Incriminated (3 page)

We had parted ways shortly after; with me hesitantly agreeing that it was okay for him to text me later on. I chastised myself for the decision, feeling as though I was still being too lenient—but where was I supposed to draw the line?

Was I supposed to pretend that I didn't think about him, or miss him? Was I weak for letting him back in? I knew he had done awful things, I recounted them often in my dreams and in my spare time—but I also was fully aware of another side of him, the side that made me want to try again.

I had made it into work a little early, but I didn't mind. The environment was comfortable, and I could always keep myself busy. Once my shift started I dutifully stood at my post, giving every patron my sickeningly sweet smile, before taking them to whatever table suited them most. Per usual the night cruised by in an enjoyable fashion. I had even waited a few tables when we got too busy for the waitresses on shift. Once we got to the last hour of the night things began to slow down and I began to clean up, idly keeping an eye on the door.

When the sound of the front door opening hit my ears I lifted my head, wondering who would be coming in so close to closing. I'd like to say I was surprised to see Mrs. Genovese and two equally terrifying women flanking her, but I wasn't. Life had become such a predictably fucked up pattern for me that I wasn't even remotely surprised that she would be darkening my door step, so to speak.

I sighed and made my way to the front, smiling tentatively at them.

"Hi, a table for three?"

"Yes, dear. Why don't you put us near the bar?" Mrs. Genovese said sweetly, though her eyes were taunting. I grabbed three menus and led the way, not wanting to spend more time with her then I needed too. I knew there couldn't be a good reason she was here, and I knew I wasn't going to have an easy time escaping her.

"Your waiter will be right with you." I motioned for them to sit and put the menus in front of them, turning on my heel to leave.

"Oh no no no, Gabriella. You'll be serving us," she ordered, her tone still holding that sweet tone to it.

"Oh. Okay, I can do that. What can I get you guys to drink?"

They talked for a moment with each other before ordering a round of martinis. I put the order in at the bar and watched them from a distance, wondering what terrible idea she had created that landed her here. 
I thought Michael was taking care of this
.

"Gabriella? Gabriella come here." She was snapping for me, like a dog. I did my best to ignore it. If the worse she planned to do was demean, I could deal with that.

"Are you guys ready to order?"

"Yes, we're ready. Now tell me, what are the homewrecker specials? I'm sure you'd know all about those." She arched a perfectly manicured brow, her hyenas giggling at her sides.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to but our specials today are Pasta Primavera, and Chicken French."

"Pasta Primavera was one of my husband's favorites, but I'm sure you know that right?"

"No, actually I wouldn't."

"So modest, you don't want to talk about what a disgusting tramp you are? Sleazing around for married men?" she growled out, leaning towards me. I frowned and backed up, clearing my throat.

"Perhaps you'd be more comfortable with a different server?"

"No no. You'll stay." And with that, they made their orders. I was growing weary of her treatment, but knew I had to be strong. I delivered their orders to the kitchen then took a break in the bathroom, hiding in one of the stalls. I jumped when I felt my purse vibrate, but quickly remembered it was probably just a text from Michael.

Thinking about you. How's work? -M

It'd be a lot better if Mrs. Genovese wasn't here sinking her claws into me, metaphorically anyway. -G

She's there?! Oh fuck. Brie I'm sorry. I swear I'm taking care of this—things are just taking a little longer than expected. Just stay away from her.-M

I can't—she requested me as her server. -G

Please keep your phone on you, I'll meet you outside when you're done I don't want her surprising you. -M

I don't need you to do that. -G

It wasn't a question, Gabriella. I'll see you in half an hour. -M

I shook my head and pushed my phone back into my purse, deciding the argument wasn't worth it. Honestly, the idea of walking out of here alone with the vulture lurking wasn't the greatest idea anyway. With one more deep breath I made my way back out of the bathroom.

No amount of deep breathes could have prepared me for the sight in front of me. Mrs. Genovese was crying, loudly, and my owner was standing with her, comforting her.

"Please, ma'am, tell me what happened!" he pleaded, touching her shoulder gently.

"That… that hostess of yours! She knows my husband—she was just taunting me about their affair!" she whimpered, all while her friends rubbed her arms soothingly.

"It's true! She was telling her all about their little apartment!" Hyena number one said, tapping her nails on the table as emphasis.

"She even told us her husband's favorite dish here!" Hyena number two remarked, offering a sympathetic glance towards Mrs. Genovese.

"Oh my—ma'am I'm so sorry! How can I make this better?! I promise this isn't the way our patrons are normally treated!" My owner was sweating bullets—I knew what this looked like to him. They dripped success, and money—she was the kind of person you wanted endorsing you. The idea that she would have anything bad to say about his place would kill him, as well as business.

"Hey, Gabriella! Get over here!" he yelled across the room, angrily motioning towards the table.

I made my way over and stood there quietly, my lips pressed together in a tight line.

"I don't know what got into your head girly, but I am appalled that you would bring your personal life into our establishment! And to torment a customer? Oh, Gabriella—I regret ever hiring you. I want you to pack up and leave, I think you're done here," he said firmly, his eyes glaring into mine. My eyes began to water instantly but I swallowed it back, knowing there was nothing I could say.

Who was going to believe me when I said the three queens were lying? It's not like I could tell them the truth either. Without another word I handed over the key I had to the door, and walked out.

Once I cleared the awning of the restaurant I let the tears fall freely, my body shaking with sobs I tried to keep in. 
How can this be happening again? He's dead—he's dead and I'm still not free. 
I slid down the ground to the sidewalk, folding my legs into my chest. Once again; I had no job. I was a little better off this time as I had a decent amount of money still saved, but that couldn't keep the hopeless feeling at bay. I felt like I was in a nightmare that I kept reliving with different endings—there was no reprieve.

I pressed my face to my knees and tried to take deep breaths again, hoping they would settle me, but instead the sobs became more violent. By the time I felt Michael's arms pulling me up I was a mess of snot, tears, and red blotchy skin.

"Brie….what happened?" he murmured, wrapping his arms around me.

"She—she got me fired! She lied to my boss and told him that I was 
taunting
 her with my 
affair
," I spit out, the idea causing a vile taste in my mouth.

"Oh god. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Fuck. Things will get better—I swear." He frowned, holding me tighter to him.

"Really? When's that gonna happen? Cause I'm pretty sure I've got my fair share of shit by now," I whispered bitterly, pulling my head back to look at him. I could see it in his face—the concern, affection, helplessness. He cared so much and I was taking it out on him. I sighed and shook my head, burying my face into his chest.

"Please just take me home," I mumbled, not wanting to be near the restaurant anymore.

Without another word he steered me towards his car and we drove in silence until we reached my parking lot. He pulled me out of the car and shut the door behind me. His arm wrapped around my shoulder and ushered me towards the apartment building. Once we made it upstairs he pulled my key from my purse and opened my door, pushing me inside.

Within ten minutes he was running a bath for me, and pulling my clothes off me slowly. His touches were gentle, and slow. He didn't touch me unnecessarily, and he didn't try to do anything inappropriate. Instead, he helped me step into the bathtub, lit me a few candles and left the room.

I sat there for an hour, staring at the wall, wondering what I was going to do with my life. What if he was wrong? What if they couldn't pin enough evidence to her? What if she just followed me around until she grew bored? I was sure my sanity would diminish fully by then—but maybe that was her plan.

The quiet knock at the door caught me off guard, but I cleared my head and turned, mumbling a "Come in."

"You've been in here a while—let me help you get out," he said quietly. He held up a fluffy towel and wrapped it around me when I stood. He lifted me out of the tub effortlessly, but instead of standing me up he carried me to my room. Once we reached the bedroom he dried me off, making sure to get every bead of water that touched my skin. I was sure, somewhere in my brain that I shouldn't be letting him do this, but I didn't have the energy to turn him away. I lifted my arms when he told me to—letting him slide my nightgown onto me. When he pulled me towards the bed, I didn't stop him. He lied down and tugged me into his arms, wrapping them around my fragile form.

Instead of fighting him, I cried. I cried for every moment of this hell I had experienced. I cried for the person I use to be, the person I longed to be, and the person I was stuck being. He never said a word, only held me tightly and let me expel as much negativity as I could. When I finally quieted down, he rolled me over, his eyes locking on mine.

"If you let me, I'll never leave your side, cara mia," he said quietly. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, his soft lips pressing against my warm skin. I sighed quietly, and snuggled into his body, the exhaustion finally taking its course. Before my eyes could close, he tilted my head up and pressed his lips to mine, in a sweet and slow manner. I kissed him with everything I had. I kissed him with all of my pent up frustration, my rage, and my sorrow—I kissed him as if my kiss could portray everything I was feeling. My fingers tangled into the hair I found at the nape of his neck, my needy fingers gripping it roughly. He didn't return my aggression—instead he continued his sweet and gentle kiss, his arms holding me safely against him. His mood calmed me, his actions calmed me—his whole demeanor was like a drug that was slowly taking affect. Just as my aggression had begun to spill out of me, it stopped. Instead affection replaced it, as well as clarity. 

I would give him a second chance.

I awoke in a haze of confusion as my mind fought to recall the events of the last day. As they came rolling back in I sighed, realizing I was once again unemployed. I went to sit up and found that my movement was being limited by an arm pinning me against a warm, solid chest. 
Michael
. I gasped a little, remembering the tail end of my night, his kind actions—his kiss.

"Good morning, bambina." His voice was liquid velvet in the morning; his arm turned me over slowly so that he could look me in the eye, a smiling spreading across his lips.

"Buon giorno," I purred, smiling a little. He smirked in return and pulled me on top of him, his eyes skimming my face.

"I thought I'd never be able to wake up to you again, bellissima. You're a sight for sore eyes." He slid his hand up to touch my cheek, his fingers teasingly sliding down to my jaw. He gripped my jaw gently and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. I met him with no hesitancy, my eyes sliding shut as I met his lips eagerly. He growled a little against me and slid his hands to my back, his right hand swatting at my ass playfully.

I squealed against his lips and laughed, pulling away to see the twinkle in his eyes.

"Knock it off, Russo," I warned, winking at him. He grinned in response and let me go, stretching afterwards.

"So what do I do from here?" I asked, remembering that I was now unemployed and living in a relatively expensive loft that I couldn't afford forever.

"You could always come work at the new restaurant. I'd be honored to have you by my side—you're a wonderful cook and they could learn from you. Besides if they get outta place, you'll just give 'em your right hook. I think you'd be an amazing addition." He watched me for a moment, gauging my reaction.

I sat back for a moment and focused on his face, taking in not just the offer but the new man that lay before me. I didn't see the animosity that usually hid just at the edges of his eyes. I didn't see regret, or guilt. Instead I saw affection, optimism, and playfulness. He seemed so different from our first encounter—and I found myself drawn to it.

"I'd be willing to consider it. But perhaps you should show me the building first?" I offered, arching a brow.

"Ah, yes. Of course you should see it first. But I do have more pressing matters to attend to," he said, his eyes darkening.

"You mean—"

"Yes. She has to be taken care of. I won't allow her to torment you as if her husband hadn't done enough," he growled out, his arms and hands growing tense as he let the idea consume him.

I reached out hesitantly, placing a hand on his arm. His eyes rose to meet mine, curiosity meeting my gaze. I licked my lips and looked away, unsure of what I wanted at this point. Seeing his eyes darken that way took me back to an uncomfortable place. As if he sensed this suddenly I felt his arms around me. His lips found mine and his kiss was intense, as if he was trying to prove himself to me. I would take the good with the bad at this point; without question.

I slid into his lap and lost myself in him, letting my hands slide over his arms, his shoulders, and his chest. He pulled me against him, his hands toying with the edges of my hair as his tongue tickled my lower lip. I found myself considering him, the little I knew of his past, the things he had done to not only myself but others and realized that he probably was the worst kind of guy to be with. He had a side to him that didn't know compassion, or mercy.

However, the side of him that took care of me last night, that made sure I was safe and protected—it was worth fighting for. He was worth fighting for.

I slipped my hands down his stomach until I found the edge of his boxers, my fingers teasing the soft skin at his waist. I spent the next half an hour doing whatever I pleased to him, subduing his wandering hands with a mere glance. This was about me being in control for once, and he seemed to understand that on more levels than one.  I was rewarded with a low moan and a lazy smile as his eyes met mine.

"So what do you want to do today?" I grinned, lifting a finger to my mouth to slip it between my lips, my eyes never leaving his.

"Fuckin' Christ, cara mia. What are you tryna do to me huh?" He pushed a few fingers through his hair, taking a slow breath. I chuckled lightly at his discomfort, enjoying how much I got to him. I smiled and pulled a tissue from the nightstand, wiping the rest of my hand off. I tossed it in the trash can next to the stand and stood up, stretching a little.

"How about we spend the day together? Let me treat you the way I should have from the beginning," he murmured, watching me as he shifted a little in the bed.

"I might agree to that. As long as you tell me I can trust you. I'm not up for any more surprises from you, capisce?" I knew my eyes had become a little sharper than intended, but he had tried my trust more than once and I wasn't as willing to be the fool anymore. I needed to know that his word meant something.

"My hand to god. Nothing but a beautiful day with a beautiful girl." He winked and stood.  I laughed a little and pointed towards the door, tilting my head.

"Maybe you should go clean up?"

"Only if you're coming with me!" he smirked and before I could protest I was hoisted over his shoulder, a squeal erupting from me.

"Michael put me down!" I yelled, kicking at him. He laughed in response and tightened his grip around me, carrying me to the bathroom. He held me there until the water was on and the shower curtain was pushed back. When he finally put me down he didn't say a word; instead he tucked his fingers into my nightgown and pulled it above my head. I didn't resist, only watched him carefully. Once it pooled on the floor next to me he pulled his boxers off and picked me back up, carrying me into the shower with him. When he put me down this time his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me against his chest.

His eyes found mine and he paused for a moment, as if trying to compose the right thing to say.

"I am sorry, Brie. I don't know how many times I can say it."

"I know, Michael. I know."

After another hour of messing around with each other in the shower we had somehow gotten dressed and ready to go. Without knowing what we were doing I had a difficult time picking an outfit; so I settled on a sky blue sundress that flared out playfully above my knees. I slipped on a comfortable pair of flats and left my hair down, hoping nothing fancy was in the cards for us. Michael had refused to tell me what he planned on doing today, but I didn't find myself anxious. At this point—what did I truly have to lose? I had been in so many ridiculous situations in the past month that I didn't believe anything weirder could possibly happen.

We had gotten into his SUV and started heading out of Philadelphia, making me incredibly curious. I tried to stay patient, focusing on the cars and buildings we passed. About half an hour into our drive I could easily tell we were heading to NYC, which made me giddy. I didn't visit the city often, but my love for it never waned.

"What are we going to New York for?" I asked softly, looking over at him.

"You'll see when we get there, cara mia. Be patient, eh?" He looked over at me and winked, before focusing back on the road.

"Fine. Then while we're driving, tell me about you. I didn't get to stalk you for a month, so you have the advantage," I playfully mentioned. I don't know why I wasn't more bothered by the fact that he had been watching me for so long, but everything seemed so far away from us at this point. We were doing something so incredibly normal that it was hard to latch onto the idea of all the terrible things that had happened to get us to this point.

"Fair enough. You know I grew up in Philly with my parents; they had the restaurant as far back as I can remember. I'm an only child but I have a lot of cousins. Dad had three brothers and two sisters, mom had four sisters. All of my aunts and uncles are still very much alive—though I haven't seen them since the funeral. They contact me every now and then—it's just been difficult, y'know? I have two degrees—one in business, one in information security. I also have a minor in music theory—Mom always said instruments bring the ladies," he paused to grin at me, before continuing. "I play piano best, but I've had formal training in Violin, upright bass, and the sax. I actually use to play piano in the restaurant when we were busier—Mom would sing." He grew quiet for a moment, a somber expression on his face.

I stared over at him for a moment, blinking slowly at the word vomit that had just escaped him. When did he become so comfortable with talking about himself? Before the silence became awkward I reached over and placed my hand on his thigh, squeezing it affectionately.

"Go on," I urged, offering him a smile.

"I played football and ran track in high school, I went to prom with my cousin, and I played Danny Zuko in our high school production of "Grease". I use to have a cat named Sinatra, but he ran away—"

"WAIT A MINUTE! Don't try to skip over that. You were Danny Zuko in "Grease"!?" I interrupted, my voice growing louder. I couldn't believe all the things I was hearing. Who would've known that Michael Russo: kidnapper, murderer, semi-spy had been so normal prior to his parents death? It made me feel that much worse that all of this had happened to him. The more he told me, the more I realized just how far off of his path he had come.

"Yeah yeah, shut it. I looked awesome in that leather jacket." His voice had taken a playful yet cocky tone, his hand dropping to mine, squeezing it. Instead of answering I began to picture his hair pushed back in a pomp, the leather jacket hugging his perfect frame—it sounded pretty incredible.

"You'll have to show me sometime. Wanna hear something pretty funny? I was Rizzo in my high school production." I had almost forgotten about it—high school seemed like ages ago at this point.

"Rizzo was always my favorite anyway. Never took any shit from anybody!" He smirked a little and the rest of our ride went on much like this, exchanging little facts about our lives before the unfortunate sequence of events.

By the time we reached the city I was positive I could give him another chance. Seeing this side of him had affirmed my initial beliefs; redemption was possible. In the short time that I had known him—I had never seen him this happy.

"Alright, we're here—tell me what's going on!" I yelled, excitement coursing through me as the buildings came into view. It was beautiful in its own way. New York was unlike anything else on the planet, and every time I came it all felt new.

"We're going to visit my family. It's my cousin Alice's 18th birthday—whole family is throwing a big thing in my Uncle's backyard," he said nonchalantly as he drove us towards Brooklyn.

"Uh, WHAT?! You're taking me to meet your WHOLE family!? MICHAEL A WARNING WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE!" I screeched, suddenly smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in my dress. How do you go from kidnapping someone to introducing them to your family in less than a month!? What was I supposed to say to them? "Lovely to meet you, your nephew has been great—you know, now that he's done killing and keeping me locked in a basement?" I leaned back against my seat and closed my eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. The anxiety was pouring in quickly and I had no idea how to subdue it, my grip on his leg tightening.

He looked over at me and sighed, pulling the car over to the side of the road a moment after.

"Gabriella, look at me," he murmured, turning so that he could face me. I opened one eye slowly, peaking at him before opening the other.

"I don't want to half-ass this. I told you I wanted to prove myself to you, and treat you the way I would've had things been normal. My family was a big part of my life before all of this, and had I met you before all of this ugliness—I would've insisted on you meeting them. They're going to love you, bambina. You're perfect, and they'll see that. I just want to show you the real me." He reached up and slid his fingers over my cheek, his eyes locking on mine.

I couldn't really argue with a speech like that, so instead of saying anything I simply nodded and took a deep breath, calming myself down.

"That's my girl." He smirked and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Once he was satisfied that I wasn't going to have a panic attack he settled back into his seat and pulled the car back onto the road.

His Uncle Frankie lived in Prospect Park South, a beautiful area that usually got referred to as the "suburb of Brooklyn". Once we turned onto his street, my jaw dropped. The houses were beautiful, Victorian gems—secretly nestled in one of the most vibrant cities in the world. The house was easy to spot; cars filled the driveway and all of the closest spots on the street. People milled around the front yard, children were running around screaming, and music could be heard from the backyard. Once we were out of the SUV Michael took my hand and gave it a small squeeze, smiling down at me. "You'll be fine!"

We walked across the street and started up the driveway, my rigid moment becoming more and more noticeable. Michael looked down at me and slid his hand out of mine, giving my ass a slap moments after.

"Hey!" I jumped, glaring up at him.

"Got you to relax, didn't it?" He winked and slid his hand to the small of my back, pushing me towards the house. Before we could get any closer the front door slammed open and a beautiful, older woman walked onto the porch. Her dark brown hair was wavy and piled on her head, her skin olive toned like Michael's. She had a slim figure, stylishly dressed in a pair of white capris and a coral blouse that looked wonderful against her skin.