Island Stripe Pride - Chapter 72: Chapter 72

A few minutes later…
Rami parked his car. The four-door, average-looking sedan had all the usual modifications police vehicles received to perform optimally for long periods of time, and then some. He left it in a perfect spot that was damn near impossible to find in the city right on the corner of the shop.
D’Angelo’s Bakery was just five streets over from his brownstone. In the opposite direction of his precinct. He was surprised Nana had mentioned it, since usually he’d just stop at Rico Pan Bakery on days, she did not pick up any goods.
D’Angelo’s was better, but it was farther too. Still, he knew the drive was worth it. They had the best bread and breakfast pastries he’d ever tasted. A few for the captain, some for the guys and gals, and maybe one or two for himself. Carb heaven guaranteed, and Rami was sure to have a good day.
His Lion chuffed happily. Even his inner beast enjoyed the scrumptious little delicacies. Feeling peckish, even after his rather large breakfast, Rami hurried indoors.
The sound of the brass bell ringing as he pushed the old-fashioned glass and wood door open was music to his ears. Rami sucked in the sweet scents of freshly made pastries, breads, and pies, and sighed. The bakery was a veritable cornerstone in the community, having been there for more than sixty-years now.
Rami himself had been a customer since before he could walk or talk. Nana started taking him after he cut his first tooth. There was nothing like a crispy Italian biscotti to help a young Shifter with teething woes. He must’ve gnawed on a dozen a day at one point or other.
Happy memories.
It was as much a part of his life as anything else in the close-knit neighborhood. Supernaturals tended to stick together, and the eight city-block area where he grew up had everything from Shifters to Vamps, Fae, Witches, and even a Chupacabra family who served as the local butcher.
Mr. D’Angelo was only half-Fairy. His father was a rare Moniciello from Naples to be exact, but he was neither trickster nor mischievous. A sweet, kind man, getting on in years, but a good soul, nonetheless.
Rami could tell. Call it a cop’s instinct. Mr. D’Angelo made more wedding, birthday, and anniversary cakes than any other spot in town. He knew the name of every person who walked into his store, and their families. Speaking of which, where was the old man?
It was a little late for the early morning rush, but the coffee smelled fresh, and he imagined the old man had already brewed four pots since he opened. Trays of baked goods were cooling on the racks behind the glass counters, and the room was filled with tempting scents driving his inner beast wild.
The place looked good. Too good, come to think of it. Like every inch had been lovingly polished and scrubbed. And recently, too.
Hmm. That was odd, thought Rami. Mr. D’Angelo was not usually this tidy. And he sure as fuck never had a potted plant in the bakery before. But there one stood. Directly in the corner. A tall Ficus tree in a wood-barrel pot. Upon closer inspection, Rami determined it was in fact real.
“Hello! Mr. D’Angelo?” Rami called out, leaning over the counter.
There was music playing in the back, where the ovens were located. Also new, he frowned. His senses went on high alert. Something very strange was going on here.
Truth was, Rami hated change. That morning had been so full of promise, but his plans were quickly going down the drain. He only wanted to walk into the bakery and grab a couple of dozen treats. The same way he had at least once a week for the past thirteen years.
“Anyone here?” he yelled again.
Then it reached him. The low, soft humming of an unfamiliar voice, one that was obviously female.
Grrr.
“One moment, sugar,” the bright sentiment reached him with a distinct twang of South Carolina teasing along his sensitive earlobes, down the canal, straight through to his entire body.
Holy hell. Rami’s Lion pushed against his skin. The great, dark-maned beast was curious, as was his human side to see the owner of that deliciously pleasant voice. Stomach muscles tensed, he swallowed audibly, willing the female to make herself known.
Then she appeared, like magic, amidst a ray of sunshine pouring in through the unshaded glass of the large store window. She was holding a tray of still warm cornetti, and it was all he could do not to drool. Whether said mouth-watering was over the pastries or the woman was still a toss-up.
It’s the woman, growled his Lion, and Rami found himself nodding his agreement.
“Hi there,” she smiled, and it was like the sun shining down on him after months of nothing but overcast clouds.
The female was petite. Hell, she couldn’t have been more than five-foot two inches tall. But she was all sweetness and rounded curves. The kind a guy like him wanted to hold onto in the middle of the night, and never let go. Rami shook his head to clear it. Where the fuck had that thought come from?
Her smile showed straight, white teeth outlined by naturally pink lips. She was all gold skin and warm, honey-brown hair loosely piled on her head and held in place with some kind of stick. He was certain it was fashionable, but what the fuck did he know about female hairstyles?
It was cute as fuck on her though. Everything about her was. Hell, the female was temptation herself. She wore typical chef gear. A white, double-breasted coat, and fucking hell, those breasts were double anything he ever saw, over loose-fitting pants with pumpkins and fall leaves all over them. On her feet, she wore burnt-orange Crocs.
He’d always thought them hideous, but they looked sexy as hell on her tiny feet. His eyes went back to her thousand-watt smile, and Rami was positively dazzled. Her expression was generous and open, a true welcome he didn’t think he’d ever experienced from anyone else. It was like she’d stood up and said there you are at last, I’ve been waiting for you.
He coveted that grin. Wondered how many customers she greeted the same way. Suddenly, he felt a certain green-eyed monster stirring within. He wanted that smile, her smile for himself alone.
Fuck. What was wrong with him? He didn’t even know the sandy-haired beauty with the ridiculously large, beguiling blue-eyes. But he’d like to.
Mine. Uh oh. What the fuck was his Lion talking about? He wanted to slap himself to snap him out of whatever spell the little witch was weaving over him.
Instead, Rami cleared his throat. Dumbstruck, just watching as she stood there, eyebrows raised expectantly, while she placed the tray she’d been holding on the rack along with the others. The scents of lemon-sugar goodness teased him, and despite having only just eaten, his belly rumbled appreciatively. Or maybe that was his Lion.
“Good morning,” he said, trying to smile, but still too confused to do it right.
It was unusual for him to feel so mixed up over a female. Rami had his choice of women, especially from within his Pride, but lately he found himself steering clear. Wasn’t worth the trouble to date someone he was going to see often and know it was going nowhere.
This one is trouble, he knew instinctively. Could tell from the wicked gleam in her eyes, and the fact she smelled so different from anything he’d ever scented. Human, he thought as he sensed no animal or Vampiric tendencies around her.
Just his luck to be attracted to a normal. The supernatural world, in particular the Shifter secret, was fiercely protected from humankind. Only few select normals were in the know. Mates, of course, but there were others too. Government officials, heads of law enforcement agencies, and the like.
Mate, his animal repeated the word inside his mind’s eye. The great golden beast growled softly, eyes glued to the female, body positioned to pounce.
Chill the fuck out, he commanded the beast. What the hell? Mates? No way. That word had no place anywhere near his mind when he was looking at the honey-brown-haired female.
Grrr.
Fuck. This was so not happening. Rami reined in his beast, and pretended to peruse the baked goodies, though he already knew what he wanted. And it wasn’t anything he could buy.
Grrr.
His Lion pressed one more time, but Rami bested the animal. Caging him deep inside and locking the beast down.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yeah, thanks. I’d like two boxes of breakfast pastries.”
“Okay,” she smiled “First, can I offer you a sample of my new flavor?”
The female reached behind the counter, giving Rami a tantalizing view of her backside that, even in her loose-fitting chef’s pants, was sensuously outlined. She turned back towards him with a plate full of bite-sized, powder-sugared goodness.
“Do you believe in love at first bite?”
Fuck yeah, his Lion growled.
“I’m sorry?”
“Try one of these, and you will,” she winked, and held out the miniature cornetti.
The Italian version of a croissant was one of Rami’s favorites. He was not about to refuse. And if she worked for Mr. D’Angelo then these were going to be great. He bit into one, still warm from the oven, and moaned appreciatively.
Flaky, buttery, and holy fuck, was that a raspberry-lemon filling inside?
“Mmm,” he grunted, “That’s fantastic.”
“Thanks. I plan on introducing a new flavor every weekday, along with traditional of course.”
“Really? What’s Mr. D’Angelo say about that? The old man hates change.”
“Well, he must be ready for it since I’m here,” she laughed.
“How do you mean?”
“While he’s out looking at houses down south to retire, I am working here with an option to buy.”
“Really? You a relative?”
“Actually, no. I saw his ad at my local culinary school,” she wagged her finger, “All these questions, you must be the detective grandson of that nice Mrs. Llewellyn who comes in for a loaf of bread every day,” the baker smiled.
“I am, and you are?”
“My name is Noemi. Noemi Donato.”
“So,” he quirked his lips, as things suddenly made sense, “you know my Nana?”
“Yes,” she laughed again, and fuck if it didn’t sound like tiny silver bells ringing in the air, “She is quite the lady. So kind and welcoming, and she sings your praises too.”
“I bet,” he murmured.
Yep, it all makes sense now. Why his Nana hadn’t gone out to get him his usual that morning. And why she’d insisted he come to this bakery himself.
“What pastries would you like?” Noemi pulled out one large white box and waited for him to order.
She licked her bottom lip. A tiny movement that seemed unconscious, but still hypnotic, nonetheless. It was enough to make him completely forget what he was going to say. Shit.
“Uh, yeah. Can I get two boxes, please? One with a dozen of assorted cornetti, and another with some of those donuts, and a couple of pieces of crumb cake.”
“Coming right up, detective,” she winked, and Rami felt as if the whole world just tipped on its axis.
Grrr.
Rami spent the rest of the day in a sort of fog as he mulled over the mystery that was Noemi Donato. She was beautiful, human, and not from around here. South Carolina was his best guess, if her sweet Southern twang was anything to go by.
Hell, he didn’t know Mr. D’Angelo was away on vacation. After some inquiries, he’d learned she was telling the truth. The elderly baker was looking to retire, and Noemi Donato was looking to move in. Could be a nice addition to the neighborhood. Very nice, indeed.
Grrr.
Every time he thought of the curvy, sweet as pudding female, his Lion got all growly and antsy. For some reason, the silly feline wanted him to go back to the bakery. To check on her, or hell, maybe just to see her. Yeah, the enormous cat could so get behind sitting guard at her feet.
The fuck? He had no time for this nonsense. He wasn’t some unlicked cub, for fuck’s sake. He’d been there done that already. Rami was all about the job now, as evidenced by the stack of files on his desk.
“Llewellyn! Get your pansy ass in here,” bellowed Alfredo Luani, the current Primus of the Luani Pride and the captain of the 135th Precinct.
“Yes, boss,” he answered in his normal voice knowing full-well the man heard him quite clearly.
The poor guy was having fits with all the trouble brewing amongst the Wolves within city limits. Goddamn furry fuckers knew better than to have their dominance challenges and territorial disputes spill over into human society. But it was even bigger than all that. Rami was one of the leading detectives trying to find the connection between the recent rush of B&Es and rumors of a Wolf-run gambling ring that was putting more Shifters in the hospital than the Giants tossed interceptions during all of preseason.
Big Blue all the way. Sucky record and all. That team was breaking his heart, but he wasn’t stupid enough to let them break his bank account. Poor sorry suckers risked their savings and paychecks betting against odds and wound-up needing surgery or worse.
It was a serious fucking problem, and Captain Luani had enough. Ready to have his ass handed to him by the Primus, Rami grabbed the box of pastries from his desk and, with a big smile, walked into the office of the most powerful Lion Shifter in all NYC.
“You got something in your ears? I called you three minutes ago,” snarled the man.
“For you, captain,” he said, depositing the box on the man’s pristine desk.
Just like magic, he thought and watched as the older man inhaled, and his anger dissolved. He tore the box open, biting into a huge, glazed donut, and polishing it off with his second chomp. The man had huge teeth, even in his skin. There, one happy beast, now maybe Rami’s ass was safe from a thorough chewing out session.
Only one person I want nibbling my ass. FFS. He couldn’t do this all day. Every time one of his thoughts got remotely physical, he was back to thinking of her. Noemi Donato.
“That was better than usual, Llewellyn. Where are you with the investigation in the Wolf Pack, Llewellyn? I have been on the phone with our liaison to the mayor’s office all damn morning. The fuckers are getting out of hand. They’re defacing property. Putting harmless bookies out of business. Running illegal games.”
“We on the bookies’ side now, cap?”
“Fuck yeah, we are,” grumbled the man while biting into his second glazed donut.
How the fuck? The gooey delicious pastry was the size of his head. Pretty fucking big. And yet he was downing the things like chips.
“Those guys we know, we trust,” grumbled the man around bites of fried dough, “Wolves are outta fwucking cwontwol.”
“Uh, yeah, I know, cap,” Rami raised one eyebrow, holding onto his mirth lest he be on the wrong side of his fearless leader, “Don’t worry. I have a plan to get us the warrants we need.”
“Well, get movin’ then. We need evidence to get that warrant. Bout time we set up some round the clock surveillance on those assholes.”
“Yes, sir. What about the burglaries?” Rami said noting the memo sitting at the top of the Primus’ inbox.
“What?” Luani replied, finishing the donut in three bites.
“There have been a series of break-ins and commercial property bust-ups. Nothing of real value taken, but the stores were burglarized.”
“Yeah, so. It’s connected, detective. Go detect.”
“Sir?”
“I said the cases are entwined. Look here, Wolf hair was found at the last robbery.”
“Fuck,” Rami cursed.
“What the fuck are you waiting for? Go get those bastards,” Luani bellowed.
“Yes, captain,” Rami nodded, leaving the office, and headed back to his desk.
A couple of hours, and three dozen phone calls later, Rami still had nothing. He growled and stood up, stretching his long-limbed body. He needed to get out and get some fresh air.
The 135th Precinct was always busy. Tonight, was Friday, and that meant it was twice as packed. Crooks and cops filled every inch of floor space. It was impossible to move about.
Almost every cop there was a member of the Pride, though they did have the odd Tiger, Bear, Coyote, and even a Gator Shifter who’d moved to New York from Florida after his bitter divorce. No kids. Thank fuck.
Rami side-stepped through a crowd of Bull Shifters from the local BBMCNY, that was the local charter of the Badass Bovine Motorcycle Club, who’d busted up a bar the night before. The guys were all grins this morning despite the busted lips, black eyes, and few broken bones.
“Hey man, my arm,” yelled one young Bull.
“Take it easy, princess,” snarled Lia Duboski, a plain clothes officer, and Lioness.
“Hey yo, Duboski, don’t hurt the little lamb,” snorted Desk Sergeant Amos Calloway.
“Shut up, Trent. You’re making us sound like pussies,” growled one of the bikers at the one who was complaining.
“All in a day’s work,” Lia snarked back.