by Nova Rain
It’s already dark when I arrive at my destination. I may hate his guts, but I’ve got to hand it to the Don. His estate is just amazing. Tall, stone walls surround the massive house. There are two oak trees on either side, some of their branches hanging over the roof. It also features huge lawns, a rose garden, and a large pool to the right of the gate. Straightaway, I realize that this will be exactly like every other meeting. More than a dozen limos have queued up at the gate. I park my Camaro on the side of the road, before I get stuck in the traffic. Besides, the parking lot is reserved for Eric’s buddies. I stride past the queue, searching for Donny and Bryan.
The water in the pool shimmers bright and inviting as I enter the estate. Men are parading around me, talking on their cell phones. Groups of women are walking alongside each other, holding glasses of champagne and chuckling. More of them are around the pool. It’s more than fifty yards away from my spot, and yet, I can hear their cackling. Bryan and Donny are heading in my direction, hands in their pockets.
“What’s up, big Joe?” Donny asks, smiling. “You’re late. We’ve been here almost an hour.”
“Hey, boys,” I nod, starting off towards them. “Where’s Eric? Have you seen him?”
“He’s not here yet,” Bryan replies, taking his eyes off me to look at the gate. “Can someone tell me why those idiots don’t drive anything cooler than fifty-foot long cars?”
“First of all, they don’t drive,” I say, glancing behind me, a grin forming on my face. “Second, the youngest of them is sixty-eight years old. They can’t handle anything cooler, even if they wanted to.”
“Joe, Eric talked to us about what happened at ‘Red Velvet.’” Donny’s sentence ruins my mood in the blink of an eye. “We told him you just wanted to have a few words with Decker. He believed us. He’s not mad at you for going after him, but he wants you to be there at the meet with Maltese. He said it’s the best way to clear the air.”
“Thanks,” I nod in appreciation. “Let’s go get a drink.”
“Whoa!” Donny exclaims as his gaze fixes on something behind me. “Damn! Look what just pulled up!”
Seeing why my friend’s so impressed breaks my heart. It’s a silver BMW M3, one of the cars I can only dream of getting my hands on. Its driver gets out, and hands her keys over to the valet. But, when she faces in my direction, I’m in for a nasty surprise. It’s a woman, and I’ve seen her before in pictures in Michelle’s house. She’s a couple of inches taller than Michelle is, and she’s got long, blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, high cheekbones, a small nose and thin lips. A wave of frustration washes over me when I recognize one of Michelle’s friends.
“Holy shit…” I hum, shifting my gaze back to Donny. “Keep moving and don’t look back.”
“You’ll get it someday, baby,” Donny chuckles. “It’s a lot cheaper than a Ferrari.”
“I know that chick, dumbass,” I groan, dropping my gaze down to the lawn. “Just do what I say.”
“When the hell did you bang that?” He teases, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “And how come you’ve never said anything about going out with a rich chick?”
“Joe?” I bolt to my feet at the unfamiliar, smoky voice, my pulse rising. “Joe Mancini?”
“I’ll catch you later,” I tell Donny, patting him on the forearm. “Who’s asking?” I wonder out loud, putting my hands on my hips.
“Ava Rockwell,” she introduces herself, stepping around me. “You won’t hear anybody call me by that name tonight, though. My stage name is ‘Peaches.’ I’m a stripper.”
“Interesting,” I comment, clenching my jaw. “How do you know my name?”
“Through our common friend,” Ava informs me, pitching her voice higher as she fishes into her purse. “She sent me this yesterday,” she continues, laying her cell phone in my hand. There’s a picture of me, lying in Michelle’s bed, my eyes shut, the edge of a purple sheet just below my bellybutton. She’s even left a comment:
“Definition of sexiness.”
“Look, I don’t have much time, I need to go get ready,” Ava’s voice deepens further as she intensifies her stare. “Only two kinds of people attend these parties: Dons and their henchmen. You don’t strike me as a Don.”
“Bra-vo,” I reply and give four, sarcastic slaps. “You got me.”
“Oh, dear God…” she whispers, tearing her gaze away from me. “Is this why…?”
“I told your friend to stay away from me?” I finish her question. “Yeah. She doesn’t deserve this. Michelle’s too good for me. Don’t tell her. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Are you serious?” Ava squints, her gaze shooting up to meet mine. “I’ve known Michelle since kindergarten. She’s like a sister to me, and you’re asking me to keep my mouth shut?”
“What the hell will you get out of telling her?” I ask, narrowing my eyes down at her. “I’m not going back to the bar she works at. I’m not calling her, I’m not bothering her. It’s over. And what the fuck gives you the right to judge me? You take your clothes off for a living.”
“At least I don’t shoot people for a living,” she grumbles, her eyes darkening with anger. “Why did you play her like that, huh? Were you that desperate to fuck her?”
“Play her?” I growl, struggling to resist the urge to grab her. “If I wanted to play her, I’d have spent the last four days fucking her brains out, pretending I was someone else. Now, get the fuck out of my face. Go flash some tits and ass. And make sure you give them a good show. You’ll get a better tip.”
She purses her lips, glaring up at me, her chest heaving. Ava lifts her hand, a grunt of rage escaping her. I lean back, avoiding the slap. Before she can try again, I reach up and grip her wrist. I yank her towards me, my hands shivering with adrenaline.
“Now, you fucking whore,” I growl, my eyes blazing down into hers, “Move!”
“Joe…” I hear Donny’s hoarse voice behind me. “Let her go, buddy. Come on.”
Shoving her back, I keep my gaze on her. Her heels dig into the soft earth, causing her to lose her balance. Ava falls flat and hard on her back, her yelp turning a few heads. Three women who happen to be passing by pull her back up, and then start staring at me, like I’ve just butchered my own mother. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I never get physical with women. This one crossed the line, though. I’ve been wrongfully accused more times than I can count. I don’t need one more.
“Talk to me, man,” Donny requests as we head for the house. “What happened back there?”
“That blonde’s close with Michelle,” I state, running my hand through my hair. “She’s got dozens of pictures with the blonde back at Michelle’s place. Michelle sent her a pic of me in her bed, and her friend recognized me. Now, she’s going to tell Michelle everything.”
“What do you care?” Donny wonders, his tone getting stronger. “It’s not like you’re dating her or anything.”
“It’s going to destroy her,” I explain, spotting two goons in black suits at the entrance.
“I still don’t get it,” Donny confesses, tossing a puzzled glance up at me. “You’re not dating her. Why’s the way she sees you so important to you? You don’t have a crush on her, do you?”
“I don’t know, Donny,” I puff air out of my cheeks, striding into the house. Eric and Maltese are sitting at the long table down the hall to the left. Bryan is standing next to our boss, and Decker is just a couple of feet away from the far wall, his hands crossed over his stomach. The bruise on the left side of his forehead reminds me of the moment I landed on him. Instead of deep purple, it’s now yellowish.
“If it ain’t my raging bull,” Eric announces, gesturing me towards the table.
“Evening,” I murmur, shuffling off across the hall. “Don Maltese, it’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise, Giuseppe,” He tips his head down in a polite gesture as I pass him by.
“How’s the forehead, you little bitch?” I taunt Decker, bringing my
gaze up to his.
“Still in pain, thanks to you,” he claims, nodding at the same time.
“Joe, enough!” Eric yells, slamming his hand onto the table. “Show some respect to our guests.”
“I’ve got tons of respect for Don Maltese,” I explain in an emphatic voice, my eyes still on Decker. “But for that ‘little prick’ over there? No.”
“Joe!” Eric cries out, leaning forward, his squeaky voice resounding through the walls of his living room.
“Let him get it out of his system, Eric,” Maltese says, keeping his tone calm. “That’s the Siciliano blood talking. I was friends with an Alfredo Mancini, back in Sicily. Are you related to him?”
“I have no idea,” I shrug my shoulders, stopping beside Bryan.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Maltese suggests, reverting to a stiff tone. “Giuseppe, you think Decker tried to kill you. You’re wrong. He wasn’t anywhere near North Haven that night. He was with his friends down in Manhattan. And I don’t recall putting a hit out on you. Our families have been working together for the past twenty-five years. Business is booming. Why would I start a war?”
“He’s lying,” I retort, looking down at the Don. “I know what I saw. I recognized his skinny figure in a heartbeat. And he’s so stupid that he didn’t even bother dying his hair.”
“There are hundreds of men with that description, my friend,” Maltese declares, smiling under his thin moustache. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that.”
“Shake hands,” Eric commands, rising up from his seat. “We’ve wasted enough time over this.”
At that, Maltese snaps his fingers and then points up at me. Decker approaches, staying expressionless, like he’s going out for a walk in the park. I’d love to beat the living crap out of him, right here, right now. I don’t care what his boss says. I’m not blind; he was the one in that Ford. He reaches out for a handshake, the crooked smile that spreads across his face testing my patience. I take his hand into my hand, while I suck in a deep breath. I squeeze him hard, swallowing a growl. I put even more force into the handshake, hearing his knuckles crack under the pressure. He tries to yank his hand out, but my grip is just too strong.
“Oh, was that too firm?” I taunt him again, suddenly releasing. He can’t answer. His yelp fills the living room as he bounces up and down. He’s lucky to have gotten out of this with just a sore hand. If it were up to me, he’d be lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Still, Decker’s punishment is the last on my mind. It will come someday, just not this day. Michelle’s image flashes before my eyes. She’s smiling, just like she was when we had sex. I’ll try to hold on to that picture. The chances are slim that I’ll ever see it again.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Joe
The rest of the night rolls by without any more surprises. After dinner, the Dons go to Eric’s entertainment room in the basement, and keep everybody else out so they can enjoy the strippers they’ve hired for the night. Even if I wanted to talk to Ava again, that’s just impossible. She’ll be busy shaking her ass for those rich bastards. I still don’t understand why she was so hell-bent on exposing me. Yeah, I didn’t tell Michelle the truth about me, but I don’t remember mistreating her in any way. I didn’t even raise my voice to her. More than that, I didn’t force her into anything. If she didn’t want that date, all she had to do was say the word, and I would have disappeared. I’d have hated it, but I’d have respected her choice. Besides, I’m not a bully. I’m not going to pressure women into sleeping with me. It’s a lot sweeter when they do it on their own free will.
I drive back to Brooklyn at the crack of dawn, exhausted, frustrated, angry, and disappointed. Frustrated at Ava’s persistence, angry with myself for not being able to change her mind, and disappointed that the one decent woman I’ve ever met will hate my guts, if she doesn’t already. I toss my keys on the couch, my eyes feeling heavy. I can’t think about Michelle anymore. I want to sleep the sleep of the dead.
But, I don’t get the chance to go to my bedroom. It’s strange, but my doorbell is ringing. A peep through the hole sends away my desire to rest. It’s Michelle. I swing my front door open, wondering what she wants from me. Yet, the woman that’s standing in front of me doesn’t resemble the girl I know. A strand of her hair is flowing down her face, past her nose, reaching down to her upper lip. There are black circles under her narrowed, puffy eyes, and she sniffles as she steps into my apartment. All of a sudden, she thrusts her left arm up and pushes me back. Kicking the door shut, she raises her other arm, letting out a deep grunt. I don’t have the energy to avoid her slap. Her blow rocks my head to the right. I feel the sting of her fingers and her palm on my skin, before I take a step back.
“You son of a bitch!” Michelle screams at the top of her lungs, coming right after me. “Why? Why did you…?”
“What?” I yell, thrusting my arms out to the side. “Why did I do what?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she throws a vicious glare up at me, jerking her arm back to slap me again. Bending my knees, I duck, her forearm brushing my hair. I reach out and grab her by the hips. Spinning her around, I pin her up against the wall behind me, my heart starting to pound against my ribcage.
“Was that a serious question?” she groans, her chest raising up and down, a tear streaming down her cheek. “How many, Joe?”
“How many – what?” I croak, gazing deep down into her eyes.
“How many men have you killed?” clarifies Michelle with a tremor on her lips, her voice weakening.
“Does that have anything to do with you?” I tell her, tension quickening my voice, drops of sweat forming just below my hairline. “Did I hurt you? Did I…?” I pause, “...mistreat you in any way?”
“You lied to me, you bastard!” she cries, banging her head in a spasm of frustration. “I can’t believe I let you touch me with those hands.”
“You’re right,” I give a short nod. “I did lie to you. But you kissed me, Michelle. You. I wouldn’t have dared to touch you if you hadn’t touched me first.”
“Gee, that’s some excuse,” she scoffs at me, furrowing her brow.
“I stopped that kiss, remember?” I say, using an emphatic tone, hoping that she’ll finally realize how hard I tried to stay away from her. “I even came by the bar to tell you we shouldn’t go down that road. What did you do then?”
“I cried,” whispers Michelle, dropping her gaze down to the floor.
“Right,” I blink slowly, leaning over towards her. “You wanted more from me. A woman like you wanted more from me. What was I supposed to do? Say ‘no’?”
“What is this crap?” she groans, her voice thickening with anger yet again, her gaze returning to mine. “You said the exact same thing that night.”
“And you still haven’t believed it, have you?” I whisper, looking deep into her reddened eyes. “Let me tell you something,” I respond, sliding my palms up her wrists. “It’s July. You’re on Fifth Avenue, watching people pass by. You spot a girl in the crowd. She’s in her mid-twenties. She’s short; she can’t be more than 5’1”, maybe 5’2”. Her skin isn’t so smooth. It’s a little pale, too. You notice her walking style is a little weird. There’s no grace in it. Her figure isn’t bad, but she could use an extra ten or fifteen pounds. Then, another girl swoops by you. Same age, almost the same height, her skin tone’s a little darker, but she moves in exactly the same way. She’s got no femininity. After half an hour, you’ve seen the same girl like a dozen times, with just a few variations. But, just when you’re starting to lose hope, someone else stands out in the crowd. Most men stop, trying to take a better look at her. She’s taller, she’s got this…” I falter, “Golden complexion that gets you wondering if she’s real or not. Her hair cascades down behind her, reaching her waist. She’s got the grace of a gazelle. She’s got a perfect, feminine figure. And that’s when you know it.”
“Know what?” Michelle lets out one more whisper, her warm breath tickl
ing my chin.
“That there must be a God somewhere...,” I breathe, my face so close to hers that I can feel her body heat. “...because only God can create something so beautiful. You’re that woman, Michelle.”
She gasps into my chin, the darkness in her eyes disappearing, the tremble of her lips tempting me to claim them just one last time. Locking her jaws together, she allows two more tears to squeeze out of her eyes. I’m dying to hear some sort of response, but all I get is a sob, before she drops her head down to her chest. I heave a long sigh of disappointment as her scent flows through my nostrils.
“I’m sorry, Michelle,” I utter, my voice raspy with the need to kiss her. “I shouldn’t have reached for something that doesn’t belong in my world. Now, go. And please, don’t hate me for being human.”
I haven’t finished my sentence before she turns away from me. She sprints across my living room, yanks the door open, and runs out, like she’s being chased by a pack of wolves. This fine, classy woman has just walked out of my door, and there’s nothing I can do or say to bring her back. Once she’s left my sight, I get a feeling that I can’t explain. A cold emptiness spreads through my heart, as if someone has slammed a huge block of ice into my chest. Maybe I should have told her what I am. Maybe being honest with her would have been a better choice. But then again, a night with her would have remained a dream.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Michelle
“Go get him.”
I would just love to take Ava’s advice. As a matter of fact, I was going to one of these days. Joe was hands down the most thoughtful lover I’ve ever had. After my friend’s phone call in the middle of the night though, that advice sounded like the worst joke in all of history. The truth about Joe is terrifying. I knew he was involved in some kind of frisky business, but this is beyond my wildest imagination. I couldn’t even picture him as a henchman. A small-time thief? Maybe. It’s wrong, yes, but people don’t get hurt. A bouncer; beating up on anyone who’s causing trouble? That suits him perfectly. He’s huge and so strong that he could take on three or four men at the same time. I wish he was either of those things. Yet, he’s just some mobster’s henchman, someone who does all his dirty bidding for him. I don’t even want to imagine what that includes.
