Rafe was driving, which was a tad too fast for her. When he had shown up at the door looking disheveled in jeans and a T-shirt—as if he had just returned from a jog at the park—she’d had to wonder what he’d been up to.
She was immediately reminded of how gorgeous he was, but he seemed distracted and a little out of sorts. Something was weighing on his mind.
Maybe some of that had rubbed off on her.
Or maybe her nerves were simply caused by the secret she knew she had to reveal. The one sitting right there in the backseat, playing Crazy Birds on an iPad.
The closer they got to Grandma Natalie’s house, the more trepidation Lisa felt. She had spent half the day wondering how she would break the news to Rafe, and still hadn’t come up with an idea that would guarantee a happy outcome.
But then she supposed nothing could.
This feeling was compounded by her mixed emotions about Rafe himself. He had only been back in her life for a few short hours—and only a small portion of that, when she thought about it—yet she felt as if something had been awakened inside her. Some long-abandoned emotion that had lain dormant, quietly percolating below the surface of her heart for the past three years.
Why, she wondered, did it matter to her how he reacted to the news about Chloe?
Was she still in love with him?
After everything she had been through with Oliver, was she still even capable of love?
All she knew was that, despite the turmoil inside her, she felt good being with Rafe again, riding beside him in this Mustang that he’d had for so many years. It was the same car they drove here as juniors, and she felt at home in it. Just as she had back then.
She felt safe with him, protected.
It was the role Rafe had always taken. Lisa had grown up very much the independent woman, but when she’d met Rafe in her freshman year—or the tall, reedy teenager he was back then—she had quickly discovered that she didn’t mind his old-fashioned, chivalrous ways. He opened doors for her, pulled out chairs for her, gave her his coat if they were caught in the rain, stood up to boys who made drunken passes at her at frat parties or disparaging remarks when she turned them down.
Yet he did all this without ever robbing her of her independence. Without ever undermining the essence of who she was as a woman.
Now he here was again, falling so easily into the old role. Looking out for her. Helping her.
He was staring intently at the road as he drove and she wanted so much to ask him what he was thinking about right now.
“You seem preoccupied,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Does it have something to do with Oliver?”
He glanced at her, smiled. “Don’t you worry about that jerk. He’s my number-one case now.”
“Meaning what?”
“That sooner or later I’m gonna find a way to put him behind bars, where he belongs.”
Lisa shook her head. “I still can’t believe all this stuff about his being involved in organized crime. I mean the mob?”
“This isn’t like the old days, Lisa. Gangsters don’t dress up like the godfather or threaten people with tommy guns. Organized crime is fronted and populated by people who look like legitimate businessmen, and are often so far removed from the actual wrongdoing that it’s nearly impossible to put them away.”
“So then what makes you think you’ll be able to do anything about Oliver?” she asked.
“Determination,” he said. “Pure determination.”
* * *
G RANDMA N ATALIE LIVED on the Hill, a largely Italian-American neighborhood marked by the brick and terra-cotta Roman Catholic church that stood on the corner of Wilson and Marconi Avenues.
The house itself was a two-story, red-and-white, bungalow-style affair with a large front porch overlooking Shaw Avenue, which was fairly busy at this time of day.
Rafe pulled the Mustang into the drive, and before they even had their doors all the way open,
She was immediately reminded of how gorgeous he was, but he seemed distracted and a little out of sorts. Something was weighing on his mind.
Maybe some of that had rubbed off on her.
Or maybe her nerves were simply caused by the secret she knew she had to reveal. The one sitting right there in the backseat, playing Crazy Birds on an iPad.
The closer they got to Grandma Natalie’s house, the more trepidation Lisa felt. She had spent half the day wondering how she would break the news to Rafe, and still hadn’t come up with an idea that would guarantee a happy outcome.
But then she supposed nothing could.
This feeling was compounded by her mixed emotions about Rafe himself. He had only been back in her life for a few short hours—and only a small portion of that, when she thought about it—yet she felt as if something had been awakened inside her. Some long-abandoned emotion that had lain dormant, quietly percolating below the surface of her heart for the past three years.
Why, she wondered, did it matter to her how he reacted to the news about Chloe?
Was she still in love with him?
After everything she had been through with Oliver, was she still even capable of love?
All she knew was that, despite the turmoil inside her, she felt good being with Rafe again, riding beside him in this Mustang that he’d had for so many years. It was the same car they drove here as juniors, and she felt at home in it. Just as she had back then.
She felt safe with him, protected.
It was the role Rafe had always taken. Lisa had grown up very much the independent woman, but when she’d met Rafe in her freshman year—or the tall, reedy teenager he was back then—she had quickly discovered that she didn’t mind his old-fashioned, chivalrous ways. He opened doors for her, pulled out chairs for her, gave her his coat if they were caught in the rain, stood up to boys who made drunken passes at her at frat parties or disparaging remarks when she turned them down.
Yet he did all this without ever robbing her of her independence. Without ever undermining the essence of who she was as a woman.
Now he here was again, falling so easily into the old role. Looking out for her. Helping her.
He was staring intently at the road as he drove and she wanted so much to ask him what he was thinking about right now.
“You seem preoccupied,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Does it have something to do with Oliver?”
He glanced at her, smiled. “Don’t you worry about that jerk. He’s my number-one case now.”
“Meaning what?”
“That sooner or later I’m gonna find a way to put him behind bars, where he belongs.”
Lisa shook her head. “I still can’t believe all this stuff about his being involved in organized crime. I mean the mob?”
“This isn’t like the old days, Lisa. Gangsters don’t dress up like the godfather or threaten people with tommy guns. Organized crime is fronted and populated by people who look like legitimate businessmen, and are often so far removed from the actual wrongdoing that it’s nearly impossible to put them away.”
“So then what makes you think you’ll be able to do anything about Oliver?” she asked.
“Determination,” he said. “Pure determination.”
* * *
G RANDMA N ATALIE LIVED on the Hill, a largely Italian-American neighborhood marked by the brick and terra-cotta Roman Catholic church that stood on the corner of Wilson and Marconi Avenues.
The house itself was a two-story, red-and-white, bungalow-style affair with a large front porch overlooking Shaw Avenue, which was fairly busy at this time of day.
Rafe pulled the Mustang into the drive, and before they even had their doors all the way open,
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