nearly patted myself on the back. Cranky Fico? Give him head. "Not the...well, you know...bløwjob," I continued. "The dispute. With the guy...and his connection with Gasparro.... and the knife fight you almost had with his face..."

Just like that, Fico's features hardened and his defenses were up. "You mean the dispute that you should have no association with, yet you keep prying into it?"

"Rewr."

"What about it, cucciola?"

"You're trying to find him, aren't you?" I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a sudden chill in the humid summer air. I wondered if that was coming from Fico. "Are you trying to track down Gasparro through his employees, or something like that?" I asked, trying to get a sentence or even a rouse out of him about the subject.

Fico leaned forward in his chair. "Eat your food," he said slowly with a sandpapery layer to his voice. "You've barely eaten the whole day."

"How would you know? You spying on me on one of your cameras in my bedroom?" I played with the straw in my drink, a smile pulling on my lips. We both knew I'd discovered one of the cameras already and smashed it to smithereens. It was only a matter of time before I found the other one. "What color panties am I wearing, James Bond?"

"You're wearing a red thong but I know that because I saw it earlier," Fico answered coolly. "I don't spy on you unless you give me reason to. And I make sure you're eating from time to time. You have been skipping meals more frequently."