Page 22 of Tilly
“NYPD is asking for any information regarding the fatal car bombing of one of their own. It’s been two weeks since Sergeant Murphy was pronounced dead at the scene. Investigators say there have been no new leads…”
The name of the officer has me reaching towards the coffee table, hoping Tilly doesn’t notice.
“Wait. Leave that on.” She swipes up the remote before I can change the channel.
We’ve been holed up in the living room for hours. She’s been studying while I’ve been working on my laptop. The television was on as purely background noise, neither of us actually watching it until now.
“That’s the cop who arrested me,” Tilly says, pointing when the asshole’s photo pops up on the screen.
“Is it?” I feign disinterest, keeping my gaze on my laptop instead.
“Antonio?” Tilly shifts on the sofa, tucking her legs up underneath her as she turns to face me.
Don’t ask. I can’t lie to you, and there are just some things you’re better off not knowing, I plead with her in my head before I look up.
“Matilda?”
“Do you know anything about that car bombing?”
“Why? You looking to cash in on the reward money? If you need funds, ragazza, all you had to do was ask.”
“First, we don’t talk to cops. So even if I did know something and I was in need of money, I wouldn’t be getting it from them,” she says, holding up a finger.
Her words bring a smile to my face. Who would have thought dating a mafia princess would make things so much easier for me? She knows the life. I don’t have to worry about her freaking out or running off to rat me out to the Feds.
“Second, I don’t need your money. I have plenty of my own. Well, technically, it all comes from my parents, I guess. Since they’re the ones who gave me a trust.” She shrugs.
“You are fucking perfect, Matilda.” I set my laptop on the coffee table. Pick up the textbook she has opened and toss it onto the floor.
“Hey, I was reading that.” She stares at the now discarded book.
“You don’t even need to study. You’re the smartest person I know.” I pull her onto my lap, her legs settling on each side of mine.
“Don’t distract me, Antonio. Why was that pig barbecued?” she asks.
My lips tug at one side at her attempt at talking code. “Maybe he touched something that didn’t belong to him? Maybe he didn’t listen when he was told to forget about that same something?”
Tilly takes a deep breath. “I… I get how your brain works and all, but… that doesn’t mean I condone reckless violence. That man was a cop, Antonio.” She looks around the room and lowers her voice. “What if they figure out it was you?”
“I never said I did anything, Matilda,” I remind her.
“Okay, so I should assume I have another unhinged admirer in this city? Some vigilante out there defending my honor? Maybe I should go search for him?” She tries to remove herself from my lap.
I hold on to her hips tighter, keeping her in place. “You really want the sidewalk painted red, ragazza? Because I will go on a killing spree if you even think about talking to another man.”
Tilly’s eyes widen. “Don’t do that. I am not cut out to be a prison girlfriend.” As soon as she says the words, she freezes. “I mean, not that we’re… not that I…”
“You are. My girlfriend. But we can easily change that and make you my wife instead?” I shrug. “If you don’t like the word girlfriend, that is.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I like girlfriend just fine. I didn’t want to assume…”
“Assume all you want, babe.” I press my lips against hers.
“Bro, come on! Get a room,” Emillio grunts from the doorway.
“We’re in a room.” I glare at him.
“This is public space. One we share. Also, we gotta go,” he tells me with a pointed glare.
