Beauty and the Barracuda (12 page)

Whatever humor she’d had died. He was the
last
person she wanted to talk to right now. “Delete the messages and throw away anything he’s sent me.”

“Saw that coming,” she retorted. “Which is why I had everything redirected to the morgue. If he doesn’t stop, he’ll find himself there also. I heard Sansone murmuring about decapitation, and I’m not saying he has a katana and bleach in his trunk…but he kinda might.”

Alana ended the call and Nyssa swallowed down the inclination to listen to her voicemail again. She was here to do business, not go through several stages of angst over a man she wasn’t sure she deserved. A rookie was up for his first commercial deal, and
Nyssa had been the one to suggest that she come to him. The notion of escaping for just a bit had appealed to the underlying urgency to put some distance between herself and the need for Sansone’s touch. God, she was
really
fucked up.

After her meeting with the kid,
she’d have to find something else to do with her time aside from lying in her hotel suite and staring at the ceiling. She glanced at her watch, and a mental calculation told her that her sister was probably in the middle of broadcasting on her famed morning show “Choice Words” for WKZ radio—which meant she could spend time shopping
or
invade said sister’s space and badger her about why she’d been missing in action the last few weeks. She’d called her this morning but there was no answer. It wasn’t like Samara to skip out on work, and their conversation nights ago had given Nyssa the impression that something was definitely wrong. Albeit, at the time she’d been completely and totally rocked off after drinking a third of a bottle of Jack to drown her gaping loneliness, but she could still tell, fuzzy edges of psyche or no.

She’d Skyped Samara, looking for a distraction later that night, and could still recall the panic on her sibling’s face. Slowly, something else began to poke at Nyssa’s sluggish memory. They way her sister had stared down at something on her desk in unadulterated horror before hauling ass toward the bathroom suddenly clicked into place, and if Nyssa was remembering correctly, there had been
distinct
gagging noised echoing from the…

Nyssa’s head jerked up, her eyes wide. “Holy shit. My sister’s pregnant.”

“Miss Blackwell?”

Her stare swiveled toward the source of her name being called, and she found the quarterback standing a few feet away, smile firmly in place. She could’ve excused herself then and told him she had an emergency, but she chose to rise and greet him instead before directing him to a seat across from her in the hotel restaurant of The W where she’d be staying. And even though they discussed his contract,
talked about his future plans, all she could think about was the fact that her younger sister was knocked up and if she were doing her addition right then that would mean Luciano was the father.

***

Hours later, Nyssa let herself into Samara’s apartment with grocery bags in hand and wrinkled her nose at the mess of clothes, tissue boxes, and papers thrown around. Normally she would’ve waited until she was sure her sibling was home before paying her a visit but at the moment, she felt as though that
particular protocol was null and void.

She avoided the demon that was her sibling’s cat and did her best to cleanse the place. By the time Samara got home Nyssa’s mind was off her own issues and onto her sister’s. Getting her to admit Luciano had been the one to plant the Cabbage Patch Kid wasn’t hard, nor was convincing her to tell him soon, but getting her younger, extremely
noisy
sibling off her ass about why she wasn’t talking to Sansone was another issue in itself.

Samara called out behind Nyssa, telling her that she couldn’t mention the pregnancy to Sansone. .

Nyssa wanted to spill her guts right then, tell Samara everything. But instead all she could come up with was, “I’m not even speaking to that prick!”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s a prick! That’s why not! Stop questioning why I’m not speaking to the prick!”

“You don’t have to bellow! It’s not my fault he’s a prick!”

“It’s nobody’s fault he’s a prick! Well...except for Satan’s because I’m convinced that’s who he serves!” Nyssa sucked in a deep breath and decided her own anxieties could be put on hold for the moment. It seemed her sister’s were a lot bigger and growing by the minute.

Kicking around a ball and letting a tribe of wild, Philly-bred Lilliputians tackle him was usually the answer to any mental problem Sansone was experiencing, but today his heart just hadn’t been in it. No matter how many giggles he’d heard, or how many of the boys at Trenton Home had attached themselves to his legs, causing him to smile, he still found himself more than a little troubled.

There was only one reason for that—Nyssa. He called and there was no answer; he texted and there was no response. She wouldn’t talk to him, and that frightened him more than anything else. If she were here railing at him, calling him all types of inappropriate names and threatening to shave his head bald while he slept, he’d have something to work with. This wasn’t the case. He knew she was out of town—he just couldn’t determine exactly
where she’d wandered off to. She could be hiding in plain sight or in another country. One could never know with her. No one would tell him anything, and it was making him
crazy!
If he entered the office one more time just to spot another bouquet from that complete dick James, he was going to flip his shit.

Sansone had decided a visit with Luciano and Luciano’s assistant, Brian, at the Trenton home was a necessary distraction but only found himself bombarded with, “Where’s Nyssa?”, “How come she didn’t show up, Sunny?”, and “She promised to finger paint with me.” The little ones had become quite attached to her and the pouting—my God, the pouting!
—
hadn’t done anything aside from put his mind firmly his own idiocy. By the time he, Luciano, and Brian had left, his thoughts were a million miles away. On the car ride home, he’d been drifting in and out of a ridiculous conversation his sibling was having about veal Parmesan and his obsession with Samara when Luciano called his name.

“Yeah?”

“You mind calling Nyssa for me?”

“She’s still not speaking to me
and
I dunno if she’s back in town yet, but I can try.” Sansone took his eyes off the freeway to glance at Luciano in the rearview. “Need something in particular?”

“Yes,” his sibling answered in a tone that made Sansone look up once more. “I need to talk to Samara.”

“I thought we already established that you—”

“Sunny,” Luciano cut in. “I
need
to talk to Samara.”

Looking toward Brian, whose brows were winged in the same manner as his own, Sansone replied, “I’m sensing some angst.”

“Turn around.”

“Dude, I’m on the highway going sixty, that’s a little hard.”

“Well then take a fucking detour to the airport.”

“Do I have to pull over to the side of the road and beat you?” Sansone barked. “The fuck is your problem?”

“Samara’s pregnant!” Luciano roared from the back seat. “She’s
pregnant
!”

Silence followed that particular revelation as Sansone navigated over to the shoulder and slowed to a stop before turning off his engine. A deep inhale, followed by an even harder exhale, managed to balance his skewered equilibrium.

He then mildly questioned, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Samara. Is. Pregnant. She just announced it on air.” His brother repeated. Luciano had been listening to her daily broadcast and clearly more than pop culture had been discussed this time.

Sansone blinked, stared out the windshield, gazed over at Brian and then looked to Luciano. “Let it be understood in totality that you are, without uncertainty, fucked beyond measure, my friend. You’re fucked harder than a virgin on prom night. You’re fucked harder than a porn star on third shift.
You
”
—
Sansone pointed to Luciano—“are fucked harder than that box of special toys a woman keeps under her bed for ‘break the glass’ emergencies.”

“Those analogies,” Brian suddenly said. “Why do I feel as though you have them written down somewhere?”

“I may or may not have a notepad or two but that is
not
the point right now, B! We’re discussing Luciano’s clear disregard of Mr. Waverly’s tenth-grade sex education and demonstrative videos on how to apply condoms!”

“Firstly, don’t mention Mr. Waverly. He had those creepy spidery fingers and those beady little eyes,” Luciano retorted. “He reminded me of the guy who watches people through the bookshelves of the library and mouth breathes. I don’t want him being associated with my night with Samara.
Secondly,
I am well versed in the art of condom usage but clearly I missed a step here and I would really appreciate it if I, as a grown man, could have a moment to hyperventilate and sob uncontrollably.”

Sansone tucked in his lips. “You need us to leave the car or…?”

“This is serious!”

“In nine months Samara is going to have to produce an
unholy
sized child. I am well aware of how serious this just got!”

“My baby will not be an unholy size!”

“Sir, when you climbed into my vehicle I heard my back tires whisper a prayer to the Virgin mother so I’m going to have to respectfully disagree with you.”

Luciano reached forward and cuffed the side of Sansone’s head. “I’m a man on the edge, Sunny! A man on the edge!”

“It’s not my fault you’re going around sharing your man juice! Should I be concerned about the eggs in my fridge also?”

“You motherfu—”

“And that’s the end of that conversation!” Brian interrupted, surprising them both. The man wasn’t a pushover, but he wasn’t exactly as abrasive as Sansone or Luciano. Then again, when you were married to one of the most infamous now-retired linebackers in the NFL, and controversy over your sexuality constantly arose because of your spouse’s previous profession, you tended to
learn
to be abrasive.

Luciano’s P.A. looked between them and gestured to his boss. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you want to be in New York by nightfall. Am I correct?”

Sansone’s brother sighed. “As always.”

Brian cast a glance at Sansone. “And you’ll be tagging along, will you not?”

He nodded.

The other man sat back and retrieved his phone. “Start the truck up, Mr. Sultana. I can find the quickest route to the airport and get reasonably priced tickets, but the bellowing stops or I get cranky. If I get cranky, ungodly things will take place. Are we understanding one another?”

Reluctantly, Sansone smiled, remembering a similar line Nyssa had spoken to him not too long ago. “Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Antonelli?” Brian encouraged.

Luciano cleared his throat and mumbled, “Yes sir.”

“Good. Good. I rather like it when it’s silent. It keeps me calm.”

Sansone met his brother’s eyes in the rearview and mouthed,
“What. Is. Happening?”

Luciano shrugged, waving his hands.
“I dunno!”

Nyssa was missing in action, Samara was pregnant, and Sansone had the feeling his brother’s personal assistant might have a criminal record they weren’t aware of.

***

Mother of God…she’d actually done it. Samara’s pregnancy had beenannounced on air. Nyssa couldn’t thrash her like she wanted to, but there would be finger pointing and a possible slap fight, goddammit!

She lugged out of the elevator on her sister’s floor and used her key. Nyssa strode in and stopped after stepping over the threshold. “Okay,” she started, dropping overstuffed shopping bags onto the floor. “When you said you were going to announce your pregnancy on air, I thought you were joking.”

That
particular statement sent them snowballing into an argument. And her sister could and would always
be mouthy enough to push her buttons.

Eyes narrowing, Nyssa shoved one of Samara’s shoulders. Samara shoved back. They were good and deep into a lovely slap fight when the knocking on her door interrupted it.

Pushing her away, Samara headed toward the hardwood. “I suggest you thank either Paz or Trip for saving your sorry ass from my fists of...” The moment she opened the door, her words seemed to die on the tip of her tongue.

Sansone stood there, Luciano behind him, but instead of Sansone’s eyes focusing on Samara, they were directed toward Nyssa.

“And where have
you
been?” he demanded, stepping past Samara.

She didn’t like his tone, she didn’t like that he was invading her space, and she didn’t like the fact that he’d found her. Nyssa did the only thing that came naturally. She threw up her hands and said, “Fucking the New York Giants. The linebackers have some really good techniques.”

They got into a shouting match from there that was interrupted by the booming voice of
Samara’s
current problem.

“Yo!” Luciano suddenly snapped, causing Samara to visibly jump as he pointed toward Nyssa and Sansone. “You two shut it.” He looked back to Samara. “You. Bedroom. Now.” Stepping past her, he strode toward the back as if he owned every square foot not only of her condo but her.

They all stood by, watching his every step.

“Now, Sammie,” Luciano demanded again without turning around, his voice casual.

Samara bit down on her lip before following, leaving Sansone and Nyssa alone with no more than a soft click of her bedroom door. Nyssa’s single buffer between herself and her own issues was now gone, and here Sansone was standing inches away, his stare leaving her immobile.

“You ran from me…
again
.”

The quiet accusation made her open her mouth to point out that she hadn’t set this separation snowball into motion but she stopped. “Why do you have a bruise on your jaw?”

Sansone tucked his lips in and shrugged like a little boy. “I fell.”

“Bullshit.” She reached up and turned his head, staring at the angry-looking mark. “Someone hit you.”

“I ran into a wall.”

Nyssa’s eyes narrowed. “You just told me you fell.”

“I fell
after
I ran into a wall?”

“You’re lying to me.” Jabbing in him in the bruised area and ignoring his yelp, she said, “You were fighting with Luc again.”

“I don’t think I appreciate your allegations.”

“I don’t think I appreciate your breathing the same air as me, and yet I tolerate it.” She went to pull her hand away and he held fast. “Sansone—”

“You. Left,” he growled, walking forward and backing her into the arm of the couch. “You left and you’ve been
hiding
from me.”

Her lips parted and Sansone interrupted with, “I advise that you choose your next words carefully because I can pretty much swear that anything spoken from this point on will thoroughly incriminate you and every punishment I’ve plotted
will
be the consequence.”

There was something wrong with her. There had to be something wrong with her. Why? Because she suddenly found herself wanting to taunt him with a softly whispered, “Punish me.” Instead she chewed the inside of her cheek and mulled over her next response. It needed to be something reasonable; something that wouldn’t result in her being face-down on Sansone’s lap.

“I just thought—”

“What?” he cut in. “You thought one disagreement meant I was completely done with you? You thought I wouldn’t be back? You thought I
wanted
to spend the last few nights
alone
?
Tell me, Nyssa. What is it you
thought
?”

This wasn’t going the way she needed it to. The predatory gaze he was currently giving her seared right through her, and Nyssa tried to swallow, tried to get rid of the sudden dryness in her throat. “Sometimes being apart for a little while helps.”