Page 58 of Tank
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re real chipper this morning.”
Ricky shrugs, but the stupid grin on his face doesn’t fade. “I saw Vanessa last night.”
That gets my attention. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. We talked, took a walk. She even kissed me — just on the cheek — but man… I’ve never felt so good about something so small. Nothing I even put in my veins ever made me feel like that. It’s like…” His expression softens, his voice turning almost reverent. “Like, I dunno. Like I still have a chance to make things right.”
I clap a flour-covered hand on his shoulder, smearing dough across his shirt. “That’s why you keep working. You want to be a man she deserves? Then prove it.”
Ricky nods, looking more determined than I’ve ever seen him.
I lean against the counter, arms crossed. “Speaking of proving things — you still owe me.”
Ricky's wide smile falters, slipping away like steam from a fresh loaf. He turns back to the dough with renewed intensity, kneading it with more force than the cool, pliant mass deserves. “Yeah, I know,” he mutters, a shadow passing across his face, like clouds covering the sun.
I watch him closely. He’s nervous now, his hands tightening into fists against the dough. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Ricky exhales hard through his nose. “It’s just… I don’t want Vanessa to get hurt.”
A prickle of unease settles in my chest. “Why would she get hurt?”
Ricky hesitates. His hands briefly pause their assault on the dough, and I can see his mind working, debating how much to tell me, how much to hold back.
I step closer, lowering my voice to a hard whisper. “Ricky, don’t make me drag it out of you. I promise you, you won’t like the experience, and you’ll barely live through it.”
His body tenses, muscles locking up, before he finally jerks his head up, desperation in his eyes. “Because she’s at Safe House,” he blurts out, like it’s been tearing him apart and he can’t hold it in any longer. “She’s not safe there.”
I frown. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
Ricky bites his lip, agitated. He presses his palms flat against the counter, his hands flexing at his sides. The dough lies forgotten beneath his fingers, abandoned.
“You owe me.”
He swallows hard, then finally speaks. “I’ve heard rumors before… that Safe House was used by Moretti to launder money. Not always, but a few times in the past. And if he was there last night, it probably means he’s planning to do it again. Especially with the big fundraiser event coming up.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch. I physically feel it. Safe House? Bianca’s Safe House? The place she built to protect women like Vanessa? The thing she’s been killing herself to keep afloat?
A front for dirty Moretti money?
I don’t realize I’m moving until my back hits the counter. My arms rest on the cold steel as I grip the edge, trying to breathe past the rage flooding my system.
No. No, she wouldn’t.
Would she?
She’s Moretti’s sister.
I was a fool to think she was different, but I had hoped that maybe, maybe there was a part of her that wouldn’t sink so fucking low to launder money that comes from drugs and from trafficking and abusing the same women that she says she cares about.
Ricky steps toward me cautiously, and he places a hand on my shoulder, steadying me. “What do you wanna do?”
I force myself to breathe. To think instead of react. Bianca wouldn’t accept Moretti’s money. Not unless she felt like she had no choice. And if that fundraiser is Moretti’s next money laundering scheme, then I sure as hell am not letting him get away with it.
I straighten, rolling my shoulders. “If Moretti’s using that event for his dirty money…” Ricky tenses. “…then you and I are going to find a way to be a part of it.”
