Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Meeting Virginia (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Friendship, Texas Book 3) Read online

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  Meeting Virginia

  Friendship, Texas #3

  A SEAL of Protection / Friendship, Texas crossover

  Magan Vernon

  Dedicated to my T-Rex.

  I’d never left the country until I met you. I never imagined I’d go to Sicily and see a symphony or walk through the botanical gardens. You’re the muse for every single one of my book boyfriends, even though you forget to put your socks in the hamper.

  Love you to the moon and back.

  Chapter 1

  My sister was getting on a private plane to spend the summer at her dream college with her dream guy, and I was about to be crammed in coach on a sixteen-hour ride to Palermo, Sicily.

  Partly my choice.

  I’d graduated from the University of Texas at Austin almost two years ago, and the only thing I’d done with my life was continue working at my parents’ restaurant in middle-of-nowhere Friendship, Texas. After a brief phone call with a lot of yelling in Italian, my pops informed me that his cousin Sammy’s wife was having another baby and needed help with their restaurant while they kept up with all five or six or however many kids they had. Since Lia was off with her Olympic swimmer boyfriend, and my older brother, Nicky, just had a baby with his wife, I was volunteered to go help.

  The flight to O’Hare was a breeze, but I had to mentally psych myself up to get on the plane from Chicago to Rome then Rome to Palermo. That would usually mean a lot of time at the airport bar, but I didn’t want to spend the entire time in the pisser on the plane, so I put in my ear buds and relaxed to some music before it was my turn to board.

  I had a window seat in the back, but of course, a happy couple already had to be sitting in the middle and aisle seat.

  I didn’t even bother, taking out my ear buds and shoving my backpack in the overhead compartment before muttering, “I’m the window seat.”

  “Excuse me?” the beast of a guy asked, staring at me with his eyebrows raised. The girl next to him just leaned back against her seat. She was kind of hot for an older lady, but the bags under her eyes said she either didn’t sleep much last night or didn’t sleep much ever. Either the guy was rocking her, or she hated to fly as much as the rest of the world did.

  “I’m in the window seat, dude. See.” I held up my ticket.

  The guy smirked. “I heard you. I thought maybe you’d actually ask politely instead of sounding like a stuck-up brat who can’t bother to take his ear buds out long enough to have a polite conversation.”

  Man, the guy was a dick. I would have said something back to him if his biceps weren’t clearly the size of bowling balls, and with his straight stature, he was clearly military. The kind who probably carried, and if he didn’t, he could still kill me with his bare hands like he probably did to a lot of other olive-skinned guys.

  “My bad,” I said, removing my ear buds. “I’m in the window seat. Can I please get past y’all?”

  “That’s better,” the guy said before standing up and nudging the woman next to him. She hooked her arm around his elbow, and they edged their way to the aisle so I could get past them and into the window seat.

  I put my ear buds back in but could still hear them talking in hushed tones and saw him constantly squeezing her hand.

  I’d never traveled with a girl other than my mom, sister, and sister-in-law. The closest I had to a longtime girlfriend was my partner in chemistry my sophomore year at UT Austin. The only reason I passed that class was because I traded sex for homework help. She dumped me once she was made a teaching assistant, and I was pretty sure she started sleeping with the professor.

  Once the plane started its ascension to the skies, the woman put a death grip on the armrest between us. I swore that the seats had started getting smaller and smaller the last few years, and now, her twitching arm was right on top of me.

  Part of me wanted to ask to switch seats with the girl behind me who was in full makeup and a giant ass Texas blowout at eight in the morning, but I had a feeling shaky arms would be better conversation than Beauty Queen Betty.

  The guy next to her kept whispering and stroking her arm, but she still had her eyes shut and shook beside me.

  When the flight attendant came by to offer drinks, I gave up on my idea not to get smashed.

  “Drinks?” the flight attendant asked in a heavy accent, setting a napkin on each of our trays.

  “Just water,” the man said.

  “Without ice!” the woman bellowed, practically leaping over her seat.

  The flight attendant gave them a tight-lipped smile and nodded, putting the glasses on their napkins.

  The woman put the glass to her nose and sniffed before swirling the water around in the glass and, seemingly satisfied, finally took a drink.

  I removed my ear buds and looked at the flight attendant. “Yeah, a glass of red. Make it a double.”

  The flight attendant pulled out one of the bottles of wine from the side of the cart, uncorked it, and filled two small plastic glasses before setting them on my napkin and moving to the next seat.

  The best thing about traveling to Italy was the free wine, and when we traveled on the holidays, there usually was complimentary Wi-Fi. But today, I just had to settle for wine and shaky arms next to me.

  The woman glared as I drank half my glass in one gulp. “You do know it’s not even nine a.m., right?”

  I laughed, setting my glass down. “Y’all have obviously never been to Italy before.”

  The woman shook her head, taking a long sip of her water.

  That was the only bit of conversation we had until lunchtime, when the flight attendants rolled by with their carts of heated food. The same attendant asked the man and woman if they wanted beef or fish then turned to me and asked the same thing in Italian.

  “Pesce and more red,” I said, waving my now fifth empty glass of wine.

  I didn’t know if shaky arms lady was finally relaxing or if the wine was just making me not care.

  The flight attendant nodded and served me another glass and my tiny meal.

  “Grazie,” I said, raising my glass.

  “Prego,” she replied before heading to the next set of seats.

  The man looked at me. “Now tell me, how in the hell does a guy who drank an entire bottle of wine by eleven a.m. speak perfect Italian and look like he was cast in the Godfather, yet sound like Cotton-Eyed Joe?”

  I laughed at the guy’s serious demeanor with his one eyebrow raised like the former wrestler-turned-actor who is now known as the former-wrestler-turned-actor. “Well, if you gotta know my life story, my parents are from Sicily but moved to a tiny town near Dallas before I was born to open a restaurant. I’m on my way back to their home country to help at my cousin’s restaurant. And normally, I wouldn’t be drinking a whole bottle of wine, but no offense to your lady here; she’s been shaking like crazy.”

  The woman smirked. “You would be shaking too if the last time you were on a plane, there was a terrorist attack
with poisoned ice.”

  My eyes widened. I remembered hearing about that one on the news. Okay, by the news, I meant what people posted on Facebook. “Holy shit. I guess that explains the glass sniffing and shaking. Sorry.”

  “It happens. You didn’t know,” she responded.

  With nothing else to say after making an ass of myself, I put my hand out to the woman. “Name’s Sonny.”

  The woman took my hand, shaking it. “Caroline.”

  I then shook the guy’s hand. He had one of the strongest grips I’d ever held, and I tried not to wince. “Matthew.”

  “So first time to Roma for y’all?” I asked, sipping my wine.

  Matthew nodded. “Yeah. Caroline has to go for work, and the Navy let me have some time off.”

  I nodded. “I’ve been to Rome a few times. Not a fan. It smells funny.”

  Matthew laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that about Rome.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, a lot of places in Italy and even Sicily smell. I guess any big city would smell, really.”

  Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get out of the small town much?”

  “No, I definitely do. But why go anywhere else when you can go to Italy or Dallas?” I said, downing the rest of my drink.

  That ended our conversation, and Matthew and Caroline spoke amongst themselves as they cut into their tiny tray of food.

  The truth was I wanted to visit other places. The only time I ever left the state of Texas was to see other airports and go on family trips to Sicily.

  But part of me was scared shitless. Yeah, I’d been away from home for college in Austin, but that was still relatively close. In the real world, I would just be another Sicilian kid and kind of a mama’s boy. Hell, when I’d go out for the night, I’d come home, pass out, and wake up the next morning to breakfast and all of my clothes washed and laid back out. I’d gotten so used to the treatment that it was hard to leave, so I settled. I’d been working at the restaurant since I graduated from college and figured I’d eventually take it over. It wasn’t a bad gig, but some days, I just craved something more.

  Caroline finally fell asleep, her mouth drooping open with her headphones over her ears as the in-flight movie played on the screen in front of her.

  “She always look this peaceful?” I asked Matthew to make conversation. I’d listened to most of my music and had no desire to watch the in-flight chick flick.

  He put down his magazine and glanced at the woman next to him, smiling. “Not always but I try to keep her that way.”

  I nodded. “She’s lucky to have you then.”

  “What about you? Is there a girl you’re leaving behind in Dallas or another one in Italy?” Matthew asked.

  I shook my head. “No, that’s not really my thing.”

  “Oh. Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Boyfriend, then?”

  I laughed. “No, no. It’s cool. No boyfriend. I’m into girls. I mean really into girls if you know what I mean.”

  Matthew shook his head. “So we’re going with the Jersey Shore playboy thing? Do you frequent the clubs and fist pump too?”

  “Hey, that’s an offensive stereotype. I’m a Dallas guido, sir, and I shave my chest hair.”

  Matthew raised an eyebrow “Really?”

  “The shaving or Dallas guido? Because both are true. Though the clubs in Dallas aren’t that great. They aren’t in Sicily, either. A lot of grenades at the disco, but you know, a lot of American girls studying abroad are looking for anyone who can speak English, and I’m usually their guy.”

  “I didn’t understand half of what you just said, but most of it sounded like some straight-up bullshit,” Matthews said gruffly.

  My mouth dropped at his choice of words, but I quickly closed it, trying to think of how to respond to it.

  “Look, I don’t know you, Sonny, but I do know that the playboy shit has got to get old. I don’t even know of any girls who actually want that type of guy. I should rephrase that—not girls, but women. If you want some random girl for a night, that’s up to you, but random girls won’t make you a man, Sonny.”

  “Okay … then …” I muttered, wishing I had another glass of wine. I looked for the flight attendant to flag her down for a refill.

  “I’m serious, Sonny. When I was your age, I was already doing missions with my SEAL team. I didn’t have anyone at home waiting for me, so I never thought about the dangerous shit I was doing; whether it was jumping into a burning building or in bed with some girl I picked up at the bar when I got back home. Until I met Caroline. If she wasn’t asleep, I might not be saying this because she’d never let me live it down, but I can tell you finding a strong woman makes you one hell of a man. Anyone who says they can’t handle a strong woman is too weak to take her on.”

  “Well, uh, that was a good talk,” I said, unsure of what else I should say.

  “You can turn your head and look for that flight attendant with her bottle all you want, but you know I’m right. Maybe you’ll remember this conversation when you’re in some club in Italy or Dallas. When the first girl puts you in your place, I guarantee you’ll be head over heels in love.”

  I smirked, catching eyes with the flight attendant and shaking my empty glass.

  “We’ll see about that,” I muttered.

  Chapter 2

  After the long flight from Chicago to Rome, I had another short jaunt from Rome to Palermo. As soon as I stepped out of the airport, I took in the sewage smell of the city.

  Rows of taxis and drivers approaching people and speaking in broken English lined the street. But I could have picked out my cousin Sammy from any lineup.

  “Hey, cuscinu!” he yelled, opening up his arms as I approached his tiny car.

  While I was tall with long black hair I slicked back, Sammy was barely five-foot-seven with a shaved head and a smirk that made me think of a used car salesman. He probably liked me so much because the girls tended to flock to me at the clubs and he could get my seconds. Well, at least he used to like that before he married Maria, and they started popping out kid after kid.

  “Sammy!” We hugged before I loaded my suitcase into the back of his car and he took off like a bat out of hell from the airport toward the city of Palermo.

  We shared small talk about my family, his wife who was very pregnant with baby number three, and his dad, who still thought he was running the ristorante but was pretty much senile and just played dice in the back with some of the other local old men.

  “Disco tonight or are you too tired from your flight?” Sammy asked as the view of the sea crested over the dilapidated buildings, and I knew we were close to the city.

  “Never too tired. I just might need some espresso,” I replied.

  Sammy laughed, patting my knee. “You got it, cuz.”

  That was the thing about my Sicilian family. They were always touching you, whether you were sweating your balls off and wanted to be touched or not. I’d been used to it over the years, but when I would bring friends home from school, they weren’t sure about my parents hugging and kissing their cheeks. Here in Sicily, it was normal, and my family wasn't the weird Italian people. I really felt at home here, even though I’d only ever visited for short periods.

  Sammy parked along a cobblestone street that looked like a back alley. It was actually a busy intersection bustling with traffic and lined with different shops and views of the looming Teatro Massimo.

  “Sonny, you’re here!” Sammy’s wife, Maria, came out to the front of the ristorante.

  She was even tinier than Sammy was but was one of the scariest women I’d ever met. Her bulky eyebrows always furrowed and her thick black curls hung in a mess around her head.

  I hugged her and then proceeded to hug the rest of the family who piled out of the back of the ristorante, even though guests were sitting at almost all of the tables.

  Most of the restaurants in Sicily were open air with the majority of tables outside a
nd the cooking in a back kitchen. Dad wanted to do a similar concept back in Friendship, but it wasn’t exactly popular in the small town, and when he first learned about snow, he immediately decided to go for the traditional American restaurant style.

  “Sonny, you’re much too skinny. Has your mama turned into a medigan with her cooking now?” one of my aunts asked. “Come. Sit. I feed you.”

  I didn’t protest when she guided me to a table and served me a three-course meal, complete with more wine.

  By the time I was starting the dessert course, enjoying my tiramisu and espresso, the heat of the day had waned down on me.

  All I wanted to do was get in the shower then roll into the guest bed Sammy had laid out for me.

  “You ready to head to the disco tonight?” asked one of my other cousins, Sal, taking the seat across from me.

  Sal was a few years older than I was—same as Sammy. But both seemed decades older with their thick accents and restaurant worker bodies with rough hands and tobacco-stained teeth. They put in so many hours behind the grill that the only time they saw sunlight was on a smoke break. This was what I feared would happen to me if I kept working long hours at the restaurant like these guys did. I felt like a lot of times me or any of my other family members coming in was the highlight of their year so they could take a little bit of a break. Maybe that was why Sammy kept having kids, just for some downtime.

  “Always,” I replied, taking down the rest of my espresso. As much as I wanted to sleep, Matthew’s words weighed on me.

  Maybe someday a girl would be out there for me like he seemed to think, but for now, I was going to enjoy my time in Sicily. I’d work in the ristorante, take a nap when it closed in the afternoon, and then spend the night with my cousins at the club. This summer in Sicily was going to be no responsibilities and no attachments.

  ***

  Americans have a big thing about masculinity. Men can show up in an old t-shirt and ball cap to the club and be fine while the women dress to the nines. Men don’t wear pink, and they would never ride on the back of another man’s scooter while wearing a purse.