No Love for the Wicked

by Tiana Laveen

  They slowed for a bit… stroking, kissing. Tender gestures. He looked into her eyes, wanting to remind her how much, and how hard, he loved her…

  He thrust hard, yearning for this. Glassy eyes, mouth wide open, and a look of wonder consumed her expression. He did it again and again, then slowed to steal a deep kiss. His hips resumed their relentless pace but he never let her mouth go, never released her. She tasted like the red Kool-Aid: cherry and sweet…

  “Ahhh! Baby!” He groaned as he bounced her up and down. His shoulder radiated a dull pain for he took her with not one shred of mercy. Tossing his head back, he looked up at the ceiling and saw colors he’d never known existed.

  “I love your big dick, Angelo!” The words tumbled from her lips as she rocked her hips from left to right, then in circles, craving him as much as he was craving her. They clawed at each other, their kisses urgent, the heat of their bodies growing more intense as they drew near to the brink of explosion. Reaching between their bodies, he strummed her clit. In her eyes he glimpsed pieces of himself, and maybe so was she. They were reflections, like the symbols on playing cards. Same on the top as on the bottom. Two pieces of a whole. Her eyes hooded, then she closed them completely as she fell deep under his spell.

  “You like that, baby? You like when I rub your sweet, little clit?”

  “Yessss….”

  “I love how you feel, foxy lady. All that whiskey of yours running down my cock, my balls… Getting me drunk and high. Your pussy is mine, baby. All mine. I’ll kill a motherfucker over this pussy of yours, ya hear me?” He reached up and grabbed her chin roughly, and she stared down at him, a wicked smile spreading across her face. Their lips met in a crushing kiss, soon interrupted by her tearing away to wail when a thunderous orgasm wracked her body. Box booze raced down his dick. He pumped deep, hard. As fast as he could, then paused. Crisscrossing his arms along her back, he brought her flush to his heaving chest. “Take that dick, baby! Feel that shit! TAKE IT!” he said between clenched teeth.

  She shuddered and came again as he violated her garden, making a beautiful mess of her oasis and calling it his very own.

  “Ohhhh God!” Her eyes rolled and they tumbled off the couch onto the floor. He kept on pounding away right there, her pretty tits with the chocolate nipples bouncing with each plunge. He slowed just long enough to catch the left one in his mouth, then sucked it hard, his nose flattened against the silky, soft skin. Fingers frantically dragged through his hair, and the scent of her body drove him crazy. Buried deep within her, he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. His body was in overdrive, needing her like he needed his next breath. The needle on the Fleetwood Mac record began to skip, back and forth, over and over. He reached beneath her and grabbed her ass, his pelvis slamming into hers, over and over again. Andrea looked up at him with those gorgeous dark brown eyes, and his heart beat painfully hard.

  She loves me. She loves the hell outta me… But I love her more. I love her more than her deck of cards can tell her. I love her more than words written on paper can describe. I bleed for this woman. I breathe for this woman.

  There was no doubt in his mind that she was his, but seeing that look in her eyes, at just the right time, was a welcomed reminder of what he had, and who he refused to lose.

  “Uhhh!” He swallowed hard then gasped for air as he thrust with all his might. Gripping his neck, she shuddered and trembled, reaching her climax. He joined her a moment later, bursting free, filling her up with his seed. Their bodies vibrated against one another, warm breaths exhaled from open mouths, sounds dull and watery, and the album was still skipping… skipping… skipping. He lay on top of her, panting. Every muscle in his body was on fire as his flesh pulsed within her. He gasped once more, then brushed her hair back from her face with a rough hand. His body spasmed and jerked, and he was spent.

  She intertwined their fingers. Holding him. It was in that moment, as he ran his hand along her stomach, that flashes of Marie entered his mind. She was having another baby, and this time, the father would never see his daughter or son born. A cold sensation crept inside him, piercing his soul and biting into all that was good within him. He could taste revenge. It was seasoned to perfection. His hunger for more bloodshed was growing, to right this wrong. And yet, this woman, with a mere glance… was telling him, to stop. He saw it with the way she looked at him as she took him inside her body – thick layers of judgment, mingled with her love.

  You’ve been a very bad boy, my love…

  She’d snuck inside his mind somehow, roamed the streets of his brain, picking apart his private memories. This was the only woman who’d seen him for what he truly was, and not for what he could do for her, or the potential of what he could become. He wasn’t a prize in her eyes because of his reputation, his status in the streets. She loved him as Angelo. Casper was a mere afterthought.

  He felt helpless. Wounded. Not his body, but his very mind, and his heart was exposed as if it had been ripped from his chest and tossed towards the Earth. His chest burned with the rhythm of his heart, beating so fast as though a heart attack was imminent.

  I’ve witnessed the death of people I care about too many times… I block it out. I move on. But I can only block out the sun for so long. And I can only move so far. People like me and Luciano die all the time. We’re expected to die young, before our prime. Yet I was told that I have a long lifeline. That I must live like this for the rest of my days. Sick. Cold. Unfeeling. My shoulder will heal. I will bounce back, but my mind will always be dark. My heart will remain a void, or so I thought… Now, she sits inside of it, perched on her throne.

  The Queen of hearts.

  I’ve been wronged, but it’s my guilt that pushes me forward, and my honor I must uphold. Pops never gave a rule for this feeling I have right now. He never told me what to do when I’m all broken up inside. I imagine I was supposed to ignore it, step over it, bury it like he did, and his father did, and his father, too. I’m tired of burying my dead. I’m tired of murdering my dreams…

  “Angelo…”

  Her sweet voice whisked him out of his wayward thoughts as she stroked his hair.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know the story about the Velvet Moon?”

  “…No. I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Well then, let me tell you the story.”

  He held her closer, their limbs wrapped around one another. He could hear her steady heartbeat, and the warmth of her gave him peace.

  “Once upon a time, there was a big, beautiful velvet moon. It was called a velvet moon because it was so dark, it looked like it was made of black velvet. People would look up and see the velvet moon. The moon was radiant but black, like dark diamonds, and had been out of sight for a long, long time. But one day, a curious little star said to his little, twinkling friends, ‘That velvet moon is supposed to shine light and bright.’ The other little stars didn’t believe him and started making fun of him. They all laughed and said, ‘You’re crazy. That ain’t no shiny, bright moon, silly. That’s darkness, a black moon, just a big ol’ black hole.’

  “The little star said, ‘No way. It’s not that at all. Let me show you.’ So that little star strutted on over to that velvet moon, and the other little stars pleaded and warned, ‘Don’t get too close to that thing! It’s nothing more than a black hole. You’ll fall inside!’ The little star didn’t listen, and he kept on going. Before long, he was right in front of that velvet moon. They gasped when he reached for it with his tiny hand and pulled away that black velvet veil, exposing the blinding light beneath. All of the little stars were shocked at how bright, big and bold that moon was! It was a glowing moon after all. The little star smiled at the moon, who looked around in wonder, puzzled and surprised to no longer be shrouded, then he looked at the little star, who was holding his velvet cape.

  “And that little star said, ‘Hey, why did you wear a velvet cloak all this time? No one could see you! Nobody even believed you were a true moon.’ The moo
n replied, ‘I wore the velvet cape because I was told many centuries ago that I was too bright, and I kept people all over the world up all night. I was told, when I’m full, I make the animals and people behave badly. I was told that when I’m just a crescent, people can barely see me, so that made me a waste of time, and I was told that when I’m a half-moon, people say I’m outshined by the sun. So, I decided to wear a velvet cape. That way, nobody would have to see the real me anymore. I’ve been wearing it for so long, I forgot who I was. Hey, little star, how’d you know I was a bright moon?’

  “The little star looked up at that big moon and said, ‘Even behind your velvet cape, you glowed. No amount of gloom can make you be any less incredible. The darkness cannot hide blessings and beauty forever. All it needs is for someone to believe in it. To see it for what it truly is. You glowed when you were just a crescent. You glowed when you were half full, hiding behind the sun, and you glowed when you were big and full. That velvet cape only hid you from yourself and everyone else who wanted to believe you weren’t worthy. You help the Earth move on its axis, you create much needed tides for the fishermen and the creatures of the sea, and you help with climate control and so much more. Well, I always believed in the moon. Even in your shadows and bleakest doubts, there is hope. Even inside your darkness, there is light. A velvet cloak can never stop the penetrating light of blinding truth…”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Mother of all Questions

  Rule 18: The truth doesn’t set people free. That’s a lie. The truth is meant for no one but yourself and those who need it. As long as you tell the truth to yourself, you’ll make it. The worst thing a man can do is lie to himself about what he wants, who he is, and what he needs.

  The service was over, the body had been taken away, but in her heart, everything had just begun. She’d never seen such a thing…

  The Madison Avenue funeral home, Frank E. Campbell Chapel, was packed with men, women, and children, many of whom were conversing in Italian, with a few English words thrown in here and there. The heart-wrenching crying had pretty much subsided, but the sorrow lingered, still palpable.

  Andrea sat quietly in the front row beside her beloved’s grandmother, looking around and taking it all in. The women wore beautiful dresses, their hair coiffed to perfection. Real diamonds sparkled around necks, wrists, and fingers. The children sported dark suits or frilly dresses, and patent leather shoes with white socks or tights. The men were of varying sizes and shapes, some olive complexioned, others pale as fresh snow. Dressed in sharp suits and expensive polished shoes, they flashed luxury gold watches. There were no other Black people besides her, though one family member had a similar complexion to hers. They don’t have any Black friends? What about Luciano? She wasn’t certain why she’d expected otherwise. It felt a bit odd, but she tried to focus on what was most important, and that was being by her man’s side.

  Angelo’s grandmother was dressed in black lace from head to toe and pearls around her neck. Her small body shook with grief, the tissue in her hand taking a beating from her blues. Andrea took the poor woman’s gloved hand in hers. Nonna offered a soft smile, then turned her gaze downward, sobbing quietly. Luciano’s service began with the viewing, then the service. Stories were shared of this man who’d been adored by the community. Then, his wife got up and spoke. Her words about her husband were ones of devotion, causing many to crumble in their seats. It broke her heart into a million pieces. And then there was Angelo, who sat upright throughout, fairly expressionless. She knew how much he cared for his cousin. They’d been more like brothers, in contact practically every day.

  “We usually have a dinner after leavin’ the churchyard,” Angelo stated, showing up as if out of the blue. He had a habit of doing that – moving so stealthy, she never heard or saw him coming. Dressed in black from head to toe with the exception of his gold belt buckle, he looked so somber. He put a hand on his hip, two of the fingers adorned with diamonds. “It’ll be over my nonna’s place, but mostly my cousins, one of my sisters, and aunts cooked the food. Wine. Music. We try to smile a little, remember the good times.”

  “What about Marie?”

  He rolled one of his jacket sleeves, exposing his watch and a gold link bracelet. “Luciano’s wife isn’t feelin’ well, so she may not be there. She fainted twice.”

  “Yes, I saw. I know this has been a terrible time for her. I hope she’ll be okay.”

  “You hope? Will she or won’t she?” He arched an eyebrow, as if he were daring her to give an answer.

  “…Yes.”

  “Good.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Nonna is the best cook in the family. Not sayin’ that because I’m expected to say it; she just is. Anyway, we didn’t wanna burden her with this chore. Lotta people.” He bent down to kiss his grandmother on the cheek. “You’re comin’ with me to the repast, right?”

  “Of course,” Andrea responded.

  He lit a cigarette and studied his grandmother for a moment As he scanned the crowd, she could feel his energy. So cold. Dark. Angry. He looked calm. Sounded calm. However, he was the exact opposite on the inside.

  “Oh, and just so ya know, I told my Nonna that you’re my girl. Obviously no introduction is needed.” He winked at her and disappeared back into the crowd, just as quickly as he’d arrived. She observed family members hugging him, kissing his cheeks, speaking to him in Italian, some crying. He would stiffly hug them back. Then, a sudden chill crept up her back, taking her breath away. She gasped. She’d had a similar sensation a few times before…

  A soul was wandering about, but definitely not aimlessly. She looked towards nonna, who was still wrapped up in her own grief. She closed her eyes, clutching the side of her chair with her free hand, and leaned forward.

  Luciano, is that you?

  She heard no answer, but sensed a ‘yes.’ She slowly opened her eyes, searching the dense crowd for Angelo. She didn’t see him. Releasing Nonna’s hand, she got to her feet and looked from right to left. No Angelo.

  Is there a message you want me to give Angelo?

  She heard no answer, but again could feel a ‘yes.’

  What is it?

  ‘It’s not his fault.’

  Angelo had refused to tell her the specific details of that night when all hell had broken loose. She wasn’t even certain what Luciano was saying, but in some strange way, it made sense to her. Ever since the murder, Angelo hadn’t been quite the same. He was quieter. More withdrawn. She knew eventually he’d work through it, but these things took time. His injury had initially slowed him down, but he was healing nicely, and there was no reason for concern.

  Luciano, is there anything you want me to tell your nonna?

  She waited, and waited. And when she was convinced he would not answer, she felt it.

  ‘Yes. Tell her, ‘Thank you for the nickel.’’ She took a deep breath and sat back down. When she turned towards Nonna, the old woman was staring so intensely, it took her breath away. She patted her face with the back of her gloved hand.

  “He’s here, isn’t he?” The old woman’s sweet voice trembled. “Andrea, my grandson is here, I know it.”

  Andrea nodded, then took the woman into her arms, hugging her tight. After a while, she released her.

  “He said thank you for the nickel.”

  The woman gasped, placing her hands over her mouth.

  “When he was very young, I used to give him a nickel so he could use it to call me and his grandfather. When it changed to a dime, I gave him that, too. Then, every Christmas up to last year, I’d always put a nickel in the Christmas card I’d mail him. It was our little tradition. I had to give—”

  Suddenly, there was an uproar. People were yelling, pushing around, and arguing in English and Italian, and a fight seemed to be brewing in the middle of the crowd.

  “You’ve got some nerve comin’ here!” some grief-stricken woman screamed, possibly Luciano’s mother.

  “Ya fuckin’ idiot! Fuc
kin’ retard! Get outta here!” someone else belted.

  “Stop it! All of ya! Cut it out! Hey, hey, hey! Get off of him, Danny! Jack, lay off!” Angelo’s voice boomed as he broke up the pandemonium. And then, she saw him dragging Fred towards the front door. Fred looked rather pathetic in his gray suit that was too big for his frame. Angelo had told her how Fred was being harassed and threatened, and he’d insisted on showing up to the funeral to pay his respects. Nonna’s expression turned sad, and Andrea patted her hand. As the two continued to sit there, she noticed a thin, tall woman with long, wavy black hair parted down the middle and a little silver at the roots, fixing her gaze on her and Nonna. After a while, she walked to them, moving with such feminine grace. When she reached them, the lady just gawked, sporting a most unusual shade of blue eyes. The whites were pink from crying.

  “Mamma,” the woman cleared her throat, “is this your nurse? A caretaker?”

  Andrea took a deep breath and pursed her lips. I refuse to curse anyone out at a funeral.

  “Why would you think this was my nurse, child? No.” The old woman shook her head vigorously, oblivious to the lady’s obvious racism. “This is your son’s fidanzata.”

  Andrea assumed that word meant girlfriend.

  The lady remained perplexed. Perhaps more so. She rudely stared as if she’d never seen someone like her before. Having had enough, Andrea gave a loud exhale, cocked her head to the side, and met her stare. The woman finally turned away, but didn’t budge.

  “We’re about to leave. They’ve got everything ready now,” someone announced in the crowd, which was now much calmer now that Fred had been led away. Angelo walked through the front doors then, by himself. He towered over most of the other people as usual, and walked with purpose. With dignity.

  “Nonna,” he said when he reached them, “the limousine is waiting outside for you. I will help you get into it. We’re going to the cemetery now.”