Red Velvet. Noelle Mack

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СКАЧАТЬ windows made it a little hard to see him. At least she thought Nicky Del Bianco had made detective. He was supersmart, a John Jay graduate with a master’s in criminal justice who’d started out as a beat cop just because he wanted to, in the Bronx neighborhood they’d all grown up in.

      And he was a total sex god. Always had been—some of the younger nuns even used to check him out on the sly in high school. Nick was unbelievably hot-looking, with dark-gold hair and tawny skin and olive green eyes with thick black lashes. From northern Italy—well, his father was. Maybe a little Swiss in the genetic mix, maybe Austrian? Ruth would have to ask Sofia, who prided herself on knowing things like that. His mother was from the south, Calabria, like practically everybody else in this neighborhood, Ruth was pretty sure.

      Her cousin still got stars in her eyes when she talked about Nick now and then, even though she’d been married forfriggin-ever to Joey Castiglia, who was almost as hot. But no one was as hot as Nicky.

      Ruth looked through the windshield at him. He was resting his large, strong, tawny hands over the steering wheel like they were lion paws. Able to break the neck of a goombah with a single blow.

      Stop thinking like Sofia, she told herself sternly. Ahead of her by a few years, her cousin had gone through Catholic school with Nicky, writing SOFIA + NICKY4EVER and Sofia Del Bianco (Mrs.) and the names she wanted for their children—Nicky Jr., Anthony Marco, and Brianna—on the inside covers of her notebooks. Hoping to get somewhere, somehow, with him, Sofia had even attended mass when his mother did, Nicky being conspicuously absent from Our Lady of Mount Carmel on most Sundays because he stayed out so late on Saturday nights. But as far as Ruth knew, Nicky had never even kissed her cousin.

      The other man looked at him uneasily as Nicky got out and kept the car between himself and the two of them, leaning on its roof. He took a small ID folder out of his jacket pocket and flashed his shield in a bored way. The high-gloss paint reflected his killer smile upside down as a killer frown. Ruth had a feeling he knew the goombah and didn’t like him. “Ignazio. Long time no see. Who’s your friend?”

      Huh. Nicky didn’t recognize her. Ruth was about to open her mouth and enlighten him when she realized she would be enlightening the goombah at the same time. She clammed up.

      Ignazio gave a theatrical shrug. “We just met.”

      “Uh-huh.” He looked directly at Ruth. “Is he bothering you? Need a ride somewhere?”

      “Okay.” She picked up Tuff again and edged past the limo driver, who was sweating.

      “Get this boat off the sidewalk, Ig. Don’t make me run the plates. I don’t even wanna know where you stole it from.”

      “I didn’t steal it,” the limo driver said, looking outraged.

      Nicky shook his head as if he didn’t want to hear another word. The sunlight hit his dark-gold hair just right, Ruth noticed, and the breeze ruffled it. Even though he was standing on the other side of his car, he was tall enough for her to see through the window that he was in plainclothes. As in faded jeans. And a nice shirt that the breeze kept pushing against his body. Chest to die for, biceps ditto. He’d been a golden boy in high school and he was a golden man now.

      It crossed her mind that maybe Sofia had set this up—but no, that couldn’t be. Ruth had gotten incredibly lucky, that was all.

      She wobbled to the unmarked car on those goddamned red velvet platforms. Safe in her arms, Tuff indulged in a few parting growls at the goombah.

      “Go back to Brooklyn, Ig,” Nick said quietly. “Don’t let me catch you around this neighborhood again.”

      The other man opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. He got behind the wheel of the limo, puffing a little, and slammed the door. Then the same fandango with the windows started again—up, down, up—until he figured it out and drove very carefully off the sidewalk, maneuvering the white limo with a little more skill than he’d shown before.

      Nicky watched him go around the corner and turned to her. “Where to? I’m Nick Del Bianco, by the way. Detective NYPD.”

      “Um, that way,” Ruth began, gesturing vaguely. He really didn’t know who she was. Interesting. Very interesting. She decided to change her destination and go someplace else besides home. “But could you drop me on 187th Street instead, near Arthur Avenue? At De Lillo’s? I want to get a cannoli.” She did want one—the crunchy sweet tubes of pastry filled with flavored whipped cream were her favorite treat.

      He looked at her like she was a cannoli, grinning like a hungry wolf. “Sure.”

      Like mirror images, they opened their respective doors, got in and closed them at the same time.

      “How about that. Simultaneous…never mind.” He grinned at her and started the car. Tuff wriggled so he could look out the window and then he yarped. “Is that how he barks?”

      “Yeah, when he’s happy. Thanks for rescuing me. I mean, that guy wasn’t really bothering me, but I was kinda nervous.”

      Nick drove, keeping his eyes on the street. “They don’t call him Ig the Pig for nothing.” He didn’t say anything more for a minute, just went left and then right, moving into the center lane.

      “Oh, so you, like, know him?”

      “He’s on our list, put it that way. Why was he talking to you? I could tell you didn’t want him to.”

      “The fabulous Del Bianco, psychic. How’d you pick that up?”

      The fabulous Nick looked at her and gave her a half smile. “Just observant.”

      “He thought I was someone else. Someone named Gina, who was supposed to go to a thing in Brooklyn with la famiglia.”

      “Got it. Gina Bertelli. She works the motels near LaGuardia now. You do kinda resemble her, at least in shades and that outfit.” He gave her an appreciative glance. “But you’re a class act all the way and she—uh, she isn’t. Believe me, you don’t want to spend a sun-filled, fun-filled weekend with that famiglia.” Nick slowed down and a gypsy cab behind him honked. He waved the guy around. “Hard to find a spot near De Lillo’s.”

      She looked ahead on the bustling street, thinking fondly that the neighborhood had hadn’t changed much. Her mother’s falling-apart photo album from her 1950s childhood showed the same brick apartment buildings with Art Deco details, butted up against much older tenements. And the people hadn’t changed much, either.

      The local women still shopped almost every day, buying everything fresh, going in and out of the stores: Borgatti’s for pasta, Calandra’s for cheese, Biancardi’s for meat, Tino’s Salumeria for cold cuts, and Randazzo’s Sons for fish. They sniffed and sampled everything, gossiped, prepared to stock up shelves and refrigerators that were already crowded with good things to eat. Ruth pointed. “Up ahead.”

      Nick pulled over into an empty spot by a fire hydrant. “Okay. You and Tuff enjoy yourselves. I’d stay for a cannoli, but I gotta get back to the precinct. See you around, Ruth.”

      She pulled down her sunglasses and looked at him with mingled disappointment and amusement. “You knew it was me all along.”

      “Yeah, I remember you tagging around after your СКАЧАТЬ