by Cam Johns
I lift her head with my finger. “I promise I’ll be back in one piece.”
Although I’ve learned long ago not to make promises I can’t keep, this is definitely one that come hell or high water, I will keep. My family is my world, and I know they need me as much as I need them. I refuse to let my sons grow up without a father.
She stares at me as I wipe her tears away. The longing in her brown eyes is deafening; the doubts she tries to hold back exude from her. I kiss her softly, not wanting her to think this is the last time our lips will touch, but it’s hard to disguise the desperate pleading my soul and prayers are guiding toward God—completely offering my soul to bare.
Please don’t take her away from me.
I finally have someone in my life that doesn’t have to beg to love me. Someone who has taught me how to really love someone and be loved in return. Completely. She’s my love … my wife … my soul.
My soul.
Something Santini has already tried to take once and is doing it again without even realizing it.
I stand to my feet, pulling her up with me and hold her close. She lays her head against my chest as she listens to my heartbeat.
“I expect to hear this sound the next time I see you, Robert.” She places her chin on my chest, staring me down.
“Deal,” I say, bending down to lift her to my waist. “Let’s just worry about right now.” I kiss her softly as she wraps her arms around my neck. I feel her tears begin to hit my face, which intensifies our kiss. I hate that she thinks she’ll never see me again. There’s nothing that will keep me away from her.
Nothing!
7
Heartbeat
As Lynn lies in my arms fast asleep after our lovemaking, I glance over at her one last time before I slowly pull my arm from beneath her. I’m sure Sanchez will be here soon, and I don’t want him waking her up with his shenanigans.
Before leaving, I grab the notepad and leave her a note on my pillow. My heart feels like it has dropped to the floor, as I quietly grab the suitcase that still sits beside the bed. Reluctantly, I open the door to our bedroom and pause for a moment, contemplating whether I’m doing the right thing. I have to believe it is. Otherwise, I’ll end up bringing trouble back with me.
I can’t bear the thought of my past-life ruining my family’s future. I turn my head slightly to take one side glance of my wife, sound asleep, before walking out of our bedroom and closing the door. I check my phone to see if Sanchez called, but I only see a message from Matteo letting me know I’m good to leave for a few days.
I stop at my sons’ room and peak in. The glare of the hallway light must have awakened Jonathan, as I see his eyes blink open.
“You have to leave now?” he whispers.
I place my finger in front of my lips, motioning for him to be quiet as Jackson stirs in his sleep. I faintly step inside their room and sit on Jonathan’s bed.
“How long will you be gone?” Jonathan asks, sliding up on his bed and placing his back against the headboard.
“Honestly, son, I don’t know. But I’m hoping just a couple of days as planned.”
He puts his head down. “I heard you arguing with those men earlier. It didn’t sound good, Dad. Does this have something to do with what you said earlier … about the people you used to hang around?”
He never misses anything.
I take a deep breath. “I don’t want you to worry about that.” I lift his head up with my finger. “You have to be the man of the house, for now, son. Jackson and your mother will need you.” I fell guilty for putting adult responsibilities on my young son. This wasn’t the first time. He did the same when I brought Jackson home. He’s definitely not the typical teenager and had no problem being a strong big brother, without his mother and me even asking. I have no doubt my son will be a better, stronger man than I could ever be.
He looks over at Jackson, who sleeps undisturbed, before turning back to face me. “Don’t worry, Dad. I will always have Jackson’s back.” He leans up and hugs me tight. “And Mom’s too.”
That’s my boy.
“Try to get back to sleep. I don’t want you to worry about me.” I lift the covers up so Jonathan can lie back down underneath them. I kiss him on the forehead before leaving their room.
I stand at their bedroom door with my forehead against it. The Mafia can’t be my life again, yet here it is, rearing its ugly head again. Only this time, I can’t do things the violent way. I have to find a way not to lose control. However, being around my father unwillingly brings it out of me.
As I head to the living room, I hear a slight knock on the door. I place the suitcase at the door.
“Finally,” I say, opening the door for Sanchez.
“What the hell is that for?” he asks, staring at the suitcase as he shakes my hand.
“We have a lot to talk about.” I peek at my watch. “And only about an hour to do it.”
“What’s up?” Sanchez asks before sitting on the couch.
“I need you to look after my family for a bit.” I sit beside him.
“Okay … is that it? No explanation?”
“I’m gonna get to that.”
“Let’s start with that.” He leans back on the couch, placing his long arms on the back of the couch, getting comfortable.
I’m not really sure where to begin. I can’t just say, ‘hey, I’ve been lying to you for ten years, and you don’t even know my real name.’ I don’t think leading with my past-life is any better, though. So, I’ll just have to rip off the Band-aid. I start slowly with the unexpected visitors, then of course, to my real name. As I watched his mouth slowly hit the floor, I added my past life of violence and mayhem.
But this has to be done and should’ve been done. A partnership is built on trust, and I don’t want him to feel he can’t trust me. Although, why should he. I know he became a cop for a reason, and one of those reasons was to put away guys like me … or like I was.
As I finish my true backstory, Sanchez stands to his feet and paces the small space between the coffee table and the couch where he was seated. Every few seconds, he stops and attempts to speak, but continues to walk back and forth in front of me instead.
Finally, he sits back down beside me. “I honestly thought you trusted me enough to tell me things. I mean, of course I knew there was shit; I didn’t know about you because you never talk about your people, but I never thought…” He stops talking and puts his head down. “…you led that kind of life, but everything happens for a reason. You’re far from that person now. I guess this was your second chance.”
That’s it?
“You’re right about that, brother.”
“So, what’s the plan? How are you getting the time off? The captain has been up your ass lately.”
I shake my head, thinking about how often my captain has been ragging on me. I know it’s because my arrest rate is very high for a detective in my unit. So much so, the chief is trying to promote me. Clearly, the captain thinks I want his job, but I have my sights set on something much bigger. So much bigger, that quite honestly, I need to face my past problems head-on before they find a way to come back and kill my family and me. “Captain is gonna be up my ass, for real!” We both laugh. “My father put a call in, just as he did to get me in the Academy.” The same crime family that has been helping us all along. Although, owing mounting favors to people like the Beneventis will be more than just a problem for my father. I just feel it.
“Oh, Mr. Big Shot over here.” He shoves my shoulders as he chuckles.
“In all seriousness, I need you to take care of them while I’m gone.”
“I got you.” He turns to face me, placing his forearms on his knees and folding his hands in front of him. “Can I ask what the plan is? This whole situation just seems dangerous, and I’m-I’m…” He stands frantically and paces the floor again.
What the fuck just happened?
This is more of the reaction I thought I would get, q
uite honestly. For me to only have known him part of my life, I feel like I’ve known him my whole life … he’s my brother. I automatically assumed he would want to come with me whether I needed him or not.
He stops pacing suddenly. “I’m not trying to be a chick or some shit, but you’re basically the only family I have left at this point.” He stands there confused, I bet not understanding why he just told me that. He’s always been the type to hold in his feelings, especially because he lost both of his parents in a car accident last year. “Besides, who is this chick to you?”
I stare at him, slightly upset at him for calling her a chick, but he has no clue how close we were. “First, you don’t just have me; you’ve got Lynn and the kids too. But I’m not going anywhere … you know me. I have to make it back to them.” I stare up at him, hoping he accepts my mediocre confidence for the time being.
I wait for him to finally sit beside me and relax.
“And, Isabella was much more than some chick. She was a great friend to me, which is hard to come by in that world. I hated my father, my mother left me, so all I had was the life I never wanted to be involved in. And eventually, Isabella had become the better part of that life.”
He looks at me with that stupid devilish look as if I must have been creeping around with her. “And nothing … happened?”
“No, asshole!” I shove him as he chuckles. “She’s like a little sister. She was still a newbie teen, but after the massacre, she clung to me. I think she saw me as the brothers who were taken from her.” I pause as I remembered the day Beppe abandoned her in the restaurant. “But the plan is pretty simple. I need to link up with my father first, then get to Isabella and get her out.” Getting her out of the house will be the easiest part of this. “I know that house like the back of my hand … more than the people that work for that family know, for sure. Granted, I may have to hurt somebody, but it is what it is.”
“Just remember who you are now.” He stares, concerned.
“Of course. I have a family now.”
“Yes.” He stands in front of me. “Still, I think you should send me where you’ll be.”
The look on his face tells me not to ignore his request. “Cool.”
He accepts my answer, shaking my hand and pulling me into a hug before he leaves.
“Hurry back. We have Ghost still on the loose,” he says with his hand opening the door.
“I can’t worry about that serial killer right now. I have my own serial killer father to worry about.”
“I didn’t just hear that.” He chuckles and closes the door.
I sit on the couch, surprised at how well the conversation went. I could’ve just left without saying a word to him, but I needed to tell him the truth, especially once I got that text from Matteo about my father handling my boss. Not just for my own sanity, but because I needed him here, in case something really does go wrong. I don’t want to think that way, but realistically, it’s possible.
Before leaving, I text Matteo to let him know I’m on my way to the airport. There isn’t much time to get there, but I remain on the couch, staring at my family photo on the wall. Am I really sure I want to do this? The option to ignore the problem is no longer on the table. Running from shit has only brought me back here … to this point.
But now I have a family to worry about.
The old me, the person who didn’t give a shit, had nothing to lose. Now I have everything to lose…and more.
It’s time to be the guy I hide from my sons.
But this time, I have a reason to be that person: My family.
Not my mafia family. My real one.
As I gather my things and turn off the lights to leave the house, I think of the note I left on my pillow, besides my love.
I just want to thank you for the love and commitment you have taught me since the day we met. There’s nothing that will ever keep me from you. I look forward to you listening to my heartbeat soon.
Love you always.
8
Rage Returns
Once we land in Chicago, Matteo and I put on baseball caps, keeping our heads low. You never know who you’ll run into. Once we grab our bags, I follow Matteo to the parking structure, where a black Taurus with tinted windows waits for us. Once I get in the backseat of the darkened car, we remove our hats and relax for the journey back. Back to a place, I said I would never return. The place where I was killed and lost the only life I’ve ever known.
It wasn’t the best life, and I committed some pretty horrendous crimes here, but it was just that. My life. And some asshole decided I deserved two to the back, because of some other asshole. An asshole I’m sure is still one, teaching some other kid, who hangs on his every word, how to destroy his life. A life whose purpose is to protect and serve an asshole I call my father. My father. Huh! A term that never rolled off my tongue and meant absolutely nothing to him.
I don’t know why the fuck I ever expected anything different from the head of a mob family. He had no clue how to be a father or a husband, for that matter, and that’s something I should have understood a long time ago. He had to protect his livelihood … and his whores apparently.
His whore was the reason I was shot—a whore he apparently loved more than my drunken mother. But one thing’s for sure, I’m not leaving here without knowing the truth. I want to know why me. I did nothing to deserve being killed.
I did everything Santini asked of me. I looked up to him. More than my father. Yes! I looked up to the biggest mob boss in the city. A fucking murderer was my idol. But that was for only one reason. He treated me like more of a son than my own father did, especially when my father claimed I wasn’t his.
However, once my father heard what happened to me, he was at my side. I could never shake the feeling there was more to this. A lot more. And I deserve to know the truth.
Why did someone I trust and look up to want me dead? Why did he hug me that very morning, only to shoot me himself when I was grabbing a drink in his kitchen? How he could trust me with his daughter—his life—and then kneel beside my presumed dead body and say, “I had to teach your father a lesson.”
It had to be more to this than my father fucking with his gumar. Santini had so many women wanting to fuck him; it was like being at a parade. So did my father, for that matter.
Santini had his men throw me in front of my father’s restaurant, instead of burying me alive in some ditch in Illinois, or tie cement bricks to my feet and dump me in the water, as I had done many times.
How I survived bleeding out in the back of some goon’s car, I’ll never know. I guess I was lucky. What I do know, and remember, is the fear on my father’s face when he saw how close I was to death. He looked as if he saw a ghost.
Although he cursed, shouted, and punched a few of his men in the face for letting this happen, as if they could have stopped it, he was frightened to lose me. I’ve never told him what Santini said to me. I refused.
Once he summoned his personal physician, who performed emergency surgery in the basement of my father’s restaurant, I was shipped out of Chicago the next night. And I never looked back.
Until now. Now I’m back in this hellhole ready to face what I’ve run from for a decade. The truth. My family. My father.
After sitting in traffic for an hour, we finally arrive at a large home in Long Grove. A large black Cadillac with tinted windows sits in the driveway, being waxed and shined. Beside it, a Range Rover, the same color with large black rims. Of course, the Caddy is his; my father has always loved them, and I’ve never seen him in anything else.
I’m sure the other car must belong to whatever bitch he’s fucking. I guess his new wife. There’s no way one of his gumars would be living in his house. He’d go to the house he bought for her, so she could do the things his wife wouldn’t do. I try not to be too mad at my father, because once my mother disappeared on one of her drunken binges, he did take me in.
He felt guilty because, as a teenager, I looked mor
e like him. He could no longer deny my existence. He may have taught me the life of a gangster, but he tried for years to find my mother. Or that’s what he led me to believe, anyway. Now that I’m older, I find it hard to believe someone with so much power, couldn’t find some woman who couldn’t even take care of herself, let alone hide from the world.
“Put these on.” Matteo turns slightly in the front seat to face me in a matching hat and shades he’s just handed me. Obviously, people can’t know that we’re alive. Come to think of it, where are the guards? He always had a few people outside, especially when he’s home.
“Where’s everyone?” I ask as I slip on the shades, then stare at the hat he’s just handed me. I’m in shock, noticing the FBI logo on it. “What the fuck?”
“This too.” He hands me the FBI jacket. “It’s not abnormal for the feds to show up and fuck with your pops, but it is unusual for two dead guys too.” He chuckles.
The fact that my father has authentic FBI gear only cements my theory: he’s completely untouchable now. We step out of the car and walk to the front door with purpose. It’s in the middle of the day, but luckily, the street is pretty quiet. Even if it were bustling with people, I’m sure everyone knew to mind their business. I didn’t grow up in this particular area, but if my father lives here, everyone knows the rules. You take care of my father, he’ll take care of you … or he’ll take care of you.
Once we knock on the door, it’s not long before a tall, muscular man, about my age and height, opens the door. He stares at me up and down, disgusted, and then opens the door enough for us to come in. He doesn’t say a word, but I’m not sure if he’s abhorred from the FBI disguise or me in general. Does he know who I am?
