by Renee Rose
I square my shoulders. Good. He’s here to bust my balls, I’m sure. But I’m not afraid. I deserve it. And maybe I can finally settle some of the shit between us. Apologize for what my family’s done to him. Make things right.
“Send him up.”
I take out a tumbler and pour him a glass of scotch, too, not that I think he’ll drink it, then let him in the door when I hear the elevator.
He comes in carrying a shoebox under his arm, wearing a tough look of conviction.
“Luigi,” I say. “Come in.” I escort him to my office. “Have a seat. Scotch?” I push the drink in front of him.
“No.” He sits but his face is hard. He sets the old shoebox in front of him.
The power play would be to sit back and wait for him to talk. This is obviously some kind of offensive move. But I push away my usual schtick. Marissa needs me to fix this.
“One million for Milano’s. I’ll take over the lease, get a team to run the business. You and your family can retire.”
Luigi’s face goes red. “What? What are you talking about? No! I’m not here to make deals with you, Gio.” He shakes his head. “Actually, that’s not true. I am here to make one very important deal.”
“Does it have to do with what’s in the box?” I prompt. I have this nagging sense I should’ve led with an apology. Explained my position to Luigi—that I’m in love with his granddaughter and want to make things right.
Instead I’ve gone into my usual wheeling and dealing over scotch, with the air of danger and power around me.
It’s exactly what Luigi hates and yet I play the part he expects.
Fuck.
“Wait—” I hold up my hand. “I want to say something first.”
But Luigi’s already opened the box, and I suddenly know exactly what’s going to happen next.
Just like I knew when Marissa showed up here in that skirt and heels.
Fuck.
The box is filled with old cassette tapes—each one is labeled with a date. He also pulls out an ancient cassette recorder. “You know what these are?” he says.
“I have a pretty good idea.” As if this day hadn’t gone badly enough. My fucking nightmare coming true right there in Milano’s. A gun to Marissa’s head. My colossal fuck-up that I still haven’t figured out how to fix.
And now this.
Blackmail at the hands of my girlfriend’s grandfather.
He slides a tape in the cassette player and hits play. It’s barely audible. There’s a ton of noise, but underneath the background sounds and the warped quality, I hear my father’s voice, giving orders. Vinny, you take care of the Hathaway problem. Junior, find out who skimmed from the electronics heist and teach them a lesson. Take Pauly with you.
Fucking great.
Evidence against my brothers.
“I have dozens of these,” the old man says, shaking the box. “I have more at home. More at my lawyer’s office.”
“You kept them all these years.”
He nods. “Insurance.”
I’m suddenly bone tired.
Sick of La Cosa Nostra. Sick of my family. Sick of being a Tacone.
But mostly sick of this life and living.
“What do you want, old man?” I’m done being kind. It’s too fucking hard when no one accepts it from you.
“I want you to stay away from my granddaughter. Get out of that restaurant where she works. Take Milano’s as collateral for the money you loaned her, but cut her out of this. You nearly got her killed last year and it’s your fault someone pointed a gun at her head again today. And my other granddaughter, who is just a child, had to witness your disgusting violence. Marissa deserves better than this.”
I wouldn’t be surprised to hear every plant in the apartment just withered with me. I swear I could suck the sun right out of the sky right now with the black hole inside me.
“And in exchange you give me the tapes?”
“No. I keep the tapes, as I have all these years. To make sure you hold up your end of the bargain.”
I throw back the rest of my scotch. I’ve already shut down. We’re past the point of me telling Luigi I’m in love with his granddaughter. We’re at the point I might kill a man.
No one threatens a Tacone.
That’s a motto I was raised with.
But I have no choice here but to fold. Not because I’m afraid of those tapes—although they could be a fucking problem. My dad’s already in jail, but if there’s evidence on there that would endanger my brothers’ freedom, I can’t risk it.
But mostly because Marissa loves this old man.
And so, I would never harm a hair on his head.
Would never threaten or strong-arm him.
And he’s right. Marissa does deserve better. Everywhere I tried to help her, I only mucked things up. I bought that fucking restaurant to keep Arnie away from her, and it backfired on me. He showed up her family business and pointed a gun at her head.
Cristo. I should’ve just stuck with what I know. Violence. Threats.
The more I try to be good for Marissa, the more things go wrong.
“Fine,” I say dully.
“You’ll end things with Marissa?”
“Yeah.”
“And stay away from her? Get out of her life forever?”
“Get out, Luigi.” I stand and pick up his untouched drink. I throw it back and slam it down on the table. “We’re done here.” I take the bottle of scotch and walk out of the office, leaving him to find his own way out.
If I had a coffin, I’d crawl in like a fucking vampire right now and never come out.
Instead, I think I land on the bed—I’m not sure. I’m too busy finding my way to the bottom of the scotch bottle.
Chapter 15
Marissa
By the time I finish my shift at Michelangelo's, I’m ready to drop dead. My stomach’s been in knots since Arnie showed up this afternoon, and I’ve just been trying to sweep everything from my mind until I have time to unpack it all.
The trouble with that, is my body is a shaky mess. I want to heave, and I was really looking forward to falling into Gio’s arms at the end of the night.
But he didn’t come.
He’s not here.
And that fact alone is what makes the tears start to fall.
He’s not outside in the parking lot, insisting he drive me home. There’s no message from him on my phone.
I walk to the L station, sniffing, my brain spinning.
Now it’s important to me to remember everything. To look at the puzzle pieces and figure out why Gio’s not here.
I told him to leave. Was I horrible about it? Fuck, I can’t remember. I just was in so much shock from having the gun pointed at me and then seeing Mia crying like that. Seeing Arnie’s blood and the brutal enforcer Gio unleashed.
Gio… My mind skips a few minutes backward in time. The swiftness with which he disarmed Arnie. The power in those fists when he exacted justice.
Gio saved my life.
He was a freaking hero.
He snatched a gun from Arnie’s hand and beat him to a pulp. In most movies that would be a win. He’d get a medal, or at least sighs from every female in the audience.
And I didn’t even thank him.
Instead, I kicked him out like he was the bad guy.
How on Earth did Gio become the bad guy for saving my life? My family blamed him for Arnie being there in the first place, but that wasn’t his fault. I might have never started something with Gio and the same thing could have happened. Arnie is a dangerous sociopath.
Not Gio.
Dammit.
I pull out my phone. It’s too late to call, but I send a text to Gio. You saved my life and I didn’t even thank you. I feel horrible. It doesn’t feel right, it’s definitely trying too hard, but I force it with, Maybe some punishment is in order?
I hit send, then wish I’d left the last part off. If Gio didn’t come tonight, he must have taken offens
e. He’s always at Michelangelo's when I am. Always there to pour me a drink or sweep me into his vehicle. Or fuck me hard over a table.
I wait the whole train ride home, but I get no response.
Huh.
Maybe Gio’s asleep. Did he have problems with the police? I know they were going to go get his statement since I fucked up by telling him to leave.
The house is quiet when I get home and I slip into bed, exhausted, but I can’t sleep. I keep picking up my phone checking for a return message from Gio.
Hoping I didn’t screw up with him one too many times.
Gio
I break up with Marissa by text and I want to punch myself in the stomach.
Your grandfather is right. Violence follows me. I don’t want to fuck up your bright future. It was fun while it lasted.
Nothing’s fun about the fucking text and the reply nearly kills me. No, Gio. You saved my life, and I want you in it. Forget about my nonno. We can work this out.
If I weren’t already dead, the last living, breathing part of me dies when I text the next message. We’re over, angel. Your debt to me is forgiven. Have a nice life.
Next, I let Michael know I’m backing out of the deal to buy Michelangelo's.
He’s pissed, and I don’t give a shit. I hang up on him cussing me out.
And once those two shitty tasks are done, I hit the bottle again and sit down at my piano to play a three-hour rendition of The Rolling Stones’ Paint it Black.
Marissa
Whoever said time heals all wounds was a douchebag. The pain is getting worse.
The first few days I stumbled through. I somehow managed to show up and do my work, like I always have, although I probably looked like a zombie.
It hadn’t really sunk in that Gio broke up with me. That after all that coming on strong, making me believe he just might stick around, he bailed.
But after I found out he pulled out of the purchase agreement for Michelangelo's, it finally hit me that he really wasn’t going to come around. He wouldn’t be there waiting one day after my shift. He had no plans to play that beautiful baby grand in there.
After that, I couldn’t get out of bed. I got a terrible cold and used it as an excuse to stay in my room for the past week. Maybe it’s been over a week. I don’t even know.
For once in my life, I let everyone else figure out how to get things done. I don’t even come out of my room to eat—they’ve been bringing food into me.
I ignore the tap at my door now.
And my aunt ignores my lack of response and comes in anyway.
She sits down on the side of my bed and pulls the covers back from my head. “Jesus. You look like death, Marissa.”
“I feel like death,” I tell her.
“Maybe a shower or bath would help.”
“Mmm.” That’s me ignoring her suggestion.
“You know, come back to the land of the living?”
“I don’t want to.” And that’s the God’s honest truth. I simply can’t imagine ever returning to my life again. I’d rather get on a Greyhound to nowhere than pick up where I left off.
“Is this about Gio?” she asks softly. It’s the first time anyone around here has spoken his name and I’m unprepared for the emotion that floods to the fore. Tears crowd not just my eyes, but my entire face and throat, making it hot and full.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I manage to croak before hiding my face in my pillow again.
“Marissa…”
I ignore her, hoping she’ll go away.
“I didn’t know he meant this much to you,” she finally says.
And then I suddenly do want to talk about it. In fact, I sit up and a flood of words come pouring out of my mouth. “Aunt Lori, I didn’t want to date him. I mean, Nonno always made the biggest deal about the Tacones and there was the shooting last year. But Gio’s the one who got shot. Out on the sidewalk? I saw the whole thing. And I guess he’s had nightmares like me. Except in his nightmares I’m the one who’s going to get shot.” I stop and clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God! Do you think it was a premonition? Like fate sent him to make sure I didn’t get shot?”
Lori’s brow crinkles and she looks at me with sympathy. “No, honey, I don’t think—”
“Well, anyway, that’s why he felt like he had to protect me and he started coming around. And Lori, he wasn’t scary or dangerous. He was kind and generous and protective. He may have hurt the man who pointed a gun at me, but he would never, ever hurt me. I know that in my soul.” Tears drip down my face. “I mean, that’s why he’s gone now. I kept pushing him away, and he decided maybe he is too dangerous for me.”
I grab a tissue and blow my nose.
Lori opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, more word-vomit comes from my mouth.
“And the thing is, I didn’t want to let him into my life. Because of Nonno and also because… of my mom. You know” —I wave my hand, fresh tears dripping down my face—“how she left? And I was trying to keep him at arm’s distance and then”—I blow my nose again—“the minute I let him in, the minute I got used to feeling like maybe I am enough, maybe I won’t get abandoned this time…”
I throw myself back on the bed in defeat.
“Oh my God…” Lori whispers, plucking away the strands of hair glued to my face with tears. “Baby, I’m so sorry. But you’ve got this all wrong.”
“How?” I demand without lifting my head. Without looking at her. I’ve fixed my unseeing gaze on a point on the wall, and I’m not looking away from it. “Seriously, Aunt Lori. I’m not ever doing this again. Relationships are not worth the pain. There’s no point in trusting people to stick around.”
A stuttering sound comes out of her mouth. “Well… you pushed him away, right? You told him to leave. And now he’s staying away to protect you. So that’s not abandonment. That’s caring because you are enough. You’re damn special.”
“Whatever.” I mutter.
“Marissa… come on. You have to get out of this bed. At least take a shower. Come and sit at the table to eat—Nonna’s making manicotti.”
“No.”
“You have, to Marissa.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Please? Everyone’s worried. We just want to see you up and moving around.”
“No.”
Lori sighs and gets up and leaves. A few minutes later, Mia comes into my room holding the money she won from Gio. “Marissa?” Her voice is small and scared. “I’ll give you this if you get out of bed and eat dinner with us.”
I push her hand away. “No, baby. That’s your money.”
She shakes it in front of my face. “I want you to take it. Come and eat with us.”
Fuck.
I sigh and throw my legs out of bed. “That was a low blow,” I mutter to myself. Everyone knows I’d do anything for Mia.
I take a shower but my aunt was wrong. I don’t feel any better for it. In fact, I’d still like to curl up in my bed and die.
“There she is!” Nonna sings when I show up for dinner. She comes over and kisses both my cheeks. “You look better.”
“I seriously doubt that,” I mutter.
“So, Marissa really cared about Gio Tacone,” Lori says.
For fuck’s sake. I get out of bed for this? To have my horrible love life discussed at the dinner table? I turn and pin her with a glare.
Fortunately, my grandparents both ignore Lori.
“I love Gio,” Mia pipes up, which further destroys me.
“This feels like another abandonment for Marissa. You know, like Luisa leaving her? And now she’s swearing off relationships forever.”
If I weren’t in such a state of fuzz-brain, I might pick up on the accusation in Lori’s tone. As it is, I barely hear her words, I’m trying so hard to block them out.
“If you’re going to talk about me like I’m not here, I’ll just go back to bed,” I mumble and start to head out.
“No, no, no, no.�
� Lori blocks the doorway. “I’m sorry. I won’t say another word. Sit down. Eat some food. It will do you good.”
“Food doesn’t fix everything,” I mutter.
And I’m right. It fixes nothing at all.
Gio
I knock an empty bottle of Jack over when I startle awake to the sound of pounding at my door.
I’m awake, but I’m not fucking getting up. I’m lying on the couch in the same boxer briefs and t-shirt I’ve been in for days. Maybe weeks. I don’t know how long it’s been.
I ignore the knocking.
“Gio! Open the fucking door before I break the motherfucker down!”
It’s Paolo. Acting like the stronzo he is.
“Vaffanculo,” I call half-heartedly. Fuck you.
Growing up, we Tacone brothers made a habit of cursing in Italian so the nuns and non-Italian adults wouldn’t know we were saying bad words. Or at least, how bad the words were.
More pounding. If my door wasn’t solid wood, it probably would’ve cracked by now. Is he using his foot? “I said, open the fucking door. Now!”
Porco cane. It takes a huge effort to get to my feet, but I do. When I open the door, fucking Paolo punches me in the gut. “That’s for missing Sunday brunch and not calling Ma back about it, stronzo.”
I double over, wheezing. Cristo, I’m out of shape after not moving from the sofa for a week. Or maybe it’s all the liquor I’ve been drinking.
The door swings shut behind Paolo as he takes a casual glance around the place. With bloodshot eyes, I take a look myself. The place is trashed. Empty bottles of liquor everywhere. Takeout boxes.
“Jesus Christ. This place smells like ass. What happened to your cleaning girl?”
“I didn’t let her in when she came.”
Paolo makes a scoffing sound. “So, what in the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, scratching my belly.
“Bullshit.” He peers at me. “Is that about the girl? She dump you or something?”
“Something. Yeah.”
“Well, what the fuck happened?”
